voices stall for a second before growing frantic as something slams against door. Shit . They’re shouting, cursing, trying to knock down the door to reach me inside. I leave everything laying there, knowing I’ve been caught, knowing there’s no time to grab it, not giving a shit about any of it. I climb through the window, out onto the fire escape, and turn to run.
A startled scream escapes my lips, my body trembling, when I damn near collide with someone there. Inhaling sharply with surprise, a familiar scent hits my lungs, and all at once, I know I’m done.
I’m done .
My knees are weak and my chest is heavy and there are tears in my eyes I scarcely understand. They blur my vision, distorting the sight in front of me, like my body can’t handle seeing who it is. I blink the tears back as I look up, meeting a pair of startling green eyes.
Those eyes.
I know those eyes.
Cody .
The world stops, as I stare at him, seeing his face for the first time in a year. His expression is blank, but those eyes always told stories nobody but me ever bothered to listen to. His face has hardened, aged a century in just twelve months, but I read the softness in his gaze and listen to the confession he doesn’t speak.
Behind me, the door shoves open in the apartment, wood splintering, feet stomping along the floor as they coming closer. Each footstep feels like a punch in the chest. Cody just stands there, right in front of me, less than a foot away, blocking my only way to escape. And I’m frozen, because he’s here, but I’m afraid, because he’s not.
He’s standing in front of me, but my Cody … my Cody’s gone.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he reaches toward me.
I stand still, so still.
My feet are cemented in spot and my voice won’t work.
He grasps the chain around my neck, pulling the locket out from beneath the hoodie. His hoodie. His thumb brushes along the snowflake on the outside of it before he pops it open, looking inside.
Nothing.
There’s nothing in it.
He stares into the empty locket for a moment before meeting my eyes, snapping it right back closed. He lets go, letting out a deep sigh, as he looks away from me.
Ten seconds.
He gives it ten seconds, before speaking words that make my world implode.
“She’s out here,” he shouts. “I got her.”
***
Thirty minutes.
That was all I had.
Thirty minutes to say goodbye to my life.
The Marshal stood in front of me in the apartment, while numerous police officers flanked the building, unmarked cars parked all over the street, agents keeping an eye on things to ensure we were safe in here for the time being. He was still talking … he hadn’t stopped talking since the moment he introduced himself at the school … but I stopped listening when he said those words.
Thirty minutes .
In class sophomore year, we had this drill during fire safety week—if your house was burning down, what would you grab on your way out the door? They gave us thirty seconds … thirty seconds to decide what was most important to us.
It was an easy decision: I took my memories.
My pictures. My mementos. My journal.
I didn’t even need thirty seconds.
But sitting there, thirty minutes ticking away as they waited for me to grab whatever it was I wanted to take, I drew a blank. Because all of that—all of my memories—I wasn’t allowed to keep.
I couldn’t wrap my head around it.
“It’s a mistake,” I whispered, blinking rapidly as I shook my head. It had to be a mistake. This couldn’t be happening. These things … they only happened in movies. They didn’t happen in real life. They certainly didn’t happen to me . “It’s all a mistake.”
Witness Protection.
Unfathomable.
“I’m afraid it’s not,” he said, looking at his watch. “Twenty-seven minutes until we’re out the door.”
His voice was all business, yet there was some casualness about it, like this situation didn’t disturb him at all. I clearly wasn’t the first person whose
A startled scream escapes my lips, my body trembling, when I damn near collide with someone there. Inhaling sharply with surprise, a familiar scent hits my lungs, and all at once, I know I’m done.
I’m done .
My knees are weak and my chest is heavy and there are tears in my eyes I scarcely understand. They blur my vision, distorting the sight in front of me, like my body can’t handle seeing who it is. I blink the tears back as I look up, meeting a pair of startling green eyes.
Those eyes.
I know those eyes.
Cody .
The world stops, as I stare at him, seeing his face for the first time in a year. His expression is blank, but those eyes always told stories nobody but me ever bothered to listen to. His face has hardened, aged a century in just twelve months, but I read the softness in his gaze and listen to the confession he doesn’t speak.
Behind me, the door shoves open in the apartment, wood splintering, feet stomping along the floor as they coming closer. Each footstep feels like a punch in the chest. Cody just stands there, right in front of me, less than a foot away, blocking my only way to escape. And I’m frozen, because he’s here, but I’m afraid, because he’s not.
He’s standing in front of me, but my Cody … my Cody’s gone.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he reaches toward me.
I stand still, so still.
My feet are cemented in spot and my voice won’t work.
He grasps the chain around my neck, pulling the locket out from beneath the hoodie. His hoodie. His thumb brushes along the snowflake on the outside of it before he pops it open, looking inside.
Nothing.
There’s nothing in it.
He stares into the empty locket for a moment before meeting my eyes, snapping it right back closed. He lets go, letting out a deep sigh, as he looks away from me.
Ten seconds.
He gives it ten seconds, before speaking words that make my world implode.
“She’s out here,” he shouts. “I got her.”
***
Thirty minutes.
That was all I had.
Thirty minutes to say goodbye to my life.
The Marshal stood in front of me in the apartment, while numerous police officers flanked the building, unmarked cars parked all over the street, agents keeping an eye on things to ensure we were safe in here for the time being. He was still talking … he hadn’t stopped talking since the moment he introduced himself at the school … but I stopped listening when he said those words.
Thirty minutes .
In class sophomore year, we had this drill during fire safety week—if your house was burning down, what would you grab on your way out the door? They gave us thirty seconds … thirty seconds to decide what was most important to us.
It was an easy decision: I took my memories.
My pictures. My mementos. My journal.
I didn’t even need thirty seconds.
But sitting there, thirty minutes ticking away as they waited for me to grab whatever it was I wanted to take, I drew a blank. Because all of that—all of my memories—I wasn’t allowed to keep.
I couldn’t wrap my head around it.
“It’s a mistake,” I whispered, blinking rapidly as I shook my head. It had to be a mistake. This couldn’t be happening. These things … they only happened in movies. They didn’t happen in real life. They certainly didn’t happen to me . “It’s all a mistake.”
Witness Protection.
Unfathomable.
“I’m afraid it’s not,” he said, looking at his watch. “Twenty-seven minutes until we’re out the door.”
His voice was all business, yet there was some casualness about it, like this situation didn’t disturb him at all. I clearly wasn’t the first person whose
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