Becca

The moon hangs like a silver sickle in the velvet sky as I stand alone at the edge of the forest, my breath forming misty clouds in the chill night air. My heart thunders against my ribs, each beat a heavy drum of trepidation and resolve. I wrap my arms around myself, seeking warmth not just from the cold, but also from the creeping tendrils of doubt that seek to ensnare me.

“Jacob,” I whisper into the darkness, my voice barely above the rustling leaves. The shadows ...