There’s no sign of a rescue team. No proof that my friends made it back safely. Worry knots in my throat, as tangled as the vines that surround me, but I try my best not to think about the things I can’t control. Because it won’t help—not here, when I’m all on my own.

I find a break in the mountain, where a bed of rocks creates a makeshift surface, and take a seat. Stretching my legs in front of me, I rub the aches from my muscles and retrieve the dagger from my belt. I spend some time working on its edges, mastering its shape and perfecting the handle. And while the edges are still blunt, the point is sharp.

Pleased, I press a finger against the red glass. It’s the first thing I’ve made in Infinity that wasn’t a dress. Proof that somewhere, deep down, I’m stronger than I know.

Maybe even strong enough to survive.

I’m so distracted by my own accomplishment that I don’t notice the cold sweeping in until frost catches my blade. I’m on my feet in an instant, casting my gaze across the rocks. All around me, the once-bright-green vegetation begins to die. Weeds curl at their tips, and the grass on the mountain wilts over itself before turning a lifeless brown. Something makes its way toward me, sucking all the life from the earth as it passes. A blur of dull light and cloud.

I take a step back in alarm, fist tight around my unfinished weapon. The faceless being moves closer, translucent and trailing frost behind it. It expands, taller and wider until it’s nearly the size of me, and I hear the unmistakable sound of a human wail.

The shape twists and contorts like it’s desperate to make itself solid. Like it wants to make itself whole.

When it cries, it releases the chill of death, taking more of the surrounding grass with it. The cold finds me, and it’s as if every drop of blood begins to drain from my body. I feel weightless and horrified, all at once.

I take another step back, waving my knife in front of me in warning, but the strange cloud pushes closer like it’s being drawn toward me by some otherworldly force. I slash across the air diagonally, and the edge of my hand just brushes the wailing mist.

For a brief moment, I feel what it wants. What it’s longing for.

A connection.

I hesitate, listening to the haunting wails while death coats the ground all around me. Maybe I’m ridiculous to answer its call, but I can’t help wondering how long it’s been out here, all alone, searching for someone in the dense, seemingly endless jungle.

I think of the girl in the palace, so desperate to tell me something. So desperate for help.