Page 6 of Fallen Star

A fallen tree shaped like an arch.

There.

It’s curved over the path like a gateway, with the Snow Blossom Glade spread out beyond it. I’ve never heard of a snow blossom before, but it’s safe to assume they’re the thick beds of flowers shaped like snowflakes.

I race through, my feet barely touching the ground as I push myself to go faster, faster, faster.

A furious screech echoes through the trees.

It’s followed by another, and another.

Closer than I’d like.

But I can’t look behind. I have to keep moving.

The entrance to the cave is hidden by a wall of frost ivy,Riven’s final instruction echoes through my mind.

I scan the area frantically, Zoey’s body growing heavier, thanks to how much magic I’ve used.

Finally, I spot it.

The ivy’s frosty leaves sparkle like a beacon in the moonlight. It’s similar to what I imagined, but at the same time, a hundred times more magical.

I run the final stretch in a blink, and then I’m clawing my way through the ivy strands. The leaves chime softly, sendinga magical buzz over my skin where they touch it, eventually revealing the cave beyond.

The moment I’m through, the screeches silence.

I stumble the last few steps, my legs trembling as I lay Zoey down on the cold, hard floor. Her skin is burning with fever, but her cheeks are flushed. Her heart’s beating. Her chest is rising and falling with slow, shallow breaths.

She’s alive.

We’re both alive.

For now.

Now that things have calmed, I examine her bandage. Her blood’s already dampening the fresh cloth, all I can see in my mind is that image of us unconscious at the bottom of the tree.

I’m so vulnerable when I project—when I leave my body behind like a hollow shell, waiting to be destroyed. My ability is valuable, but it’s dangerous, too.

I need to figure out how to use it better. Because next time, I might not be fast enough to snap back in time.

And next time, we might not be so lucky.

Sapphire

The cave is cold.

Not the biting kind of cold that brushes your skin. Instead, it’s a deep, still cold that seeps into every crack and crevice, all the way down to your bones.

Frost coats the walls, its soft glow making it possible to see. Otherwise, we’d be in total darkness.

Zoey doesn’t stir.

I want to shake her. Force her awake.

But that would probably make things worse.

As for her wound—I can smell her blood. Sweet and spicy.

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