Harper ran.

Twisting corridors unfurled before her, a labyrinth of dark shadows and oil paintings, and Harper chose a direction at random. Air. She needed air. Music drifted out from the ballroom, a swell of violins and piano, accompanied by tinkling laughter. The party had moved indoors. Someone was singing, loudly and off-key; it sounded like Alisdair.

Harper picked up her skirts, hurrying down the stairs. A starless void was opening in her chest, choking the air from her lungs. She couldn't breathe. A terrible burning sensation pricked at her eyes, and she rushed for the door.

"Harper!" a voice called.

Footsteps sounded behind her.

Harper squeezed her eyes shut. She would have recognized those footsteps anywhere. Blind. Delirious. Nearly dead. They haunted her dreams; she was more likely to forget her own name than the sound of those steps.

She leaned against the door. "Just leave me alone, Lawson."

"Wait," Lawson said breathlessly. "Please."

She could feel the heat of him, so deliciously close and tantalizing. He touched her shoulder, tentatively at first, and Harper half-closed her eyes. She should push him away. Logically, she knew that.

She just wasn't sure that she was strong enough.

"Don't." Harper hardly recognized her voice. "Please don't make this any harder."

"Will you look at me?" Lawson asked softly.

Slowly, Harper turned.

Lawson was looking down at her, his eyelashes the color of soot. His black tie was coming undone, and his cheeks were flushed from running. He looked unfairly beautiful, Harper thought, a lump rising in her throat; even now, she wanted to photograph him. To save this moment in film.

"I do like you," Lawson murmured. "I've never liked anyone as much as I like you, Harper. But I don't know how to give you pieces of myself." His hand slid to cup her neck. "It scares the shit out of me."

That ache in her chest turned raw. "Oh, Lawson."

"I just need some time." Lawson searched her face. "To sort things out."

"Time," Harper echoed dully.

"Yeah."

"Without me."

It wasn't a question. Lawson's fingers brushed the back of her neck, and it struck Harper as slightly unfair that you could be standing so close to someone and still feel a million miles away from them. She steeled herself.

"Lawson," Harper said. "I can't just wait around for you to make up your mind. I deserve someone that thinks I'm the greatest thing in the world." She held his gaze. "And if you don't agree with that, then you don't really respect me."

"You are the greatest thing in the world." His voice was desperate. "I've thought that since the moment I met you. I still think that."

"But?" Harper prompted.

A pulse jumped in his throat. "I'm just not ready yet."

Right.

Crushing disappointment filled her. The flood of it was almost painful, like too much blood rushing into your numb hands, and Harper suddenly wished that she somewhere else. Anywhere else than here, in this empty entrance hall, nose-to-nose with a boy in a suit that was breaking her heart.

"That's a shame," she managed.

"Show me," Lawson said hoarsely. "Tell me how to open up to you."

"Don't you get it yet?" Harper asked. "You don't choose to give your heart away. You just do it." She looked down. "And you never know how much of your heart you've given away until someone breaks it."

Lawson inhaled sharply. His hand slackened — just a fraction — but it was enough that Harper slipped out of his hold. This time, when she reached for the door, Lawson didn't try to stop her; he just stood there, hands in pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Harper swallowed. "So am I."

She stepped outside. The gardens were empty, and the night air was filled with the cloying scent of roses. Somewhere, a bird was calling in the trees. And as Harper continued down the dirt path, she waited for someone to call back, but nobody ever did; the bird's mournful song drifted upwards, lost in the tangle of dark clouds.

The rain was picking up.

Harper hardly felt it as she ran. She'd ditched the heels back at Huntingdon Estate, sprinting barefoot through the damp grass. Trees blurred past in fingerprint smudges of olive and burnt coffee. Her hair was coming loose, mud splashing all over her lovely golden skirts. She hadn't realized where she was going until the bridge came into view.

It rose from the water like the spine of some prehistoric animal, gleaming bone-white in the moonlight. The bridge looked almost lonely, Harper thought, a broken, jagged thing, left to guard the Estate from invaders.

She drew closer.

Harper shivered, so cold that she almost felt feverish. She couldn't unhear Lawson's words to her; they played on a loop in her head, over and over, carving themselves into her brain with maddening precision.

You live in a fantasy world where things have to be perfect and planned out all the time.

A spark of anger filled her. He was wrong about her.

She'd prove him wrong.

Okay, Mom, Harper thought, her mouth flattening. Let's touch the stars.

She sprinted for the bridge. Rain stung her face, and an odd desire to laugh filled her. The world flew by in comets of yellow and silver. Her dress threw off golden sparks. She was a burning star in the night, blazing through dark skies. She was nothing. She was everything.

Harper felt the stone give first.

A chunk of it broke away, crumbling into the water below. She reacted instinctively, scrambling backwards, but it was too late; more stone followed. She recalled Griffin once saying something about how bridges worked, about the balance of compressive forces, but she could no longer remember the exact wording.

Anyway, it didn't matter.

She was already tumbling towards the icy water.

A/N: Hello lovely readers,

It feels almost cruel to leave you on this (quite literal) cliffhanger, but you know I live for the chaos ;)

Question of the Day: what's your go-to karaoke song? Don't judge me, but I always end up singing "Promiscuous" by Nelly Furtado and Timbaland (I'm Timbaland, naturally)

Affectionately,

J.K.