The storm swallowed her whole.
Rain lashed against Isla's skin as she stumbled down the narrow path behind the villa, mud clinging to her shoes and dress. The night air cut through her lungs, sharp and cold, but she didn't stop. Every step forward was a battle against exhaustion, fear, and the weight of the life she carried within her.
Behind her, faint shouts pierced through the roar of thunder. Torches flickered in the distance. They had already noticed she was gone.
She pushed harder, clutching the cloak to her chest as branches clawed at her arms. The forest loomed ahead like a dark sea, endless and alive with danger, but it was freedom. It was the only place Dante's power could not reach immediately.
Her breath came in ragged bursts. Each time her foot slipped, she thought she could hear his voice echoing behind her. You will not make it past the woods. The memory pushed her forward. She could still feel the sting of his touch, the heat of his fury.
Not again.
