He smiles. Thick neck peeking out of his royal blue jacket—a bloated corpse with that all-important letter adhered to his chest—he smiles.

My stomach turns, a sick flip lurching my entire body forward.

He smiles, a knowing smiling. I'm not a stranger, and he's not just passing politely by. He smiles because he knows. He knows he bested Onyx, stuck that stiletto in and twisted until she fled, wrapped in the Mystic's cloak as they took to the sky. He smiles because that jacket kept me warm, but turned to a cage of impenetrable steel when the time came for his final act.

He fulfilled the prophecy, turning me into the Untouchable. No one would return to where he'd torn his way in, destroying the only one that could bring peace. Destroying me.

I think Fight or flight. Hear it resounding in my head, a broken record. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. The needle skip, skip, skips. Tightly, I squeeze my eyes shut, sending out a call for the Mystic. I wait for the rescue, but remain alone, and he winks, knowing what I know; that no one is coming, that he's already won.

Despite what I've been taught, I run. I give up the war to save myself. Locker still open, I take off, dropping my backpack at the feet of a blonde girl standing next to me whom I've never met. I feel her stare; feel them all as I launch myself down the crowded hallway. The bell rings, and I crash against the tide, ignoring the sharp shocks of jutting elbows when they poke into my stomach and chest.

The door is close, a slice of light coming in through the small window. I push it open with all my strength, the weight of my body falling against the handle and stumbling out into the harsh cold. Only a few steps out across the gravel, my knees give up and send me to the ground. Eyes open, all goes dark as I fall, the world snapping quickly back into view when I crash down, skin protected by thick denim.

I lean forward on all fours, feeling a rancid heat spread up through my chest and throat. The world is expelled from my mouth, nothing more than a hateful mess of sick splashing on the sidewalk. I recoil from the smell and wipe the stained edges of my lips with a frayed white sleeve.

Behind me, a nervous cough.

“Uh, are you…okay?”

He lays a light hand on my shoulder. My head snaps around to get a look at him. His deep, curly hair is all that’s discernible; the rest of his features obscured by a curtain of oil-slicked brunette.

“Just, um, stay here. I’ll go get someone.”

He must be one of His.

Once his back is turned, I’m left with only one option. Finding strong footing, I push off the ground with more force than I though myself capable of, off like a shot towards the thick brush bordering the school. Pebbles dislodge beneath my feet; I feel them take flight in my wake, hear their gentle clicks as they fall back down, dust settling.

Curly Hair calls out, “Hey!” but I don’t look back.

Everything becomes a colorful blur with my legs propelling me so quickly forward. I cut through the wind and find the woods rapidly approaching.

Stepping on to the soccer field, I’m flooded with shame and fear, realizing just seconds too late that I’ve entered one of His traps. The soggy earth sucks at my shoes, dirt thick and damp, gripping desperately to keep me in place. My pace brought to a dead halt, a panicked fist clenches increasingly tighter about my heart.

He must be coming. Getting closer. The spy has had plenty of time.

Already his breath huffs at the nape of my neck, but the graying emptiness stretches infinitely behind me. Still, I spin my head wildly around, searching desperately for the coming danger.

From the forest’s edge, Onyx appears; her lithe body suddenly an apparition from heaven. Black-clad with a midnight halo cascading down her back, she moves slowly, always seeming unaware of what’s at stake. She approaches the field’s painted white border and extends her gloved hands in my direction. Her eyes narrow and I feel the pull, an invisible strength tugging at my feet. The mud squishes, bubbles, and burps as Onyx fights to free me. I make no effort of my own.

She recoils and then lunges quickly forward, a sudden burst of her power finally popping me out of my slow descent.

Towards the woods, she gestures frantically. “Hurry,” she whispers, the noise just barely finding its way to me.

Onyx disappears again, and I move to follow closely, now skating easily through the mud without my cumbersome shoes. She waits for me in the dark, not speaking when I enter, not speaking as we walk towards the entrance.

With fluid movements, she brushes aside the green and door and motions me in.

In the clearing, everything is illuminated by the sun. Bathed in its warmth for the first time all day, I close my eyes and tilt my head up to acknowledge its presence. When I see it all again, I notice the Mystic, the ripples of his muscular back turned to me.

I state plainly, “You’re here.”

“That much is clear,” he says without moving to face me.

“But you didn’t answer my call.”

“How long,” he says, accompanied by the squeaking of his now-pacing leather boots, “can you expect others to save you, Untouchable?” He punctuates the statement with a smooth spin, showing me the enraged eyes beneath his silver mask.

I look to Onyx, but standing mutely with her hands clasped behind her back, I know she’s heard this, and I know she agrees.

“B-But none of this…None of this is my fault!”

“Maybe,” he says, walking closer. “But you’re the one who never fights. You’re the one who isn’t strong enough.”

Again, I whirl to face Onyx, but she’s occupied now, feeling cautiously along the leaves of the door.

I want to scream, “You’re the one who didn’t protect me!” but the words leave as a pathetic whisper, a murmur of nothing. I’m drained of any fight.

From behind, Onyx calls, “Breach.”

The Mystic’s purple eyes flare dangerously at me, and I can feel the urge to strike me building up in his fist. “You were followed?” he spits venomously.

“I didn’t…I—“

But the Mystic snarls, “Worthless Untouchable,” before taking flight.

Onyx sprints passed without a word, and the sky darkens to a harsh gray. The cold creeps in, chased by the wind, but that’s not what moves the door. Frozen to the spot, always stuck, I watch the leaves rattle as if in slow motion. It takes seconds or hours for Curly Hair to enter the clearing, followed closely by a hook-nosed woman with white hair and eyes too close together.

“Sweetie,” she crackles, “are you alright?”

I croak out, “I’m fine,” and hope that’s enough for her.

“What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Un—. Cora. My name is Cora Vreeland.”

“Sweetie, who were you talking to?”

Behind me, the empty space pushes in, an unbearable pressure against my back. I look up at the dead sky, hear no approaching footsteps.

Alone.

“No one.”