I crashed through the second-floor window, glass shattering like gunfire behind me.

  Aim for the awning. Roll. Don't lock your knees.

  My feet hit the tiled veranda with a bone-jarring thud. I didn’t stop to check the damage; I used the momentum to roll, the rough tiles scraping my palms, before dropping the remaining ten feet into the overgrown grass.

  I hit the ground and sprang up instantly. My ankles held. My knees didn't snap. I’d done this jump a dozen times at school to dodge detention. This was just a higher stakes version of scaling the balcony.

  "Wow," I wheezed, my voice cracking. "I didn't go splat. I must be a genius."

  The disbelief in my voice was real. I stared at my limbs as if they weren't mine. The adrenaline rush masked the pain, but reality wasn't as merciful as it seemed.

  The thought of Ma hit me like a delayed punch.

  My chest tightened. My vision swam.

  Not now.

  If I let myself think about her, about that room, that bed, I’d freeze. I couldn’t afford that. Not yet.

  The words felt hollow the moment I thought them.

  If I stopped moving, I knew what would happen. My legs would give out. My chest would cave in. I’d start screaming and never stop.

  So I ran.

  I ran because running hurt less than remembering.

  Warmth trickled down my arms. I glanced down; shards of glass had sliced through my skin during the crash. I was bleeding, but I was moving.

  Then I laughed. Too loud. Too recklessly.

  "They're not chasing me? Lucky they're lazy. HAH!"

  I should've known better.

  The moment I looked back at Ma's room, shadows surged behind the broken glass.

  Then,

  Crash! Bang!

  Heavy footsteps thundered from the front door. The Masters weren't waiting around.

  "Oi. Oi. Oi. That doesn't look funny at all…" My laugh died mid-throat as the men burst out of the house like charging beasts. "If I don't run now, I'm gonna be tomorrow's minced meat special."

  I bolted. I didn’t need a map.

  These streets were muscle memory. Years of sprinting through alleys, hiding when Ma went on a rampage. I knew which fence had a loose board. Which neighbor never locked their gate.

  As I ducked into a narrow crawlspace between two garages, the memory hit me. Unbidden and sharp.

  I was six years old, clutching my raccoon toy, the one that was taller than me, tightly to my chest. I had waddled into Ma's room after a nightmare, tears streaming down my face. "I saw you die, Ma," I’d sobbed.

  Ma rose from her bed. She saw my snot soaked face but hadn't coddled me. She’d looked at me with those fierce, sad eyes and gripped my shoulders. "Everyone dies at some point, Llyne. Listen to me: if I’m gone and you’re in danger, you prioritize your safety. Don't let my grievance jeopardize your life. If you do, I won't rest in peace, understand?"

  I had furrowed my brow, clutching my raccoon tighter. "That sounds inhumane."

  Ma’s voice had gone hoarse, her hand trembling as she touched my face. "Inhumane?..." For a second, I could have sworn I saw a tear, but it vanished when I blinked. She gave a weak, tired smile. "Yes. I guess I am." She looked away then, her grip on my shoulders tightening just enough to hurt.

  [Back to Present]

  Inhumane.

  I dodged a flashlight beam and whispered, “I’m just being inhumane, Ma.”

  I used that cold clarity to keep moving. I didn't go to Iz. I couldn't lead them to her. I stayed in the shadows, navigating the outskirts. I stopped by Mrs. Gable’s porch, silently snapping a thick leaf off her aloe vera plant. I smeared the cool, sticky gel over my glass cuts; it stung like hell, but it would stop the infection.

  I swiped a hand of bananas and a few mangoes from a neighbor's construction site skip where they’d tossed some overripe fruit.

  Minutes blurred together, but the pressure never eased.

  They adapted fast.

  Main roads sealed. Wider alleys flooded with brute-force mercs. Flashlights swept the dark like executioners’ blades.

  So I went where they couldn’t move in numbers. Crawlspaces. Broken fences. Gaps meant for cats and ghosts.

  This wasn’t escape. It was a slow grind to see who collapsed first.

  By the time my legs began to shake, time had blurred into something shapeless and cruel. Hunger burned. Fatigue gnawed.

  But stopping meant dying.

  The shouting stopped first.

  Then the boots.

  No more flashlights slicing the dark. No more orders barked through radios.

  That was worse.

  The city didn’t feel empty. It felt watched. Every sound made my skin crawl. I knew this type of hunt. You didn’t corner the prey. You waited for it to collapse.

  Assassins don’t give up. They wait. They watch. They let exhaustion do the killing.

  So I didn't let my guard down.

  Eventually, I found it. An abandoned house on the outskirts, one Ma had once warned me never to go near. Crumbling walls, moss-stained windows, broken silence.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Places like this were dead zones. No heat signatures worth scanning. No resources. No reason for anyone powerful to care. Perfect for something meant to disappear.

  I searched it. Every room. Every floorboard. Every whisper.

  Empty.

  I collapsed into a dusty chair that looked older than me, breathing hard. My body felt like it was made of lead. The aloe dulled the worst of the sting, but every movement still burned. The fruit kept me upright, nothing more.

  "Persistent bastards," I muttered, wiping sweat and gel from my brow. "If not for my teachers' hellish drills, I'd be toast by now... Next time I see them, I'll buy them tea. If I don't run away first."

  My breath slowed. My mind didn't.

  "Iz must be worried sick… I'm such a bad friend."

  I looked around. The silence of the house was thick. The kind that echoed.

  The quiet should have been comforting.

  Instead, it gave my thoughts room to circle back to Ma.

  My throat tightened. I swallowed it down hard.

  Later, I told myself again. Just get through this night.

  Exhaustion does strange things to the mind.

  I knew that.

  Which was why, when I saw the silhouette by the wall, my first thought wasn’t ghost.

  It was hallucination.

  Then I saw her. A familiar silhouette. The same shape that had haunted my dreams, now standing where fear and exhaustion could easily turn hallucinations real. She peered out from behind the wall like a scared kitten.

  "Oh, it's you," I said, blinking. "Wait… am I dreaming again?"

  The figure shook its head violently.

  "Alright, alright, calm down. I'm not gonna eat you."

  The girl shrunk back.

  "I'm joking. Mostly."

  I pulled up a second chair and patted it. "Come. Sit. I don't bite unless I'm starving."

  The figure floated forward, as if unsure whether she still belonged in this world.

  She was ethereal. Real. But not.

  "A ghost."

  I whispered it under my breath before I could stop myself.

  She tilted her head in confusion.

  "At least she's cute. Not the horror-movie type with the backward neck and weird contortions."

  She sat across from me, nervous, reserved. I watched her like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

  "You got a name?"

  She shook her head.

  "Wanna pick one? Easier than calling you 'little girl.'"

  She nodded. Sparkles appeared around her. Actual sparkles. Like flowers in spring. My jaw dropped.

  "Alright, full disclaimer: I suck at names. If you don't like one, shake your head. If it's good, nod. Deal?"

  Nod.

  "Okay... how about Gizelle?"

  Shake.

  "Mia? Anna? Raven? Charlotte?"

  Shake. Shake. Shake.

  "Not into English names?"

  Shake.

  The girl picked up a pen and a scrap paper from a nearby drawer that looks like it might hide a tiny ghost. With elegant strokes, she wrote something down.

  I blinked at her handwriting. "Wait... you can write?"

  She held up the page.

  "I'm a boy."

  "..."

  System Error.

  I stared blankly at the paper.

  "You're joking... right?"

  He shook his head, solemn.

  "Your long hair! It was covering your..."

  Before I could finish, his hair vanished into short, soft curls.

  He looked...

  Stupidly beautiful.

  Fair skin, round eyes, delicate features. He looked more radiant than any girl I knew.

  "You're a boy?"

  He nodded, then lowered his head. His expression darkened. Like a shadow rising from beneath the surface.

  "I no like my face," he mumbled. Tears welled in his eyes.

  I reached out instinctively, wiping his cheeks and pinching them. Just a little bit.

  "What? Why not? Your face is adorable! So soft, so pretty! Like marshmallows wrapped in snowflakes!"

  I pinched his cheeks again without thinking. "I wanna eat you."

  He went pale.

  I coughed. "I mean metaphorically. Probably. Anyway, food."

  I left him there and snuck outside to find food.

  Standing outside the abandoned house, I checked both sides of the street. No movement. No soldiers. No dogs.

  "The coast's clear. Guess they gave up on turning me into stew."

  My neighbor's garden was a jungle. Bananas, papayas, mangoes.

  Jackpot.

  I climbed the wall, snatched a few fruits like a seasoned thief, and returned.

  "Hey, I'm back! Miss me?" I dropped the fruits on the floor.

  The boy didn't respond. He handed me a stack of papers with downcast eyes.

  I read. And what I read shattered something inside me. A boy born too beautiful for his own good. Hated by sisters, ignored by parents, beaten, and eventually... left to die in a locked cabin in the dead of winter. He had wandered the dark for centuries. Alone. Until me.

  My hands trembled. My chest ached.

  "Sniff…"

  I didn't think twice. I hugged him.

  He hugged back, small arms clinging to me like I was the only warmth he had left.

  "I'm okay now," he whispered. "Because I met you."

  I pressed my forehead to his. "Even if no one else loves you... I will. Always. That's a promise."

  I kissed the top of his head. He smiled.

  "Name! Name!" he shouted, his eyes sparkling like galaxies.

  "Alright, alright... Something light. Cheerful. Something like... mine?"

  Then, he pointed at me. "Llyne. Blood."

  "Huh?" I looked down. I looked at the dried smear of red on my arm where a glass cut had reopened.

  "Must've scraped it while climbing the tree. No biggie."

  The boy ran up, panicked.

  I wiped the blood. "Hey, don't worry. I just thought of a name."

  His eyes lit up. His invisible tail wagged like a puppy's.

  "It's... Lyndall."

  Silence.

  "You hate it?"

  Then,

  "I love it!" he squealed, bouncing around the room. "What does it mean?"

  I paused.

  "Well… it doesn't really mean anything. But I took 'Lyn' from me, and 'Dale' which means valley. So... you're like a valley where spring starts again."

  Lyndall beamed. His joy filled the broken house like sunlight through cracked glass.

  "Alright," I said, yawning. "Tomorrow's going to be busy. Let's sleep."

  He nodded and darted upstairs.

  I followed soon after.

  He didn't sleep though. All night long, I could hear him whispering to himself. "Lyndall. Lyndall. Lyndall..." like he was making sure the world wouldn't take the name away.

  For me, there was no sleep.

  Every time I closed my eyes, Ma’s lifeless body burned against my eyelids. I turned my face into the pillow, biting down on the sound that tried to escape. I lay there in the dark, weeping for her. Weeping for my own helplessness. I wept until my throat was raw.

  By dawn, the tears had dried into salt on my cheeks. Nothing was going to change the past.

  All I could do now was plan for the future, and make sure the people who did this paid.

  A quieter chapter after all the running and loss.

  Thanks for reading through the calm between storms. Feedback and theories are always welcome. I enjoy reading your thoughts.