Bella's lungs burned.
She wasn't sure if it was from running like her life depended on it or from the smoke she'd just escaped, but every step felt heavier than the last. Her strength was failing.
Branches snagged at her sleeves. The ground was uneven, damp in some places and muddy. Her shoes slipped on wet moss, but she didn't slow down.
She didn't dare look back.
Somewhere behind her, the fight was still raging. She could hear it, the demon's whip cracking, the wolves snarling, the deep roar of their anger.
But slowly, it was fading away, swallowed by the distance she was covering.
Then, out of nowhere—
"Bella!"
She skidded to a stop so fast she nearly lost her footing.
Principal Maren stood in the middle of the path, perfectly composed, as if she'd been waiting there the whole time. Her wine red scarf danced all around her face in the night air, and her expression was unreadable.
Bella's mouth opened, but no words came out.
