I don’t know where it comes from—the need to protect. But all my senses become hyperfocused and honed in. I’m seeing everything through a tunnel, and at the end of it are the only two things that matter: Ahmet and Theo are in danger, and I still have a chance to save them.

Black mask, black gun, black stare. And I don’t hesitate this time either.

“Can you make it to the border if you had a veil?” I ask quickly, leaning toward Ahmet and Theo.

Ahmet’s brow is furrowed as the car veers sharply to the right, avoiding a nearby explosion. “I can’t veil us all. Not like this.”

“I know,” I say, just as Theo turns to look at me.

“No, Nami. Don’t you dare,” he warns, voice low.

I close my hand over his shoulder. “I’ll find you,” I say, and before anyone can stop me, I throw myself from the vehicle and let the jungle swallow me whole.

28

I LIFT MY ARM TO move an overgrown leaf from my view, watching weakly as the last of the vehicles disappear from sight, their engines growing faint in the distance.

When the sounds don’t return, I know it’s because nobody is coming back for me.

But at least my friends have a chance to escape.

I glance at my arm, the flesh ravaged and scraped from the fall through the trees. Bits of bark are lodged in my skin, and fresh blood ripples out like crimson ribbons.

I sit up, squeamish, inspecting the wounds that cover my entire body.

It’s all in your head, I tell myself, and take the time to will at least some amount of the pain away.

It’s enough to help me stand, which is a start.

I stumble through the overgrown vegetation, pushing past banana leaves as thick as cardboard and ferns as tall as fences. Occasionally my feet get tangled in the bed of muddy grass, and I have to paw at the earth to free myself.

I walk for hours through the jungle, getting caught by stinging nettle and thorns along the way, until realizing how totally and completely lost I am. I’d hoped to find the beach by now, where I’d be able to scan the horizon in case Ahmet was able to make his way back.

But on top of being miserably incompetent as a resistance fighter, I also have no internal compass whatsoever.

I keep pushing through the overgrowth, eventually finding a tiny clearing with a moss-covered log half-sunken in the mud. I take a seat, rolling up my pant leg to inspect the gash in my shin.

I cup my hand over the oozing wound, close my eyes, and remember what Yeong taught me. I find my focus—will my skin to heal.

A chorus of whispers erupts around me.

Fff… ssss…