“Don’t—” My voice cracks. I brute-force it through raw throat and grit. “Don’t let me… lose myself.”

  Hein jerks back like I’ve slapped him. Shock lands first, then folds into something worse—worry that washes his face clean.

  And the second I see it, my own panic finally blinks.

  My hand snaps up and clamps over my mouth.

  ’Why did I just say that?’

  Confusion hits me so hard it’s almost physical. My brow knots, my eyes go wide until they sting.

  ’That woman. My mother.’

  I reach for her the way you reach for a word on the tip of your tongue—sure it’s there, sure you’ve said it a thousand times—

  —and my fingers close on nothing.

  My mind flares in pain. Just thinking of her hurts—deeper than anything. Gut-deep. But I can’t even make out how she looked or her name. Just how I felt. How—warm it was.

  Like the sun shining through a window, the warmth brushes my cheek. It bathes me, swaddling me, a blinding comfort.

  But also a blinding loss. The cold is to-the-bone—something I don’t remember, but this body, my body, does. It freezes.

  My throat turns sour and heavy as tears swell behind my eyes.

  My head sags. My hand drops and clutches the ground—an attempt at control.

  My fingers dig into the ash. I squeeze. And squeeze. Until my hands go numb.

  I force slow breaths. First fast, then slower, until the worst of the ache sinks back down. The heaving stops. A shallow sigh escapes.

  I lift my hand, now darkened with soot, and wipe it against my shirt. When I look up, Hein’s still staring at me, relief cracking through the hollows of his face.

  “…Sorry,” I say. “I lost myself there for a second.”

  Hein pauses. He squints like he just took a knife between the ribs, but his mouth still manages a small, sympathetic smile. He closes his eyes for a beat and drags a breath in through his nose.

  When he opens them again, there’s a faint glimmer of resolve.

  He lifts an arm, grabs the back of my head, and pulls me in. His forehead presses to mine. His eyes shut again.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “We’re going to make it out of this,” he says. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  I chuckle. Hein opens his eyes and backs up a bit, frowning.

  “What’s so funny?” he asks, offense creeping into his tone.

  “No.” I shake my head. “I’m not laughing at your promise. It’s just… usually you’re not the mature one.”

  He lets go of me. Annoyance flashes across his face.

  Which makes me chuckle again.

  “C’mon,” I say, teasing, “you’re not usually the mature one—”

  But before I can finish, confusion seeps back into my skull.

  ’How would I know who was more mature at this age between him and me?’

  ’…’

  ’Why am I thinking about that?’

  My frown digs in deeper.

  ’Why was I surprised when I saw Hein here? Because he was alive?’

  The harder I think, the less I remember. Something is wrong. I shouldn’t be here—but I don’t know where I should be.

  My hands cradle my skull. My eyes dart. Murmurs slip out as my mind blanks in white heat, confusion burning like an all-consuming forest fire.

  My murmurs are incomprehensible—semblances of words. Before they reach revelation, they fall down into the depths of ignorance.

  My whole body chases these traces of memory, but the moment I start to grasp them, they slip between my fingers.

  Hein frowns at my manic display, worry digging into his face. He hesitates, unsure what to do, then slowly lifts his left arm to grasp my shoulder.

  Bark!

  Bark!

  Bark!

  He freezes.

  Dogs are barking in the distance—closing in fast.

  Hein quickly peers over the wreckage we’ve been hiding behind. His worn-out face rises over the charred beam, eyes cutting into what’s left of the village.

  A group of gray soldiers with rifles are being tugged along by three hounds, the animals sniffing low and barking as they drag their handlers through the ruins.

  Only one thought runs through Hein’s mind.

  They came back looking for survivors.

  Fear floods his face. He ducks behind cover again and scrambles for the things he scavenged while waiting for me to wake. He ties them into a bundle and throws it over his back.

  His hands shake as he grabs my arm, urging me to move.

  But my body is still dazed in confusion. I just fold at his tugs.

  He curses under his breath, then wrestles one of my arms over his shoulder and hauls me up. And then he’s dragging me—fast as he can, faster than he should—pulling me through ash and splinters, trying to stay ahead of the barking.

  He weaves in and between ruined structures, keeping low, keeping out of sight.

  Hein is too preoccupied with getting away. He drags my dazed body over sharp, jutting, burnt planks. Some dig in and splinter into my legs. Others cut and bruise.

  Even the pain doesn’t pull me out of my confused stupor.

  Hein keeps pulling me for hours. Pulling, pushing, forcing us forward even when the forest thickens into underbrush that fights back.

  My body snags on jutting rocks and half-rotten logs. Each time, a little more blood seeps out and splatters into the dirt.

  Eventually, the shouting fades. The barking stops.

  Even if it’s only for a minute, the silence gives Hein hope—enough to think he can rest.

  His breathing is heavy and slow. His eyes are unfocused, like he can barely keep them open. Everything that happened, everything still happening, hangs over him like a black cloud that blocks out any light.

  The resolve he showed me was an act.

  Hein is terrified and exhausted.

  After all, he’s only a child. Ten years old.

  But something in Hein burns hotter now than it ever has. An unnatural heat he doesn’t understand, but it drives him anyway.

  He keeps dragging me with this drive. The underbrush thickens more. The trees grow wider and taller the farther he pushes into the woods.

  Hein has never been this deep. In any other moment, he’d find it new.

  Not now.

  Even after hours of this Hein keeps going.

  But he’s still a kid. A kid’s body. After all that pulling and pushing, after everything that happened the day before, his strength starts to give in. His breath turns heavy and ragged.

  His mind clouds with exhaustion. His body starts to shut down. The adrenaline runs dry, and even that fire in him can’t burn it away.

  He slips.

  He goes down headfirst, bumping his forehead against a tree root. He wrenches his left arm free from under him and forces himself upright with a struggle. Even in the fall, he never let go of me.

  He shifts closer to a towering tree and rests against it for a second, breath tired and weak.

  His vision is all cloudy. His eyes dart, searching for something—anything.

  Ten feet away stands a dead tree stump, hollowed out inside.

  He can only think of one thing now.

  Rest.

  He knows if he doesn’t, he’ll die from the exhaustion.

  With a painful struggle, he plants one foot in front of the other. His right hand keeps clutching me, pulling me along.

  He reaches the hollow stump. He drags me in, then sinks down beside me. His breathing is weaker than ever. His eyes close.

  He can’t keep them open.

  And then sleep finally takes him.