Torn Between Destinies-Chapter 17 - Seventeen

I didn’t sleep.

Even after slipping back into the woods, even as the sun crept over the hills and washed the world in gray-gold light—I didn’t sleep. My thoughts were too loud. My heartbeat too fast.

Kiani saw me.

And I saw her.

Not just as the abused little girl hunched in the shadows of John’s house, but as my sister—blood of my blood.

She had our mother’s eyes.

The same silver-gray, soft and sad, rimmed with thick lashes like a shadow curtain. The same way they darted away when someone raised their voice. But there was more—something sharp and clear underneath the fear. A spark. A flicker of fight.

And now that I’d touched the truth, I couldn’t turn away.

I had to reach her.

By midday, the air turned warm and sticky. Flies buzzed over rotting apples in the grass near the fence line. John was outside again, tinkering with something near the tractor. Aira hung laundry silently, her face a blank mask. Kiani wasn’t in sight.

She’s in the house.

I waited. I needed a moment when John wasn’t watching. I needed to get close enough to talk to her—just for a few seconds. Enough to say who I was. Enough to tell her I was here to take her away.

The old shed on the west side gave a better angle. I slipped into it through the rusted side door and peered through the narrow slats in the wall.

Kiani stepped out onto the porch, a chipped plastic bowl in her hands.

She bent to feed the chickens. John didn’t even glance her way.

I crept from the shed and looped around behind the barn. If I moved fast, if I caught her before she went back inside—

I sprinted across the grass, low as a wolf, and crouched behind the last row of bushes.

She turned.

Saw me.

Her eyes didn’t widen. She didn’t flinch.

She took one small step toward the bushes.

"Hi," I whispered.

She clutched the bowl to her chest like a shield.

"I saw you last night," she whispered back.

"I know. I saw you too."

"Are you real?"

I smiled. "Yeah. I’m real."

She crept closer. The way she moved—light-footed, careful, like someone used to making herself invisible—made my chest ache.

"What’s your name?" she asked.

"Luciana."

She tilted her head. "That’s pretty."

I smiled. "What’s your name?"

"Kiani."

"I like that. Can I tell you something, Kiani?"

She nodded slowly.

"I’m your sister."

She blinked. "No, you’re not."

"Yes. I’m your big sister. We have the same mom—Aira. You’ve seen her cry sometimes, haven’t you?"

She looked down at her toes. "Yes."

"Do you know why?"

"Because Daddy’s mean."

My jaw clenched. "Yes. He is. And he’s not your real daddy."

She looked up at me. Confused. Hopeful. "He’s not?"

"No. He took Mama away a long time ago. But now I’ve found her. And I’ve found you. I came to bring you both somewhere safe."

"Somewhere with no yelling?"

"Yes. And no hitting. And no scary nights."

Her lower lip trembled. "Do you promise?"

"With everything I have."

She stepped forward then and crouched in front of the bush. Her small hand reached through the leaves and touched mine.

Her fingers were warm and shaking.

"You feel real," she whispered.

"I am."

"I want to go with you."

"I’ll come back when it’s dark. Can you sneak outside again? Just like last night?"

She nodded quickly.

"I’ll bring food and warm clothes. Stay quiet until then. Can you do that?"

Another nod.

And then the door behind her creaked.

"Kiani!" John’s voice snapped.

She flinched and bolted up. "Coming!"

She turned to me, panic in her eyes.

"Go," I whispered. "Now."

She ran to the porch, nearly tripping on her own feet. I ducked low, heart hammering, until I heard the door slam behind her.

And then I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

She was brave.

Braver than I’d been at that age.

And now I had a promise to keep.

That night, I crept through the woods again, a small satchel slung over my shoulder. Inside were two rolls of bread, a blanket, an old hoodie I’d found abandoned behind the inn, and a small bottle of water. It wasn’t much, but it would help.

The house was dark.

But the window on the far side glowed with a weak yellow light.

Kiani.

I waited beneath the trees, just like last time, and finally, the back door opened.

She slipped out barefoot, a small bundle clutched in her arms.

I ran to meet her halfway, catching her before she lost her balance.

"You came," she whispered.

"So did you."

I pulled her into a hug.

She trembled in my arms.

And for a moment, I forgot how angry I was. How scared. How broken I’d felt these last few weeks.

All I knew was this little girl, trembling and silent, trusted me.

And she needed saving.

We moved fast through the woods. I carried her when she got tired, whispering gentle words into her hair.

"Where are we going?" she asked once we’d crossed the stream that bordered John’s land.

"To someone who can help. A friend. After that, we go somewhere new. Somewhere far away."

"Will Mama come too?"

"Yes. Soon."

We reached the hollow tree where I’d been sleeping. I set her down and wrapped the blanket around her.

She looked around at the branches, the nest of leaves, the stars above.

"It’s kind of pretty out here."

"It is," I agreed. "You’re safe now."

She lay down, and I tucked the hoodie under her head.

She looked up at me with wide, tired eyes.

"Luciana?"

"Yeah?"

"You don’t talk like the people around here."

"That’s because I’m not from here. Not really."

"Where are you from?"

"A place you can’t see on a map."

She smiled faintly. "That sounds like a story."

"It is."

"Will you tell it to me?"

I sat beside her and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.

"Once upon a time, there was a girl who had a secret. A wild, beautiful secret. She was born in a place where people could run faster than the wind and talk to the moon..."

As I told her my story—our story—her breathing slowed.

She fell asleep holding my hand.

And I sat there, keeping watch, knowing the danger wasn’t over. That John would notice she was gone. That things might get worse before they got better.

But I also knew something else.

Kiani was safe.

And for the first time in what felt like forever... I wasn’t alone anymore.