Alina

The night air burned in my lungs as I stumbled deeper into the gardens. My dress caught against thorns, silk tearing in whispers that felt like laughter in the dark. The fountain’s sound faded behind me, replaced by the hollow thud of my heartbeat and the crunch of gravel under my shoes.

I didn’t know where the paths led. The Sterling gardens stretched like a labyrinth, hedges curling into walls, marble statues staring with blank eyes. I wanted to outrun them—the cameras, the ...