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My stomach twisted. My hands clenched the railing, my nails digging into the metal. The drop wasn’t too far—maybe two floors, maybe three. But the water was wild, dark, swallowing everything in its wake. It wasn’t a leap I wanted to take. It wasn’t a leap I could take. But then I thought of my son. I thought of his face, his cries, his tiny hands reaching for me. And I knew I didn’t have a fucking choice.

My breath came in short, uneven bursts, my fingers gripping the cold railing so hard my knuckles ached, the metal biting into my skin. My body swayed, my stomach twisting into knots so tight they felt like they would never unravel. The water below churned violently, waves slamming into the base of the building with an unforgiving force, roaring, endless, swallowing everything in its path. The distance between me and the surface was impossible to gauge in the dark, but it didn’t matter. Whether it was two floors, three, or more, the fall would hurt, and the impact—God, the impact would be hell. But I had no other choice. My baby was out there, vulnerable, waiting, and I needed to get to him before they did. The thought of Vaughn finding him first, of those monsters laying their hands on him, had my breath catching in my throat, my pulse hammering so hard in my ears that I barely heard Sophia’s voice when she spoke again.

“Be careful,” she whispered, her fingers wrapping around my wrist, her grip tight, almost desperate. Her eyes glistened, the dim light from inside catching the unshed tears clinging to her lashes, but she blinked them away quickly. “And never come back. Ever. Do you hear me?”

I swallowed, throat dry, my heart thundering against my ribs like a wild animal trying to escape its cage. “Never?” My voice was barely above a breath, hoarse, uncertain.

“Never,” she said, firm, her grip tightening just for a second before she exhaled sharply, her shoulders stiff. “If they get you again, there won’t be another chance. There won’t be another way out. You have to go and never look back.”

I felt the sting in my chest, the finality in her words settling deep in my bones. This was goodbye. I had nothing left here but pain and danger, and if I stayed, if I hesitated even a second longer, I was done for. So I moved before I could think, before my fear could paralyze me, wrapping my arms around Sophia in a sudden, desperate embrace. She stiffened for a moment before her hands came up, gripping me tightly, her fingers pressing into my back as if she could anchor me there, as if she wasn’t about to let me go. But then she did. She pulled back abruptly, looking over her shoulder into the dark hallway, her body going rigid as she listened. A second passed. Then another. No sounds. No footsteps. But we both knew that could change in an instant.

“Go,” she whispered urgently, her hands now on my shoulders, giving me one final push towards the railing.

I turned back towards the water, sucking in a breath that didn’t feel like enough, my body protesting, every muscle screaming at me not to do this. But I had to. So, with my hands gripping the edge, I hoisted myself up, my heart leaping into my throat as I swung my legs over. The wind hit me like a freight train, slamming into my body, knocking the breath out of my lungs. My hair whipped around my face, stinging my skin, blinding me for a moment. Below, the ocean was a living thing, restless, raging, waves clawing at the air as if trying to reach me. My chest tightened, panic gripping me, but then I thought of my son, and I let go.

The fall lasted forever and no time at all. The wind tore past me, my stomach flipping, my limbs weightless, useless as I plummeted. And then the impact—God, the impact. The water was not soft, not welcoming. It was like crashing into concrete, slamming into me from every angle, knocking the air from my lungs in an instant. Pain exploded through my body, my skin stinging, my bones rattling. My ears rang, my vision went white for a second, and then I was under, sucked down so fast I had no time to react. The cold hit me next, a bone-deep, unforgiving chill that wrapped around me like ice, like death, stealing the last remnants of warmth from my skin, from my blood. My limbs refused to move, frozen, my lungs burning as I fought against the instinct to inhale, to suck in the freezing water that pressed against my lips, that slipped past my teeth as I struggled.

The waves tossed me, spun me, yanked me deeper, then up, then down again, disorienting me so badly I didn’t know which way was the surface. My arms flailed, my legs kicking wildly, but it was like fighting against a force so much greater than myself, something that had no mercy, no care for whether I lived or died. The current dragged me, pulling me towards the rocks, towards the crashing waves that slammed against the building with relentless force. I could hear it underwater, the distant, muffled roar of water meeting stone, the deep, vibrating boom of waves slamming against the structure, and I knew if I was pulled that way, if I hit those rocks, I was dead.

I fought harder, clawing at the water, twisting my body, kicking with everything I had. My lungs were screaming now, my chest tightening to the point of unbearable pain. My vision swam, black spots dancing behind my eyelids. The need to breathe was overwhelming, unbearable, my instincts screaming at me to inhale, to suck in air that wasn’t there. And then, finally, finally, my head broke the surface, and I gasped, sucking in air so desperately it burned my throat. But the victory was short-lived. A wave crashed over me before I could take a second breath, shoving me back under, water forcing itself down my throat, filling my mouth, my nose, my lungs. I choked, coughing violently, body seizing as panic clawed at me, as my limbs flailed in another desperate attempt to break free.

I surfaced again, sputtering, gagging, barely able to keep my head above water. My limbs were weak, my muscles shaking from the cold, from the strain, but I had to move. I had to swim. The shore wasn’t far—I just needed to get there before the waves pulled me under again. My arms cut through the water sluggishly, each stroke feeling like a battle, my body working against me. But I kept going. I had to. For my son. For me. For the chance to survive.

The waves fought me the entire way, pushing me back, dragging me sideways, but I didn’t stop. My fingers brushed something solid, and I latched on instantly, gripping the jagged rocks with every ounce of strength I had left. My body slammed against the surface, scraping my skin, sending a fresh jolt of pain up my arms, but I ignored it. I hauled myself up, coughing violently, water spilling from my mouth, my lungs still burning, my body trembling from exhaustion, from the relentless cold. But I was alive.

I dragged myself onto the rocks, collapsing onto my back, my chest heaving, my mind spinning. The wind still howled, the ocean still raged behind me, but I had made it. I had escaped. Now, I just had to run. And I was fucking cold. 

I lay on the jagged rocks, my body trembling so violently I felt like I was still in the water, being tossed and swallowed by the relentless waves. My limbs ached—no, they screamed. Every inch of my body pulsed with the kind of pain that came from being battered and beaten by nature itself. My lungs felt raw, the air slicing through them as I sucked in desperate gulps, my chest heaving, my ribs protesting. The cold was beyond anything I had ever felt before. It wasn’t just on my skin—it was inside me, buried deep in my bones, spreading through me like poison. My soaked clothes clung to me like a second skin, heavy and stiff, like they had fused with my flesh, like I would never feel warmth again. My fingers dug into the rough surface beneath me, feeling the cruel, jagged edges of the rocks pressing into my palms, scraping my frozen skin. I needed to move. I needed to get up. But my body wasn’t listening. My head lolled to the side, my damp hair sticking to my face, to my lips, to my throat. I could taste the salt on my tongue, feel it crusting against my skin. The ocean was still roaring behind me, still raging, still threatening to pull me back in, but I had made it out.

I had fucking made it out.

I didn’t know how long I lay there, my breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps, my body shuddering violently as the wind whipped through me like I wasn’t even there, like I was just another piece of wreckage washed up from the storm. Time didn’t feel real. It stretched and blurred, minutes feeling like hours, the pain numbing me and sharpening all at once. My arms were stiff, my shoulders leaden, every muscle overworked, every nerve frayed. But I had to move. I had to get off these damn rocks. My son was waiting for me. My son needed me to fucking move.

I rolled onto my stomach, biting back a groan as the movement sent sharp, searing agony through my ribs. My fingers curled against the wet surface, my nails scraping uselessly as I tried to push myself up. My arms shook violently, barely able to hold my weight. I pressed my forehead against the cold, wet stone, gritting my teeth, forcing myself to lift my body inch by inch. My knees scraped against the rock, the fabric of my soaked pants doing nothing to protect my skin from the sharp edges beneath me. I sucked in a breath, clenched my jaw, and forced myself to crawl. One painful, agonizing movement at a time.

The rocks sloped down towards the water’s edge, and I knew I had to get back in. Not into the crashing, vicious waves, but far enough to swim to shore. My body resisted every movement, every attempt to push forward, but I had no choice. The moment my legs slid into the water, another violent shudder ran through me. It was colder than before. Or maybe I was just more aware of it now, now that I wasn’t fighting to survive. My arms ached as I began moving, my strokes weak, my shoulders stiff, my breath coming in shallow gasps. Every movement was pain, my muscles cramping, my chest tightening, my head pounding from exhaustion. The water pulled at me, dragging me down, making every stroke feel like a battle. My vision blurred. My lungs burned. My fingers felt numb, useless, as they clawed through the icy depths.

I don’t know how long I swam. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. Time was meaningless. All I knew was the endless stretch of dark water, the numbing cold, the exhaustion sinking into my bones, weighing me down. And then, finally, the ground changed beneath me. My hands touched something solid. Sand. I could feel it shifting under my fingertips, soft and grainy. I tried to stand, but my legs buckled immediately, sending me crashing face-first into the wet shore. My body refused to cooperate, every muscle screaming in protest as I tried again, pushing up onto my hands and knees. My breath came in ragged gasps, my chest heaving, my limbs shaking.

I had never felt so heavy in my life. The weight of the water in my clothes, the exhaustion pressing down on me, the sheer effort of pulling myself upright—it was too much. I collapsed again, my forehead pressing into the wet sand, my fingers digging into it, grasping at it like it could somehow anchor me, keep me from sinking back into the abyss. I turned my head slightly, forcing my eyes open, forcing myself to look back at the building looming in the distance. It looked so far now, like it was in another world, another life. The balcony was barely visible, but I saw her. A small figure standing there, unmoving, watching. Sophia. She was still there, making sure I had made it.

I wanted to wave, to let her know I was okay, but I didn’t have the strength. Instead, I turned away. I had to keep moving. I forced myself to my feet, my legs wobbling, the wet fabric of my clothes clinging to me, making every movement a struggle.

The city wasn’t far, but this part of it was secluded. I had a long way to go. My breath was coming in short, sharp bursts, my body still weak, but I pushed forward, step by agonizing step. The ground changed beneath my bare feet, the cold giving way to something even worse—the woods. Twigs snapped underfoot, the rough terrain cutting into my skin, every step sending sharp jolts of pain through me. The trees loomed overhead, their twisted branches casting deep shadows, making everything feel even darker, even more suffocating. I could hear the rustling of unseen creatures, the distant hoot of an owl, the occasional snap of a branch that wasn’t from me. The air was thick, damp, filled with the scent of earth and decay.

My vision swam. My body was beyond exhausted, beyond its limits. My breath came in shallow gasps, my lungs burning, my head pounding from the drugs they had forced into me, the drugs Adeline had insisted were to help with my “schizophrenia.” I could still hear her voice, sickly sweet, telling me I was sick, telling me I needed help, that the things I saw, the things I knew, weren’t real. But I knew better. I knew what was real. And I knew I had to keep going.

I stumbled, my foot catching on a root, sending me crashing to my knees. My palms scraped against the rough ground, my fingers pressing into the dirt as I struggled to push myself back up. I had to keep going. My son was out there. And I would not let them get to him first.

I forced myself forward, step by agonizing step, through the darkness, through the pain, through the exhaustion threatening to pull me under. I had escaped. But the real fight was just beginning.