Pain brought her back again. New blows jolted her. One eye barely opened—the other was swollen shut. She saw darkness. After a few seconds, her brain caught up. She was in some tight, hard space. They were moving. The trunk. She was wrapped in some kind of cloth—soft, fuzzy. A towel, maybe. But it didn’t cushion the jolts on the bumpy road. Finally, the car stopped. She clenched her jaw and turned onto her side. They lifted her—one by the wrists, the other by the ankles. They began swinging her. Then—weightlessness. Then—a splash. The impact with water.

Softness. Coolness. Then—cold. No oxygen. The fabric clung to her face, blocking every breath. Panic hit like a hammer. Victoria thrashed, ignoring the agony in her body, fighting to break free. She managed to tear through the cloth and surged upward, her fiery hair streaming behind her. She kicked again and again, leaving a trail of blood in the water. The current caught her, carried her. She surfaced, gasping, chest heaving.

She was alive. Alive…

Floating on her back, she let the current carry her gently. The cool water caressed her open wounds like a comforting friend, nudging her toward a rocky, wild shore. After a while, she felt the bottom beneath her feet. She crawled to the edge and closed her eyes again.

It was August. If this had happened in autumn or spring, she might never have seen the sun again. Her strength gave out, and night wrapped her in its velvet veil.

Morning came. Victoria finally opened one eye—the other was swollen shut—and felt the sting of raw skin. She tried to sit up and groaned, collapsing again. After resting a bit and adjusting to the pain, she made another attempt. Propped up on her elbows, she looked down at her body. It was almost entirely purple and bruised. Torn wounds still bled. Feeling around her bra, she found the necklace and smiled faintly. Looking around, she spotted a rotten tree half-submerged in the water. Pushing through the chest pain, she reached for a sharp stone and began digging under it. Once the hole was deep enough, she paused to catch her breath. Then, with immense effort, she pulled the necklace from her bra. She checked the setting—every gemstone still intact. She placed the treasure into the hole and buried it, using the same stone. Trembling again, she felt herself slipping into unconsciousness. The sun beat down hard. She scooped water with her hand and splashed her face. Then lay back, listening to the gentle lapping of the lake’s waves. A lullaby. And once again, silence and peace wrapped around her completely.

Lana woke up in the middle of the night with a sense of dread. Nausea swept over her, and a heavy feeling pulled her out of bed, refusing to let her sleep. She got up and leaned against the wall, pressing a hand to her heaving chest. It was the same feeling she’d had right before her father’s death. She hadn’t been able to sit still in the hospital hallway—tears had suddenly started choking her. Lana had felt that he was slipping away. She had run to the ICU doors, banging on them, demanding someone check on her father.

“He’s not well!” she’d cried to the hospital staff.

But they had calmed her, assuring her he was fine—that he was asleep. He had been dying. And within the hour, he was gone. Now the same thing was happening again. Why?! Who was dying this time? Her mother was peacefully asleep in her room. Her grandparents had long since passed. They had no other close relatives she could feel this deeply for. Mentally, she went through a list of names, trying to think of anyone. Sitting down on the floor, Lana closed her eyes and began to pray: