Immortal Consequences(126)

The person behind the face.

Past Wren. The person notorious for making mistake after mistake, leaving a path of destruction in her wake without remorse. The one who didn’t care to stop and think about how her actions might affect those around her. How her actions might hurt those she loved most in the world.

This new version of herself, with her perfect grades and holier-than-thou disposition, was nothing but a character. A projection for others to see. A way of forgetting about Past Wren and replacing her with something palatable. Something good.

If she could forget about her past, she could forget about the accident. She could put it all behind her.

That was why she had clung to the Decennial with such desperation. Why she had become obsessed with the idea of academic grandeur. But now, all of those dreams, all of that hope inside her had been crushed.

How could she live with herself if she chose to become an Ascended, knowing what it had cost her?

A noise rattled in the distance. It was hard to make out exactly what it was, but she could tell that someone was calling out for help, a palpable desperation in their voice.

August’s words echoed in her mind like a warning bell.

Remember what I told you. About saving yourself.

Wren cursed under her breath. August would simply have to forgive her.

She darted out of the room and into the corridor. She ran, the voice growing louder with every passing second. There was a quality about the voice that sounded familiar—a sharp, commanding tone she knew well. And that was when Wren saw her.

Irene.

She was at the end of an impossibly long corridor. Her body was sinking into the floorboards, her legs consumed by a thick black liquid. She writhed helplessly, hands clawing at the ground in front of her, but it seemed that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get herself out.

“Help!”

Wren didn’t stop to think. She just started running.

If she could get there quickly enough, if she could silence the panic and focus on the air rushing into her lungs, she could save Irene. Offer her a bit more time. But the liquid was dragging Irene down faster than Wren had anticipated. Creeping over her legs and thighs.

By the time Wren arrived, sliding over the floor next to her, the dark ooze was up to Irene’s waist.

Wren reached out her hand. “Grab on! I’ll pull you out.”

Irene’s eyes were wide. Panicked. She nodded, teeth chattering.

Their hands locked together. Irene’s palm was damp with sweat and whatever that strange black liquid was, but Wren held on, gritting her teeth, pulling with all her might.

Wren teetered forward. Dangerously close.

“Hold on!”

The liquid rose past Irene’s waist. Up toward her chest. Slowly engulfing her neck. Her arms slipped under, Wren’s own hand sinking in. But she still didn’t let go.

She couldn’t allow herself to give up.

“Please,” Wren whispered. Her grasp was slipping. If she kept hold of Irene’s hand, she knew she would fall in. That she would meet the same fate. But even knowing that, she couldn’t bring herself to abandon Irene.

“I can’t—” Irene choked as the mud trickled into her mouth. “Wren…I…I…”

And then something happened.

Irene’s panic-stricken face dropped. Her scream cut short. The terror in her eyes vanished.

Her lips curled into a smile.

“Wren,” she whispered. But something wasn’t right. This wasn’t Irene’s voice. “Always such a good girl.”

And then the thing that looked like Irene grabbed Wren by the neck and pulled her under.

* * *

Wren landed flat on her stomach, hands breaking her fall. Dirt splattered onto her face, a bitter taste coating her mouth. She winced as she gathered herself onto her knees, eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings.

It was an open field, starlight dotting the night sky above her. The grass beneath her was dried and decaying, coming apart between her fingertips.

She had no time to think about what that creature was. Why it had chosen Irene’s face. She had to focus. There had to be a way out of here. It was clear that wherever she was, she’d veered from the correct path.

But before she could start moving, a voice rang out behind her.

“Loughty?”

August was standing a few yards away from her, chest heaving with every breath, his cheeks flushed. He had been running, sweat beading above his brow and down the muscles of his neck.

“August.” She closed the gap between them and threw her arms over his shoulders. Her hands instinctively cupped his face. She needed to know he was real. That it wasn’t just an illusion. But everything about him felt solid. Felt like him. “How are you here? Did you follow me?”

He pulled away and grabbed her firmly by the shoulders. “We need to leave. Now.”

“Leave?” Wren echoed incredulously. “Where? We can’t leave.”

“I know somewhere we can go.”

“But the soul vow—” She shook her head, his words jumbling in her ears. “We can’t. We have to finish the trial—”

“That doesn’t matter,” August interjected, gripping her hands and placing them against his chest. “I know a way out of it.”

“I don’t understand.” Panic seeped into Wren’s lungs, threatening to consume her like a raging river. “August. You’re not making any sense—”