Starting with her feet, she used her balled-up T-shirt to scrub at her skin. When that didn’t prove good enough, she grabbed a handful of gravel from the riverbed and scoured the skin, relishing in the sharp pain. She sobbed as she worked upwards to her waist—kneeling in the shallow water, spending the most time on her hands, and her face where the warm blood had poured onto her. She closed her eyes briefly and Lucas’s glassy eyes flashed across her vision.

Hiccupping, Romy waited for the water to run clear before submerging her head. She did it ten times, scratching at her scalp in the cool water. She had to get rid of it all. She keened as she scrubbed at her scalp harder and harder.

Occupied with the crazed, frantic scrubbing of her head, she didn’t notice the person behind her until a shadow fell across the rock in front of her.

The person said something, but it was lost in her terror as her muscles tensed to bolt. But she didn’t have time to move before she was encased in iron arms—a man’s. One arm under her breasts, and the other firm across her mouth. Recovering, Romy screamed into the hand and threw herself backwards.

The tall man grunted and fell back, but otherwise didn’t budge.

Romy kicked her legs, trying to dislodge the person’s hold. Water was erupting everywhere, and the muffled yells she made seemed loud to her own ears, but she knew the sound would never travel the two hundred metres to her knot.

Why did she make Elara leave?

On second thought, Romy had never been happier that she did. Maybe her knot would make it out alive.

“Rosemary. Stop.”

That voice!

Romy wrenched her head to one side to confirm it. Grey eyes stared down at her. Angry eyes.

Atlas.

Anger gave her strength she never knew she had. Romy ripped her head to the other side, dislodging the hand from her mouth. Then she bit down on his forearm. Hard.

She took a huge breath, ready to let out an almighty scream as he yelled in pain.

“Really, Atlas,” another voice reprimanded.

A sharp sensation stabbed into her shoulder.

Romy’s vision blurred. Her head lolled against the arms of a man she loathed. She hated that her death was in his arms.

Shining spectacles twinkled in front of her.

Houston.

Everyone on Earth was a lying traitor.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Her mind was slamming against her skull.

Romy groaned, lifting a hand to her temple. Her stomach rolled as the ground lurched beneath her.

“Rise and shhhhhine.”

It spoke for how terrible she felt that Romy didn’t react to Houston’s voice by clawing his eyes out. Forcing her eyes open, she took stock.