The forest at night was alive with sound.
Crickets sang in steady waves, frogs croaked like broken bells, and somewhere far behind them came the faint crack of a gunshot. Luxe didn't flinch this time. She couldn't. If she flinched, she'd stumble, and if she stumbled, Aurora would stumble too.
Their hands were clasped so tightly that her knuckles were bloodless. Aurora's breathing rasped like paper tearing, each inhale sharp, each exhale wetter than the last. Luxe could feel her sister's exhaustion in the way her grip trembled, the way her weight leaned too often, too long.
"Just a little farther," Luxe whispered, though she didn't believe it.
Behind them, the cult compound was only five miles away. Five miles of barbed fences, watchtowers, and men with floodlights and rifles. They had been running since dusk, guided only by Luxe's stubborn refusal to stop and Aurora's blind faith in her.
Every tree root felt like a tripwire. Every branch crackle felt like an alarm.
The night smelled of pine and damp earth, rich and overwhelming. Luxe was so used to the sterile tang of recycled air in the dorms that the freshness of it made her chest ache.
Her legs screamed. Her lungs were knives. But she ran.
Aurora stumbled.
Luxe caught her before she hit the ground, lowering them both into the dirt. The world tilted as she pressed a hand against her sister's back, feeling the shudder of her ribs.
"I can't—" Aurora's voice cracked. "I can't, Luxe. I can't run anymore."
Luxe's throat was raw, her words coming out hoarse. "We don't stop. Not yet. If we stop, they'll catch us."
Aurora's face was pale even in the dark, her hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. She looked years younger, like the frightened child Luxe had sworn to protect when the cult first claimed them.
"They'll find us anyway," Aurora whispered, her voice barely audible above the night insects. "They always do."
The despair in her tone ignited something in Luxe, something hot and furious. She cupped Aurora's face, forcing her sister to look at her.
"No," Luxe said, firm as steel. "Not this time. I'm not letting them decide who we are. Not anymore."
Aurora blinked, and in that brief glint of moonlight, Luxe saw tears forming.
The sound of distant dogs barking cut the moment in half.
Luxe hauled Aurora to her feet. "Come on."
They moved slower now, Aurora dragging, Luxe half-carrying. But they moved. The forest thickened, underbrush scratching at their legs, branches clawing at their hair.
Her mind raced with memories she couldn't silence. The sermons about purity, the chants of obedience, the way the leader's voice could hollow her out until she believed she was nothing without him.
But she was something now. She had to be. She had to be more than a lamb fattened for slaughter.
The dogs barked again, louder. Lights flickered in the far distance.
Luxe's chest constricted. They'd followed them this far already.
A river appeared suddenly through the trees, silver in the moonlight. The water rushed fast and black, swollen from spring rains.
Aurora froze at the sight of it, her voice breaking into a sob. "We'll drown."
"We'll live," Luxe said, though her heart thundered with doubt.
The water looked merciless, hungry. But it was the only way forward.
She pulled Aurora close, pressing their foreheads together. "Do you trust me?"
Aurora's lips trembled. "Always."
That was enough.
Luxe took her sister's hand again, and without hesitation, they plunged into the current.
The cold was instant, a brutal slap that stole her breath. The current yanked at their limbs, pulling them under, spinning them like leaves. Luxe kicked, fought, clawed for the surface. She broke air once, gasping, then went under again.
Her grip on Aurora's hand loosened. Panic surged. She thrashed, searching blindly in the dark water.
Then—contact. Fingers catching fingers. Luxe latched on like her life depended on it, because it did.
She kicked until her legs were numb, until her arms were fire. The current spat them out against a rocky bank, both coughing and gasping like newborns.
Aurora collapsed on the mud, sobbing. Luxe lay beside her, staring at the stars above.
She'd never seen stars like this before—so sharp, so endless. For the first time in years, she thought maybe the world was bigger than cages and sermons.
Hours later, when the forest finally grew quiet again and the barking faded into nothing, Luxe allowed herself to believe they'd escaped.
She brushed mud from Aurora's hair, whispering softly:
"We're free."
Aurora stirred, her voice slurred with exhaustion. "Free to go where?"
Luxe didn't answer. Because she didn't know.
The world ahead was a blank page, terrifying and endless. And yet, for the first time, it was theirs to write.
As she wrapped her arm protectively around her sister, Luxe made herself a silent promise:
Never again would they belong to anyone but themselves.
The night carried them forward, deeper into the unknown.
And history waited.