Tristin stood on the shore, watching the sun set. He had been given three days.
Just three days.
It shouldn’t have been so difficult. His face was still his face. She should have recognized him even without his voice.
She should have known that it was him.
She didn’t know him at all.
He had tried so hard and failed. Three days of trying. Three days of failing.
Tristin heard the sound of her laughter in the salted seaweed air. He glanced back.
She ran across the beach. Her bright red hair flowing behind her head like a horse’s mane.
The familiar pinprick sensation came over his legs.
The sensation deepened into a dagger’s stabbing.
Tristin winced and cringed as the pain worsened. He staggered into the water. His feet became clumsy. His legs became unstable. He tripped and fell face first.
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