even bother with stopping at the gym to change out of her sweat-drenched clothes. She runs straight through the school, out the front door and past the parking lot. Her car could get her farther faster, but nothing will offer the same ventilation, the same catharsis, as running till her legs give out.
Zodiac Guardian.
One of us.
What does any of that even mean? Is Brielle part of some freaky cult? Cassandra wouldn’t be surprised. Whatever it means, she wants nothing to do with Brielle and her black magic. She wants to be normal. She needs to be normal!
What will her father think?
She desperately pushes the thought away. She can’t think like that right now. Can’t let herself imagine the rejection waiting for her in that darkest of possibilities. One that is now closer to reality than it’s ever been.
Without meaning to, she lets in the memories she’s purposely blocked out. From the night of her abduction.
“Which Zodiac are you?” a masked and technologically deepened voice had asked as she was strapped to an uncomfortable chair.
“What are you talking about?” Cassandra had asked, her vision so blurred by tears of panic that she could barely make out the silhouette hovering between her and the too bright fluorescent light.
“They see something in you, or they wouldn’t be following you,” the voice declared. “So, which Zodiac Heir are you?”
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cassandra wept.
Another surge of cripplingly painful electricity coursed through her body, tightening every muscle in agony.
It seemed to last forever, but when it finally ceased, she had cried out. “What do you want?”
“We want the staff, you stupid girl,” said the voice mockingly, a hoarse and manipulated chuckle following. “Tell us where it is, and we might let you live.”
Cassandra cried, wanting desperately to give these people what they wanted so she could go back home. To her father, whose punishing persona was only mildly less awful than this.
“We’ll kill your family if you don’t tell us,” the masked figure said menacingly.
And suddenly, all fear and pain had vanished. In that moment, she didn’t care if they killed her. Didn’t care if they killed her family. Because, in all honesty, what was she living for? Her dad only cared enough to beat her when she messed up, and her mom didn’t even care enough for that! She’d survived worse than this torture before, and, as much as she hated to admit it, she’d probably survive this, too, and be no better or worse off.
“Do what you must, but I’m of no use to you,” Cassandra spat.
She’d tightened her hands, nails digging in deeper than they ever have before. No matter how much agony she was about to endure, her one win will be to keep her powers secret. She wouldn’t die weak. A failure.
“Oh trust me, we’ll do our absolute worst,” said the masked figure as it loomed over her, a twisted note of glee in that manipulated voice.
“I can take it,” Cassandra had whimpered, right before another surge tightened all her muscles in an agonizing seizure.
She must have fainted, because she can’t remember a single thing after. She’d lied to Tristan, of course, when he asked what she remembered of that night. Only because it was so horrible, she wished she could just forget it. Because her father would ask too many questions. And she never believed Brielle wasn’t involved. It had been Brielle and Tristan who’d saved her after all, and in the very same vicinity as Tristan’s parents were murdered under mysterious circumstances.
She’d tried her best to forget, to put it behind her. But hearing Brielle mention the term “Zodiac” just now has Cassandra’s mind stuck on that night like gum to a shoe.
Her legs have carried her a mile up the road, past Creamy Dreams where all her friends are laughing and enjoying a stress-free life. Oh, how she envies them. They have normal families, normal lives, normal teenage drama to deal with. She’d give anything to be the persona she portrays to them. The smart, confident, top-of-her-class girl with the world at her feet.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
She’s a fraud! A freak under the surface that no amount of concealer can hide. And now Brielle knows.
An oxygen deprived cramp has her coming to a halt, and she buckles over her bent and aching legs, gulping for air. Exaggerated and demanding pants force their way through her mouth, her chest heaving for dear life.
She can go no further.
“Cassandra?”
The voice is familiar, but