Usually when she came to this spot, any residual feelings of fear vanished, but it didn’t seem to be working now. She still felt as if she couldn’t quite breathe, as if air was just out of reach. Her lungs burned and her stomach churned. She slipped from the trail wagon and walked to the gate of the property bordering hers, crouching down to push her hands into the rich soil—another trick that helped when her mind refused to calm.

The moment the soil closed around her hands, the peace she so desperately needed slipped into her. She knelt there beside the gate, pushing her hands deep, feeling a connection to the earth that set her heart soaring free. She felt the ebb and flow of the water running beneath the ground, the heartbeat of the earth, the very sap flowing in the trees. The connection was strong—deep—and she knew it would always be her saving grace.

The ground around her hands shivered and her eyes flew open in sudden alarm. She moistened her lips and looked down at the soil where she’d buried her hands. Her heart skipped a beat and her mouth went dry. She could see the boot prints stamped into the soft ground. Worse, on the gate was a symbol. She’d seen the symbol hundreds of times. It was burned into the wood, a brand, a sheaf of wheat tied with a cord. The same symbol was burned into her upper left thigh.

Bile rose and she fought it down. She would not lose it, not now, when everything she had fought for was at stake. Levi, Rikki’s husband, had told her not to leave the farm—that it wasn’t safe yet. Her sister Airiana had a madman after her, so the farm was on lockdown. Their combined gifts protected the farm itself, but not if they went off the property.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find you, Alexia?”

Her body froze. The air rushed out of her lungs. She closed her eyes briefly. She knew that voice—she would never get it out of her head. Sometimes when she rocked on her front porch swing in the middle of the night, wide awake, she would hear his voice—that hated, horrible voice, commanding her to her knees. Commanding her to pray for forgiveness. Commanding her to perform unspeakable acts to atone for her sins and then flogging the skin off her while demanding she thank him for saving her from her corrupt, disgusting body.

She lifted her head slowly, keeping her hands buried in the soil, trying to find her breath, her resolve. She’d trained for this moment, and yet now that it was here, just his voice alone had her body solidly frozen. Her mind refused to compute beyond terror.

“While you’re there on your knees, you might consider begging forgiveness.”