My vision was covered in a blanket of morning fog. The thick kind, that stings you with pinpricks of cold and makes your breath come in raspy clouds of condensation.

It was enough to cloak most of what I saw. All I could make out was the forest canopy above me, a haze of emerald green dancing amongst the white. It was a vibrant, mossy colour that registered with it some sort of familiarity, but my brain was slow and fumbled over it as I tried to process what I was doing here.

I was laying down. I could feel the thick underbrush cradling my neck, the soil cold against my bare legs.

It was then that I worked out I was dreaming, or at least that I wasn't completely conscious, because I couldn't rotate my head to look anywhere but above me.

I focused on my senses. I could smell the wet soil beneath my body, the earth moist from the overnight rain. I could hear the low coos of birds and the whispers of leaves moving in the slow, delicate wind. I could feel something cool in my right hand, it was smooth and shaped perfectly for my fist to grip, which was evident as I tightened my fingers.

It was a handle of something. Something with weight to it, something about the length of my forearm.

My hand rose, as if by some kind of uncontrollable force. I was a marionette puppet, my limbs controlled by an invisible rope. As if it was desperate to distract me, my mind directed my focus to my toes.

I wiggled them, soil falling around my bare feet.

And then there was a stinging sensation across my throat, a hoarse pain that only grew. It felt as if I was screaming at the top of my lungs, desperate enough to rip at my voice box from the outside. But all I could hear were the birds lightly chatting in the branches high above me.

Wake up.

The instruction was loud, cracking through the far away noises of the forest as if it were muttered directly into my ears. The tone was demanding; it was an order. But what did it mean? How could I wake up?

The stinging furthered to the point where I was squirming, my tangled hair catching in the leaves and bark on which I lay. I tried to yell, to scream, but I had no control over my mouth to utter a sound.

There was a warm and sticky liquid pooling around my hand. I felt it flow slowly, cloaking the insides of my fingers and sliding revoltingly down the side of my neck, carving its path on the planes of my chest.

WAKE UP.

The voice was louder, so loud that I realised it was coming from my own lips.

I sat upwards.

The knife fell to the ground, the wet blade caking the dirt around it in a muddy scarlet.

My hands rushed to my neck in an instinctive action to cover the wound. The wound I'd inflicted on myself, in the middle of the forest, early in the morning. So early that nobody would know I was gone.

I gasped for air. Someone wanted me dead. And it wasn't me, I knew that for sure. The revelation hit me so hard that it brought temporary relief to the shallow cut made across my throat, because instead I was flushed with an overwhelming fear that could outweigh any physical pain.

He's trying to kill me.

My feet pounded along the earth, scraping against twigs and rocks and drawing blood, matching the wound at my neck. The clothes I'd fallen asleep in were soaked with warm red, and I was sure it was enough to kill me if I didn't stop the flow soon.

But I couldn't stop it, I had to run.

I didn't know how deep into the forest I was, for all I knew he'd had me wander in so deep I'd never find my way to the paths again. I was choking. Had Isaac noticed I'd strayed from his bed, and somehow found a knife from his apartment?

The wet and sticky metal flashed through my mind, and I let out a tangled scream. Maybe if I kept running in one direction I'd eventually find a path, or anything that could lead me back.

Only, I wasn't sure if I wanted to go back.

I stopped, clutching my throat. I assessed what I was wearing – a long-sleeved shirt and ripped jeans, possibly torn from scraping against underbrush. I didn't even have a jacket, and my bones felt like they were chattering in the cold. I needed to do something to stop the flow, the blood had seeped deep into the collar of my shirt and completely coated my fingers scarlet.

I squatted to the floor, peeling my shirt off. Beneath it, I was wearing a thin sleeveless shirt, and I took that off too, figuring I was better off keeping the long sleeve to shield me from the cold.

Once I'd managed to pull the long-sleeved back on, the gash stinging as the material brushed over it, I tied the undershirt around my neck, as if making some sort of fashion statement with a white scarf tarnished with red.

The wound combined with the running was making me faint, the tree trunks swirling into blurs of brown and green, colliding with my body as I continued my journey forward, unaware of the particular direction I was going. I needed help. I needed to warn Isaac, to get Gia and Bel far away from the university. But, as proven by my unwilling suicide attempt, I was weak.

But, I wasn't weak enough to do it, to slash into my throat and bleed to death on the damp forest ground. I'd stopped it, I'd woken up. I was awake.

My feet were stumbling beneath me as I used my hands to push away leaves and branches. The national park was maybe thirty square kilometres, and judging by the blisters rubbing at my feet I'd wandered pretty far inwards. The sun was only just rising – the last time I'd seen the time had been one in the morning according to the digital numbers of Isaac's clock, nestled beside the warmth of his body. That left around six hours unaccounted for.

My breathing was thick, and after what felt like only another hundred meters or so I hunched over, coughing. My dry blood was thickly coating my hands, dark in the creases of my palm and riddled with dirt over my fingers. My stomach turned at the sight, the picture reminding me so strongly of Gia's skin the night she'd come home after the party.

I had to run again. I had to get back to them, even if it was just to protect them, even just to try. I needed to keep them safe, even if they were at his mercy.

I forced my feet to move again, one foot at a time, dodging rocks and falling branches. My breathing was loud and laboured, and if anyone was in proximity they'd hear me coming from a mile away. I needed them to hear me, I needed help. I couldn't survive out here – not with the deep gash in my neck. And I couldn't die here either.

Why did he suddenly want to kill me? Had he found out my plans, the ones I'd concocted with Isaac? A cold chill ran through my veins. Had he killed Isaac already?

Adrenaline spiked in my bloodstream, pumping fast through my body as I picked up the pace, ignoring the incoherentness of my thoughts and powering through my screaming limbs.

As a kid, I'd challenge my brother to races through the shrubbery separating our land from our neighbour's. I'd push through the burn just to triumph, to end up at least a second in front of him as we crossed the finish line. I transported my mind back to that moment, to the innocent race between siblings.

I couldn't let him know I'd lived. I had an advantage now, and that was that he thought I was dead. Well, that was if he didn't have some sixth sense that allowed him to assess the so-called balance of energy. If he was responsible for my death, did that mean he'd get my power? Was that what this was about?

I let out a scream of frustration as I pushed past another tree to find a break in the thick shrubbery. I was on a hill, fog filtering out before me. Squinting, I tried desperately to make something – anything – out, to work out whether I was growing closer or whether I was slipping deeper into a dire fate.

But then I saw it. The faint twinkling. Maybe it was my delirious mind, or maybe it was the lights of campus.

I tore down the hill, not judging the steepness of the slope. My feet landed heavily before each other, my speed growing until it was uncontrollable. My heel rolled on a stray pebble and sent me falling, my butt hitting the ground and sliding in the mud, and then I was tumbling.

Bumps bruised my body and mud now rivalled the blood coating me, but I couldn't let up now. As soon as I'd stopped falling I pushed myself to my feet again, my lungs burning with each breath.

I had to make sure he was okay. I had to somehow go unnoticed in contacting my friends. Maybe this was his biggest weapon against me, his ability to make sure I was alone. After all, I was rendered weak if I was isolated and scared. Maybe he needed me weak to control me.

His power had never felt as tangible as it did now, not even when our skin had connected and a current had streamed between us. Now, his power was all around me, laughing in my face, daring me to make my next move. Only, I was outnumbered. I was outnumbered by my own friends. 

My heart broke, my worry for Isaac twisting around me and almost making me fall to the ground, bundled in a ball and hidden from humanity. I'd told him too much, and that had put him in danger. But, I needed to keep going, I had to know what happened, and I had to do what I could, even if there was nobody left to help.

The trees were neverending. I must have been running for at least an hour, and the shrubbery was still as thick and menacing as ever. My hope was dwindling, as well as my sanity. I pondered the idea of finishing the job. The idea of following through with his wishes and plunging the blade deep into my throat was now almost inviting compared to the terrors I was bound to face.

He'd probably kill me himself once he knew. Or get someone else to do it, more likely. Maybe he'd sit at his desk and laugh. He was insane, after all.

And maybe death would be a freedom in itself. Maybe it would take away his enjoyment of toying with my friends. It would give him no reason to hold them over me anymore, and maybe it would set them free.

But, it would also make him stronger, stronger than he already was. It would be selfish, but it would also be so easy.

How many more people would he control? Or kill? How long would it be before someone else could rival his power, until someone else could do what he could?

I steadied my breathing now, the cloth tight over my throat as I gripped the nearest tree trunk. Surely I'd have found a path by now, or seen someone, or—

Then I saw it, a clearing maybe five meters away. As I stepped closer I saw a building, one I recognised. My apartment block, my home with Gia and Bel.

It took everything in me to not run towards it, to not enter the room and throw my arms around my best friends. I couldn't trust them right now, as much as I wanted to. I had to think clearly and strategically, I had to let him believe I was dead, that he'd succeeded.

I gulped in air, still frozen in place as I tried to think of what to do. My heart was telling me to find Isaac, to make sure he was okay. But, if he'd captured Isaac too, then that was what he'd be expecting.

I clutched my throat again, waiting for my breathing to even. My thoughts were travelling so fast, running into each other and overlapping until they were a blur of hysteria.

I had to think clearly, I couldn't rush in. I needed logic. I needed patience. I needed—

I'd hardly worked out what else it was that I needed. Because, before I could form a plan, a sudden impact crashed into the back of my head, knocking me to the ground.

The last thing I remembered was the cold mud against my cheek. Then, nothing.

sorry for taking so long to get this chapter to you! i've got the type of mind that just obsessives over a certain project and i can't stop until it's done. but that's okay, because awake is my next priority -- i want it finished by the end of january, so here's hoping!

thanks so much for reading! who (or what) do you think knocked Aspen out?