I fished out the last crumpled bills from my pocket, hoping to find somewhere to sleep for the night.
But the moment I stepped toward a small motel, the woman behind the counter spat in my face.
"You're that little con artist from the news, aren't you? Get out!"
I hadn't eaten all day.
The wounds on my body had already begun to fester, oozing with infection. I pressed my palm to my forehead. It was burning. My legs refused to carry me another step, and I crumpled beside a dumpster in a narrow alley.
People passed by. The ones who recognized me hurled rotten eggs and slop water, aiming straight for my open wounds without a shred of hesitation.
I missed the quiet of the mountain. I missed my mentor.
But I knew I couldn't leave.
Tomorrow was Ian Delgado's birthday.
When he'd had his hand around my throat earlier, I'd already felt it — his pulse, erratic and fractured beyond repair.
I needed to see that moment.
The thought dragged me to my feet. I braced one hand against the wall, clenched my teeth, and staggered forward.
I made it one step before the world went black.
I woke to the familiar scent of medicinal herbs.
Fighting through the soreness that wracked every inch of my body, I gritted my teeth and sat up. Alaric Abbott was beside me, carefully applying a poultice to my wounds.
"Mentor Alaric, I can't go back yet..."
His eyes were full of ache as he tended to the festering, inflamed gashes across my skin.
"I know. You want to wait until his birthday..."
He never finished the sentence.
A commotion erupted outside. The door exploded inward, kicked clean off its hinges, and over a dozen men stormed into the room.
They pinned me down. The one in front drew a knife from inside his jacket and drove it straight into Alaric's heart.
I screamed, a raw, animal sound, and lunged toward him.
But the moment I got to my feet, Ian walked through the doorway and backhanded me to the floor.
He stared down at me with pure revulsion.
"So that's why you've been hanging around. The little fraud has a hideout."
He planted his foot on Alaric's wound, the one still weeping blood, and ground down.
"Talk. He's the one who put you up to all of this, isn't he?"
"Get off him!"
I crawled to Ian's feet, grabbed his ankle with trembling hands, and forced the words out.
"If it weren't for him, you'd already be dead! Let him go!"
Ian looked down at me, shaking and broken at his feet.
A twisted smile curled the corner of his mouth.
"Sure."
He pulled out his phone and tossed it at my knees.
"Record a video admitting you're a fraud. Then I'll let the old man go."
"Clara, don't — don't record it..."
Alaric's eyes were bloodshot, fixed on me, his head shaking over and over.
But before he could finish, Ian ripped the knife from Alaric's chest and plunged it down again, this time near the artery in his neck.
Blood erupted in a geyser, painting the air red.
I threw myself toward Alaric, every limb shaking, but Ian caught me and held me back.
"So that's a no, Clara? Then I guess the old man bleeds out today."
"I'll do it. I'll record it."
Ian watched the video and smiled, satisfied. He finally agreed to send Alaric to the hospital.
The ambulance had barely pulled up to the emergency entrance when a young nurse rushed over and shoved a thick stack of forms into my arms.
"Miss, the patient is critical. You need to go pay right now!"
My mind went to my frozen bank accounts, and my body locked in place.
"Hurry! If you don't pay now, he's going to bleed to death!"
The nurse kept pressing. I forced my stiff legs to move and slowly turned to face Ian, who stood behind me.
"Ian. All my accounts are frozen. Could you..."
