KATHERINE

Oh no, no, no—this was terrifying.

I was trembling uncontrollably, gripping the bread knife like a deadly weapon in front of me. I sharpened my hearing, moving cautiously to avoid making a sound that would give me away.

I couldn’t hear footsteps anymore, but with the chaos of the battle outside—screams, the clash of weapons—it was impossible to tell what was happening.

Suddenly, the handle of one of the carriage’s side doors began to turn slowly. My heart nearly burst from my chest, fear tightening around my senses, indecision flooding my mind.

It was the door facing the forest—of course, the least guarded side. The fight was happening on the other side of the carriage, out on the road.

I straightened slightly, my head brushing against the ceiling, gripping the knife so tightly that my knuckles turned white.

I was shaking all over, my eyes locked onto the entrance, debating whether the smarter move was to escape through the other door.

Too many choices, too little time. Then