Author's pov:
The world was a blur of grey streaks and the smell of hot rubber.
Nine-year-old Fallon gripped the edges of her leather seat until her knuckles turned white.
Outside, the rain was falling so hard it sounded like gravel being dumped onto the roof of the car. It was loud, but it wasn't loud enough to drown out the engine's scream as her father pushed the speedometer higher.
"Don't look back, Sophia," her father said. His voice was tight, vibrating with a kind of fear she had never heard before. He always called her by her middle name when things were serious. "Just keep your eyes on me. Do you hear me?"
Fallon didn't listen. She couldn't help it. She twisted her small body in the passenger seat, peering through the rear window. Through the sheet of rain and the spray of water from their tires, she saw them.
Three black SUVs. They looked like predators—heavy, dark, and relentless. They didn't have their headlights on, but every few seconds, a flash of light would erupt from their windows.
Pop. Pop-pop.
"They're shooting!" Fallon screamed, flinching as something metallic sparked off the side mirror. The glass shattered instantly, disappearing into the night.
"Get down!" her father roared. He reached over with one hand, shoving her shoulder toward the floorboards. "Stay low, Sophia! Don't you dare move!"
Fallon huddled in the cramped footwell, her face pressed against her knees. She could feel every jolt of the car, every sharp turn that threatened to flip them over. The floor vibrated beneath her, and she could smell her father's sweat—sharp and bitter.
"Everything is going to be fine," he said, though his breath was coming in ragged gasps. He was fighting the steering wheel as the car hydroplaned across the slick asphalt. "I've got you. I've got you, baby. We're almost there."
But they weren't almost anywhere. They were on a stretch of highway that felt like it led into the mouth of a monster.
Another burst of gunfire rang out. This time, the back window exploded. Shards of glass rained down on Fallon's back like icy diamonds. She tucked her head between her arms, a high-pitched whimper escaping her throat. The cold wind rushed into the car, carrying the scent of rain and gunpowder.
"Listen to me!" her father shouted over the roar of the storm.
Fallon looked up. His face was illuminated by the flickering dashboard lights. He looked older than he had ten minutes ago. There was blood trickling down his temple, though she didn't know where it came from.
"When this car stops—and it's going to stop, Sophia—I need you to move," he said. He glanced at the rearview mirror, his eyes widening as the SUVs began to flank them, box them in.
"No," Fallon sobbed. "Daddy, no."
"You listen!" He gripped the wheel so hard the veins in his arms popped. "If we get out of this car, you run. Do you understand me? You don't look back for me. You don't stop for anything. You run into the trees and you keep going until your legs break. You don't wait. Not for a second."
"I'm not leaving you!"
"You will!" he screamed, the car fishtailing as a bullet finally found a tire.
The world began to tilt. The screech of metal on pavement was deafening, a bone-chilling sound that felt like it was tearing Fallon's ears apart.
Crunch.
The car flipped. Once. Twice. Glass shattered into a million tiny knives that sliced through the air.
Sophia hung upside down by her seatbelt, the cold wind rushing into the broken cabin.
The impact threw Sophia against the door. Her head hit the glass, and for a moment, the world went black.
When she opened her eyes, the car was tilted at an angle, resting in a ditch. The rain was pouring through the broken windows, soaking her clothes in seconds. It was quiet. Too quiet.
"Daddy?" she whispered. Her voice was small, swallowed by the mud.
Her father was leaning against the steering wheel, coughing. He fumbled with his seatbelt, his movements clumsy and slow. Outside, the sound of heavy car doors slamming shut echoed through the trees. The black SUVs had stopped.
He turned to her, his eyes glassy. He reached out, his bloody thumb brushing her cheek one last time.
"Run, Sophia," he breathed, his voice a ghost of a command. "Run now."
"RUN!" her father screamed, his voice breaking into a desperate, hollow howl.
Fellon jolted upright in her bunk, a raw, strangled cry tearing from her throat.
She was gasping for air, her lungs burning as if she had actually been sprinting through the mud.
Her heart was a frantic drum.
She was soaked—her nightshirt glued to her skin with cold, salty sweat.
For a few seconds, she stared into the pitch-black dorm room, her eyes wide and wild, searching for the man with the umbrella.
It's been eleven years, still she have the same dream again and again every night.
She wasn't on the highway. She was in a room that smelled of fresh floor wax and the nervous energy of a hundred other students.
The dorm was arranged in a practical, cramped layout.
Four lofted beds stood against the walls, and directly beneath each bunk was a study table, crowded with laptops, textbooks, and the unopened dreams of the first year.
Fellon lay on one of the lofts, the dark silhouette of her desk and chair just inches beneath her. Across the small space, the other lofts stood like shadows.
It was their very first night with the other three girls, who are now, her roommates.
Yesterday, they were strangers meeting over luggage. Tonight, they were witnesses to her terror.
The overhead light snapped on, harsh and blinding.
"Hey, hey! Are you okay?" Amber Rosewood was off her bed in a heartbeat. She scrambled to Fellon's side, her honey-blonde hair a tangled mess. At 5'5", she looked small, but her presence was a physical force of warmth. She didn't know Fellon yet, but she reached out and grabbed the girl's shaking hands without hesitation.
"You were screaming," a calm, low voice added.
Elsa Kingsley stood by the light switch. Standing 5'8", with black hair and sharp green eyes, she looked like a statue carved from ice. She stayed by her own study table, watching Fellon with a clinical, quiet gaze that missed nothing.
"I... I'm sorry," Fellon managed to say, her voice trembling. "I didn't mean to wake you."
Liliana Ashford sat up in her bed. She rubbed her eyes, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders. At 5'7", same as me, she had a steady, balanced energy. Her hazel eyes were soft with concern. "It's okay. First nights in a new place are always hard. Was it a nightmare?"
Fellon couldn't tell them. She couldn't admit anything about her past, or that the sound of the rain outside made her feel like she was dying. She pulled her knees to her chest. "Just a bad dream. I'm fine."
Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.
The rain hit the dorm window. Fellon flinched. It was raining in reality, too.
"You're shaking," Elsa noted. She walked over to the window, passing the neatly organized study tables, and shut the blinds tight. "The rain is high-volume tonight. It's a disruptive sound."
"Let's just stay up," Amber suggested, her blue eyes bright. "It's officially our first day! Let's go to the kitchen and make breakfast."
The four of them moved into the small kitchenette. Elsa took charge of the coffee, moving with silent grace. Amber started flipping pancakes, her sunshine personality pushing back the shadows of Fellon's dream. Liliana sat next to Fellon at the small table, spreading out their schedules.
"We have orientation in two hours," Liliana said. "We should go in as a group."
"I agree," Amber said, handing Fellon pancakes. She hadn't asked how she liked it; she had simply observed.
Fellon hid her trembling hands behind the warm mug, which Elsa had passed her. Only twenty-four hours ago, these girls were strangers. Now, they were a shield.
Amber's chatter drowned out the roar of the rain, while Elsa's silent watchfulness offered a different kind of security.
In the flickering light of the kitchen, they weren't a family yet, but as they sat together, the horror of the highway felt just a little bit further away.
"Eat up, Fal," Amber chirped. "We're going to walk onto that campus today and show everyone exactly who we are."
Fellon forced a smile. She looked at her reflection—flame-red hair and grey eyes—and tried to believe it.
She was Fellon now.
Sophia was a ghost.
As they finished breakfast, the rain outside grew louder. Fellon felt a cold shiver run down her spine. Today was the start of her first year—a chance to be someone new.
But as she went back to her study table to grab her bag, she felt an instinctual dread.
The man from the highway felt closer than he ever had before.
"Ready to go?" Liliana asked, standing by the door.
"Ready," Fellon lied, stepping out with them into the storm.