Seventeen
After about fifteen minutes of running, the girl stopped. She rested one hand on a tree trunk and the other on her chest, doubling over and breathing fast.
Brice let her catch her breath, while he closed his eyes for a moment and slowed his heart. His leg muscles throbbed, almost pleasantly, but there were cuts on his hands and face from some of the branches and spiky plants they’d passed.
“You okay?” he said eventually, because someone had to say something.
She nodded, standing up straight and looking to her shoulder. Moonlight filtered through the trees—she’d been running practically blind, and he was amazed she hadn’t fallen. But now she patted the pockets of her jacket and brought out a small light.
Her wound was only superficial, and had already stopped bleeding. She
