Caught.

I struggle against my captor, swinging my limbs around. Slamming my head against the building, they render me motionless. My breath quivers. I look up. They're an entire head taller than me, their frame dwarfing mine. My legs flail slightly lifted off the ground. They wear a mask that covers half their face, only their mouth visible.

"You are following me." His voice is so low I can't make out some of the vowels. It sends a chill down my spine. "Why?"

I grab at his hands, covered in black gloves, but his grip is unrelenting. My words won't come. We hear of the deserters right from when we are young, warned of their dangerous tendencies, their violence. I knew what I was signing up for when I set out to find them, but the fear paralyses me.

He presses the knife firmer against my throat. "Answer me."

"I—I mean n-no harm."

A figure appears over his shoulder, the other one, watching. Their face is concealed, too, but their gaze burns even through the gauze of their face covering.

"Who sent you? Are you with Ereon?" Does he mean King Ereon? The thought registers for a fleeting moment before a knee nudges into my stomach. "Talk."

"No one sent me I-I-I've been looking for you."

He reaches up and pulls my hood back, revealing my face. My dark hair spills over my shoulders as I stare at him wide-eyed.

"You do not belong here," he says.

I can breathe again, but I'm still suspended a few feet in the air, his knife still at my neck. I can feel the dagger strapped to my thigh beneath the cloak, but I don't risk trying to grab it. One wrong move and he'll slit my throat.

"I—I know you're a deserter."

He tilts his head sideways calculatingly, the left side of his mouth twisting into a dark smile. "And you want to report us to the council."

"I want to join you."

He pauses. His companion sheaths the dagger they'd been holding and waves a hand. "Get rid of her. And hurry up, we're already late."

My heart lunges as she disappears in the fog, leaving her companion to finish me off. I knew the deserters were dangerous, they have their reputation for a reason, but I didn't realise they'd be so threatening to me.

"I apologise," he murmurs, gloved hand tilting my head gently to the side. My pulse leaps in my neck as he brushes his fingers down the length of my throat. "I don't take pleasure in the thought of killing helpless, foolish girls." His fingers toy with my hair. "What a waste."

He presses the dagger into my skin; it elicits a short, sharp pain. Wrenching my dagger from my thigh, I swing my arms to break his grip and lash my dagger out. The captor easily dodges my advances, stepping back and tilting his head. Beneath his hood, he smiles.

I hold my dagger towards him, fingers quivering. "I'm not helpless."

"Perhaps not." He knocks my feet from beneath me and I fall flat onto my back. "But still foolish."

My breath comes in ragged gasps as I lie on the ground, watching him closely. He cut my neck, not deeply, but enough to draw blood. He turns and starts to walk away.

"Wait! Please! Let me come with you."

"Don't make me regret sparing your life."

"Please. I want to help you. I want... Please...My brother was taken last Red Moon." At this, he pauses. "You can trust me. I don't want to report you to the shifters. I hate them."

"You should be careful what you say." The seconds are painful as they tick by. He doesn't move, doesn't look at me, completely unthreatened. "You never know who might be listening."

There's a shout from behind me. I twist my head, startled, but there's no one there. When I turn back around, the deserter is gone, swallowed by the mist just like his companion. I sink to the ground, back to the building, my hands quivering as I press my fingers to the small cut at my throat.

I found the deserters. And now they're gone.

___

Memories of my father play across my eyelids when I sleep.

His smile, his soft hands, his eyes. I can feel his fingers brushing my hair back, hear his laugh, his soothing voice as he tucked me into bed at night. Sometimes I wake up with tears on my pillow, these memories of my father plaguing my dreams. They're so sweet I can taste them, a memory that feels not so distant at all. I almost prefer the nightmares.

Almost.

When I wake the next morning, it isn't because of the dreams. It's because I could see him through the slit in the cupboard door, smell the iron in the air, hear his screams, the sound of his head cracking when it hit the ground.

The nightmares don't last long, but they keep me up for hours. Luckily, due to my trip to the forge that kept me from sleeping until four in the morning, the sun is already up when I wake from the nightmare.

I crawl out of bed, my bones aching. In the moment, I hadn't realised how tightly the deserter held me. Bruises have appeared on my wrists, and, as I look in the mirror on the wall, my brown eyes are bloodshot and the cut on my neck an angry red. I groan, riffling through my clothes for a high-necked dress, throwing it over my head and pulling my wild hair back in a knot.

I shove through the kitchen, pausing when I notice Casimir's satchel hanging over the kitchen stool. I'm going to be late for school if I linger, the day after promising Casimir I'd be on time, but something stops me from going further. There's a shining, metallic shape poking out the top. I can't help myself, reaching in. My hands clasp around it, heart halting.

A gun.

"Shouldn't you be getting to school?"

I jump three feet in the air, dropping the gun on the table. It clatters and I half expect it to explode as I spin around. Casimir's standing in the doorway to his room, expression stoic as he stares at me. He should be at work, he was due there half an hour ago, but that's the last thing on my mind.

"Cas... you have a... you have a gun."

"Great observation, Freya."

The sun pierces through the window behind me, casting shadows across the kitchen floor. I stare back and forth between him and the gun.

"Where the hell did you get a gun from?"

The shifters out-lawed guns five years ago when the deserters grew in numbers and started lacing their bullets with silver. Now, the only place you can get a gun is in the forge, and for a hefty price—one neither of us could easily afford.

"I don't think you're the one who should be asking questions."

"Have you been to the forge?" I think of last night, of the near-death experience with the deserter. It's the closest miss by far, but not my only one in the past year. Imagining Casimir there sends a thrill of fear through me, even though I know he's more capable than I am. "Cas. Are you crazy?"

"Are you really serious right now?"

"You know it isn't safe there."

"I can't believe you right now." He laughs, but it's humourless, running a hand through his hair. "Why do you think I was in the forge in the first place?"

I falter. "I don't know."

"Because I was following you."

I freeze in his gaze, our eyes meeting. I thought I'd been so clever, checking Casimir each time before I left, making sure I returned before he was up. "How long have you known?"

"I checked on you once last week. You weren't in your bed."

He doesn't know how long I've been doing this then. Good. And does he know about last night? Something tells me I wouldn't have come so close to death if he did. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I knew I couldn't stop you."

"So you followed me?"

"What was I supposed to do, Freya?" he snaps. "Let you wander all alone and get yourself killed?"

"I'm still alive, aren't I?"

He clenches his jaw, looking towards the window. "I need to get to work. And you, school."

I gape at him as he steps around me, grabbing his satchel, without the gun in it. "Are you seriously leaving right now? We can't just..."

"Just what?"

I flounder for words as he stands in the doorway. I've never seen him this angry before, and the guilt swallows me whole, but there's something else, too—fear. I never want to part on bad terms like this, not with Casimir, not with anyone.

"Go to school, Freya," he says when I don't respond. "I'll see you later."

He leaves, slamming the door shut behind him. I flinch, the cabin shaking in his departure. I stare at the gun on the table; the sight of it frightens me. I've never seen one before, not this close. Even when they were legal my father couldn't afford one. How long had Casimir saved for this?

But I don't have to ask why because I already know the answer.

___

Why do you think the man in the forge decided to let Freya live?

Why do you think Casimir got the gun?

What do you think might happen next?

What's the last book you finished? What'd you think?