Page 23 of The Girl Who Only Died Once

If she confuses them, they’re far less likely to act.

“Wha—” the first says, before Combat Boots rocks back, like she put things together.

But Chloe doesn’t really give them a chance to put the conclusion into action, swinging on her old backpack and tromping out of her room, like it’s the most normal action she can take.

“Why are you here?” the first says, and she’s so young, so incredibly young, and she grips the new knife as if it can save her. “Nobody was here, nobody can get in, how…”

“Don’t mind me,” Chloe repeats, then, to act as normally as she can, swipes one of the power bars from the kitchen counter, like she would if it’s any other day. “I left all the windows unwarded, super easy to climb in.”

It’s a misdirect, but better than giving them something else.

“Is that blood?” Combat Boots asks in sotto voice, like Chloe couldn’t hear her. “Why is it black?”

And at first, the youth barely old enough to graduate, stands, slow, the knife in her hand.

“Was there a demon here?” she asks, and her voice wobbles. “Gracie, step back, that’s demon blood.”

As if she could compel the answer out of her, she points the stiletto at Chloe.

“You lived here?” she asks, and Chloe flattens the flash bang even more in her hand, like it’s made of putty. “You’re a terrorist, you’re the reason why Toronto fell.”

“No, the people in Toronto were that lawyer asshole and the Half Demon guy,” Combat Boots shoots back, but her brows are furrowed all the same.

Figures that Chloe could literally take down a base and people wouldn’t remember her.

“Don’t mind me!” she repeats.

Combat Boots takes a step back, like Chloe’s something to be feared, before she loops magic into the two needles, strips of magic that will bound, wrap around wrists, and keep her in place.

An action meant to arrest someone.

Chloe’s stomach drops, her breath catching in her throat as she stares at the strips of magic. She wanted it, she wanted the peaceful solution, without harming these people so young they’re practically children.

“You let all those monsters out,” the first continues. “You’re the one who killed Nalissa—”

“That’s an exaggeration,” Chloe says. “I had nothing to do with Nalissa…”

And before she can stop herself, before she can hold back her hands and try to speak more, Chloe tosses the flash bang onto the table with the scrolls, then claps her hands over her ears and spins in the other direction, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Wha—” Combat Boots starts, just in time for a thundercap to crash over the cabin.

Even through her eyelids, light flashes, so bright it burns red, and the blast almost knocks Chloe back.

But she doesn’t have time to react. Doesn’t have time to check to see if the barely-adults are okay, doesn’t have time to make sure that Combat Boots drops the magic meant to arrest her, doesn’t have time for anything but running.

And Chloe knows the footprint of the cabin by heart, from late nights pacing across the floor to debates with Delina to measuring every aspect for remodels, so without opening her eyes she sprints, throwing her shoulder into the blue plastic door that she made herself, and throwing it open.

Outside, grimy snow blows past the dim lights from the cabin, before disappearing into the dark of the forest night. Screams echo through the trees, and there’s a single jeep, shining bright with barely disguised wards, primed to explode if someone unapproved tried to activate it.

Which sucks, but Chloe pivots, plunging along the gravel path of the cabin, deeper into the forest by the side. She can stumble through the pathway, it intersects with another road, follow it to the town, break into an unprotected car, and—

She shakes her coat around herself, thickening it with a flash of her alchemy, and grabs the battery in her pocket, transforming it into the flashlight with barely a click.

It’s the same pathway she once brought Delina down to practice shielding, back when Delina could barely grasp her power and both Gurlien and Chloe had been terrified that Maison would turn them in. It’s the same direction of the first bunker Chloe ever found in the woods, the first time she broke into anything in the state, and the first time since fleeing the college that she felt she could actually practice.

But she keeps the flashlight tucked against the palm of her hand, as the door clatters back open behind her and one of them staggers out.

Impressive, most people don’t recover from her flashbangs nearly that fast.

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