CHAPTER NINETEEN
Leaves crunch underfoot, a whisper of sound that seems like a shout in the hush of the forest. I don't dare breathe too loudly as I dart behind a thick-trunked oak, my heart hammering against my ribs. The air is cool and damp, carrying the earthy scent of moss and the subtle tang of wildflowers hidden among the underbrush. I peek around the tree's girth, straining to put distance between myself and Ford without him noticing.
"Skye," his voice reaches me, deceptively calm, and yet it slices through the stillness with an edge that makes my blood run cold. He stands there, an imposing figure with shadows clinging to his broad shoulders like a cloak.
"Ford." My name on his lips feels like a betrayal, even as I step out from my hiding place, abandoning any pretense of escape
