Truth is, I don't want to lie again— truth is, I want to find myself again
Tell me, my friend, my friend: when did I lose it?

Chapter 17: Sober.

Alexander Grim.
Los Angeles, California.

There are no surprises hiding inside Jackson's pack. Just the last of the trail mix, a flashlight, some matches, and a small bundle of bandages, although it's a bit late for that now. I've got an extra sweatshirt if I need it and an extra water bottle nearly prepared. And, of course, a new weapon. I cross the rocks by the side of the water to retrieve Jackson's spare clothes, then drop down and zip up the second pack.

The water seems slower-moving now than it did just a few minutes ago. Maybe it was my burst of adrenaline, the pressure of my own expectations to make a move at the time, but regardless the water is stiller, and the air feels clearer now. Jackson's body has been swept away, the crimson diluted from where he went under. If it weren't for the blood on the rocks, nobody could even tell anything happened here.

It's strange. It's not that I'm happy, exactly, for what I did, because I'm not that sick and twisted. But I don't feel as awful as I thought I might. Acting ill and disoriented yesterday and making Jackson let his guard down in my presence were premeditated acts. I didn't know when I'd have to kill Jackson, but the chance came more quickly than I expected, and I couldn't let it pass me up. If I don't take these chances early, I'll spend the rest of my short life hesitating, and die frozen in fear like a coward.

Physically, I still feel pretty rocky, but having both bottles of water is making me feel a bit better. If I decide to go elsewhere, I've got a bit more staying power and a means of hydration. But where am I supposed to go? For all the stress of being out in the forest where everyone else is supposedly out to kill me, I feel pretty aimless. I had a plan with Jackson but that's now done, as callous as that sounds, and now there's nothing else to distract me from the cloudiness in my head and the gnawing in my stomach.

There's so little food left, even though it's only the second day, that there's no use sparing what I have. I throw back the pack of trail mix and nibble away at the last of the fruit. Soon enough I realize how fucking useless that was, because my food's gone and wouldn't you know it, I'm still hungry.

Jesus Christ. Talk about something I never thought I'd have to be prepared for. I can feel panic sneaking in, making me lightheaded, and I try to ignore it. But the fact is, nothing is promised for me anymore. Not even my next meal. And that's bloody terrifying.

I pull up my watch and scroll around the map, trying to distract myself. I don't have any clue what I'm looking for. My eyes catch on Audrey's name, but I swipe away as soon as I see it. I know better than to go there. Especially now that she knows I've killed someone.

I don't know how the hell I'm supposed to be feeling about this. Regretful? Disgusted? Chances are, Jackson was going to die anyways. I didn't have to do it. But then, someone else would have, right? Or he would have killed someone else. Who even knows what might have happened if I'd kept him with me? That possibility is gone now. Regretting it and pretending to justify it are a waste of time, because I'm just trying to seek meaning in something where there is none. It's like all those activities we got up to back at camp, before we knew this was happening. Those relationships and those experiences are entirely obsolete now. This, right here, is my new reality.

I guess I have Sawyer to thank for the heads up, not that his idea of a "heads up" was anything more than disturbing and confusing. It's not like he could explicitly tell me we would be pitted against each other in a murder contest and expect me to hold my tongue. But if anything, I got a head start on that dread and paranoia that I'm sure most people are trying to come to terms with right now, and it's about time I got over it, anyways.

I do need to eat. It's good to feel hungry again, because I feel a bit more human. But I don't know where this next meal is going to come from.

I don't know if there are any fish in this stream, or at least any large enough to be filling. That would be my best shot. I sit and wait, but after twenty or so minutes I've seen no activity and I'm probably getting sunburned. I could try to hunt an animal back in the trees, but I don't want to waste what few bullets I have after spending so many on Jackson and I've got no experience hunting with a knife. I could try to jump someone and take their supplies, but I'm not really in any hurry to see anyone after what I just did and besides, if my stores are already so low, they likely don't have much to offer me, either.

So I hitch both packs onto my back, make sure both bottles are full, and head back down towards where the map says the lake by camp is. It's rougher to go through the trees, but there's a bit more coverage than directly following the stream. And besides, I don't know exactly how far Jackson's gone and I'm not really keen to see his dead body and relive what I did to him.

I check my watch as I go, making sure I'm not going to run into anybody else. But I'm moving further and further away from anyone else, and eventually I stop checking so I can keep my eyes open for any wildlife. Other than the occasional squirrel or hawk though, both of which are too far out of reach to take a chance at, I'm out of luck.

Part of me doesn't expect to ever find our old camp; it doesn't feel like it ever existed after all the change my world has gone through in just over a day. But eventually I break through the trees and there it is, in all its shitty glory. The lake lies glassy right before me, clear and untouched. Beyond it, the old dining hall, the amphitheater, the bath halls, and the cabins, somehow looking much homier now that I've spent the night with pine needles as my mattress. Up on the hill above stands the rec room and the lodge. Memories come flooding back of our last night here, the awkwardness of those letters and the evening's dramatic conclusion, and that was even before we got drugged. Suddenly I'm thinking of Griffin, Simone, Trina, Quincy, and how three of them are already dead. I try to muster up a bit of fury, as perhaps a driving force, but I just feel more drained.

Food can wait. Maybe there's even some left in the kitchens or some of the rooms, but more than anything I just need some time to rest and reflect. I'm not ready to go in, so I nestle myself against a tree, still hidden in the shade, and take out Jackson's extra sweatshirt to rest on.

The sun beats down on the water before me, the lake twinkling in a devilish grin. The air doesn't feel as warm now, more so suffocating, pressing in on me.

I try to breathe normally but my chest is tight with stress. I've made it through the first night. I've made it back to camp. But once I eat, I'll have nothing else to distract me from what I'm really supposed to be doing.

I'm sick to my stomach as I realize, as soon as this afternoon, I'm going to have to start planning my next kill. It's cold, it's cruel, but it's necessary.

And I don't know if I'm strong enough to do it twice.

Juliet Maudsley.
Peoria, Illinois.

I feel like I've been glued to my watch all day. But if you have the ability to see where everyone else is, including people who might want to kill you, you'd be stupid not to keep one eye on the map.

We've been moving south since this morning, hoping to stay out of anyone else's way and not be sitting ducks for anyone who comes across us. It's still hard for me to conceptualize my own classmates as murderers, although it shocks me more that Jackson Stroud is dead too than that Alex killed him, for whatever reason. I want to believe whatever Jeremiah did was out of self-defense. He's too kind to willingly give into the evil of this situation we've been forced into. Not to make any judgments.

Am I kind enough, though? I don't know what I want for myself, if I'm being honest. I'd like to believe I'm better than stooping to the Benefactors' level, but I know, if it came down to me and any of my friends, I'd prefer myself to live. I don't think that's too selfish of a desire. Is it? I've gone back and forth for most of the day and I've concluded that I really just need to stop thinking about what's coming and start focusing on what's happening right in front of me.

Or behind me. I've kept my eye on Wes' location since we noticed he wasn't too far from us last night. Since then, his position relative to us hasn't really changed. Maybe it's chance that he's heading in the same direction but there's no risk in being too cautious. "Mon. We need to figure out what to do about Wes."

Monica turns back to me and comes to look at my screen, Freya right behind her. Even if we were friends back at school, I'm not sure they're the people I would have seen myself allying with if we'd had the time to prepare for this. Just because we have similar interests and personalities doesn't mean we're the most competent group, but it's not like I had many options at the start. Still, I'm glad to have them with me, I really am. And I'll protect them regardless. I trust them enough to think they'd do the same for me, and it's only fair, right?

She frowns. "Yeah. We changed directions about an hour ago and he's still following. That's…. problematic."

She doesn't want to say the obvious—that he's on our trail and sooner rather than later, this is probably going to come to a head. "Look," I say, trying to sound a bit more self-assured than I feel, "We've got a few options here, I'm thinking. We can keep moving and hope he gets tired of trailing us. We can sit here and wait for him on the off chance he wants to just say hey as he passes through, which I don't see happening. Or we can… circle back towards him. Force him to confront us."

"No," Freya says sharply. She looks surprised at her own tone of voice. "I mean, it's too dangerous to do that. I don't want to fight him yet."

"It's probably going to have to happen one way or another," I say, although I feel just the way she does. Scared, out of my element. Who'd have thought I'd ever be essentially planning a murder with two of my high school friends? "I feel like we should try to be in the best possible state to do so. And none of us are hurt, we're still decently well-fed right now. Best-case scenario, we don't even have to do anything… maybe he'll leave us alone if he sees us all together."

Monica nods, looking a little more resolute than Freya. For their part, neither of them disagrees with me or questions that we're all going to have to be involved in this. "He'll see us coming, though. Won't he?"

"Because of the watches. Yeah." I consider for a minute. "Maybe if two of us felt comfortable leaving our watches back here…?"

"Yeah, so he'd think there's only one of us. I can do that," Monica says.

"Sure," Freya seconds. Now I kind of feel like an asshole for not offering first. I have to remind myself that's not the important thing here.

The two stow their watches in the crook of a tree, and we pile stones around it to make it easier to find later. Before long we're on the move again. We've got our weapons close. My gun is tucked into my waistband. Monica's fist is tight around Freya's knife; she didn't get a weapon like the other two of us, and Freya doesn't want to use one. When we unpacked our bags for the first time she didn't even feel comfortable holding her knife. Part of me wonders what will happen if someone else tries to attack her and she has no way to protect herself. But I remind myself that's what Monica and I are here for.

I switch between watching the map and scanning the area in front of me. With the both of us—our group and Wes- heading towards each other, it doesn't take long to get in range.

Nearby, the foliage is thicker and I feel comfortable we can hide ourselves before we make any moves. "Come on," I whisper to the others.

I wince at how loud the bushes are as we crawl in behind them, but this is our best option, both for my own safety and the safety of my friends.

We're quiet for a few seconds, and then we hear Wes before we see him, although not by much- his footsteps are quiet on the earth and he comes out of the trees at the far end of the clearing. It's strange to see someone I know in so foreign an environment; even though I know him, it almost feels like I've never met him. But I remember him, of course. With a class of 80 kids it'd be hard not to, even if he never made an effort with me personally, especially because he tended to be louder and more arrogant than most. Seeing him in person now, it doesn't matter to me what kind of a person he is or was. He's a human being. He doesn't deserve death.

"What the fuck do we do?" Monica hisses as Wes stops, looking down at his watch and no doubt wondering where I am, if my watch's location says I'm so close. I shrink a bit further back into the greenery. "Do we try to talk to him? Attack him? Juliet, you might be able to hit him from here."

"No, don't. It's not fair," Freya counters. "He doesn't even know we're here."

"Well, we're not just going to announce we're here to kill him, are we?"

"Shh," I snap. The truth is, I don't know anymore. I don't know what I was thinking when I thought we could attack him. Shame rushes hot into my neck and cheeks when I realize what I've done: let myself be corrupted by the idea that murder is somehow okay, made a blind judgment on Wes' life based on the assumption that, because of how he acted back at Haversmith, he'd probably try to attack us. How hypocritical of me. I don't even know him.

I guess the only way I'll feel alright about this is if I find out, what way or another, what he's been following us for.

"You two, get down," I say. "And be quiet."

I can hear Freya breathing quickly next to me and I want to squeeze her hand, but this isn't the time. I inch sideways in the bushes to create space between us. I don't dare risk them getting hurt in case I make a mistake.

I'm not so strong in this crouched position and I lose my balance, falling sideways into the foliage. Wesley's eyes jump to my position. I know he can't see me yet but he's walking this way and it's only a matter of time before he's on me. It's then that I see he, too, has a gun. All thoughts of trying to be diplomatic are out the window now as the sight of him coming closer and closer drenches me in icy fear. We've both got weapons. My only advantage is surprise, because no way am I getting Monica or Freya involved in this right now.

As much as I know I have to, it's not that easy to pull the trigger. He's close enough now to read the fear and determination on his face. It's now or never. I close my eyes and shoot, shrieking with the force of the explosion.

I know I've missed because he doesn't cry out. I find myself pushing myself backwards on my hands, trying to escape, but he's too close.

"Wes, no!"

Monica's voice. My stomach sinks. "Monica, run!"

Realizing I'm closer, Wes shoots my way and I dive sideways. Not quick enough. I scream as pain explodes across my left thigh, freezing me in my place. I look down, seeing my leg already soaked with blood.

I know I fucked up. He probably wasn't even a threat. But he is now, and he's going to kill me, and both of my friends.

Dread overwhelms me. There's no time to make a plan. Monica's yelling at him again and I see her knife come flying over this way. It's enough to distract him momentarily and I know this is the only chance I've got. The bushes are a permeable barrier between us, and I shoot through them from the ground, only knowing if I've hit him by his yells, and a thud as he goes down.

It's quiet. Too quiet. Trembling with pain, I crawl forward through the shrubbery to check if he's really dead.

He's not. I can tell by the barrel he points right at my face. This time I don't hesitate, and before he can get his shot off he has a bullet in his forehead.

This all must have gone down within the space of a minute, but I'm breathing hard like I just sprinted. I call out for Monica and Freya and God bless them, they're still here. "He's gone," I tell them, trying not to think too much about the meaning behind what I'm saying.

Monica, for her part, does a convincing job of moving on almost immediately. "Well, he won't be a risk anymore. Here, Freya, let's help patch up her leg."

He won't be a risk anymore. I don't want to look at him, but I can't help but picture the snarky boy I used to have English with, who I always saw joking around with Brandon and the others. Now dead, he seems so much more innocent, even though he was just trying to kill me a moment ago.

I had to do it, I tell myself. Both for my own safety and the safety of my friends.

But that same voice comes creeping back as I wince with the pressure of Monica twisting a bandage around my leg. Did you, though?

Harper Robbins.
London, United Kingdom.

How did I get here?

I ask myself this, but not in regard to where I've perched on the rocks for a rest. I'm panting but pleased with the exertion. My ankle's killing me—no doubt the climbing and the running from the explosions caused it to flare up again—and my hands have split open from their rudimentary bandaging. My head's still swimming with the impacts from the explosions and my hearing seems a bit numbed but I know I'm lucky. Those blasts could have killed me. I'm hurt but I'm still kicking.

The question comes more in terms of this whole scenario. I've spent the last day or so alone, giving me ample time to look back on how, exactly, I've found myself suddenly so close to death.

I don't know why I specifically was chosen. The six that were killed earlier, certainly there was a clear reason why they were picked—Anabel essentially said they were the worst of the worst, the biggest troublemakers. I'm not at their level, but I never let myself get walked all over back at school and landed myself in trouble for it a few times. I wouldn't call it rebelliousness, but perhaps that's what it was interpreted as.

For the record, I had every right to stick up for myself, and I did what was justified. I wouldn't necessarily go back and change it, lose myself just to get out of this mess. Actually, scratch that. Had I known, I probably would have held my tongue. But I had no way of knowing this was coming. You can't blame me for that.

Besides. People like Gerard, Freya, and Seraphina were sent here, too. I have a hard time believing they did anything especially egregious to deserve this. As if anyone does. So maybe there is no reason why I'm here; just sheer dumb luck.

But if I survive this, it won't be from luck. I know what this entails but I want to survive. I want to win, even if it doesn't seem much like winning is a good thing. And to do that, I'll need to get moving again. Sitting in one place for too long is a sure way to get myself killed.

I'm close to the top of the mountain. I don't see any reason to traipse back through the part of the area that the explosions laid waste to—there won't be much there for me in terms of resources or cover. If I want to live, I'll need to head back towards the others, find myself in a confrontation. I hate that I have to do it, but this isn't about what I want. It's about what I'm willing to do and sacrifice when my life is on the line.

Even though I've hydrated fairly well and slept longer than I meant to last night, my head's still pounding. The downhill trek isn't so hard on my legs, but my chest is aching with the exertion. I try to ignore it for a few minutes but it's clear I really need to sit down.

I'm not catching my breath, and the pain in my chest won't go away. That alone is enough to make me anxious, even though I don't tend to be an anxious person. But the conditions have changed. And worrying about my heart rate, my breathing, doesn't make either of them better. I sip from my bottle, duck down in the shade, and try to breathe slow breaths. Inhale… hold… exhale… hold… I feel my limbs relaxing but when I check my pulse again, two fingers pressed to the side of my neck, it's drumming away. I just rested. I don't know why I feel like I'm working so hard.

My back and neck are tired from holding myself up. I push myself against a tree trunk, thin but stable enough to prop me upright while I sip at my water. I've almost run out, but my breathing isn't slowing. I need to get up, get moving again, fill my water, and then figure this out, but I don't know how.

My head's swirling, some mixture of anxiety and that same headache from earlier. It's getting worse. My heart skips when I begin to wonder if that blast hurt me more than I realized.

I survived it. I got out. I wasn't in the epicenter, blown entirely in the air. Yeah, I was thrown off my feet, landed roughly a few times, But I made it out alive. That should count for something, right?

Or maybe not. Maybe that brief period of respite was just long enough to mock me, make me feel safe, when something more sinister was going on internally. It's not just my head. My breathing is ragged and it's getting harder to choke down every breath. I try not to panic, to think clearly about what I can do, but nothing comes to me.

I feel so fucking helpless, and nothing I do will make it better.

I keep sipping at my water, force myself to stay seated. Once I'm lying down I have the feeling I won't be able to sit back up again. But it's getting harder by the minute.

Sunlight peeks through the trees—too bright, too cruel. It's the hottest part of the afternoon, the worst part of the day. Figures this is when I'd be done in.

I find myself wishing someone were here to help me. I'm not so stupid as to wish to be alone right now. But I hardly had friends back at school, and the knowledge that I'm completely, entirely alone stings worse than the fact I know I'm fading right now. Because even if anyone knew what was happening to me, they wouldn't come to save me.

I always wanted to be alone. And now, I really am.

I guess I did this to myself, didn't I?

Gwen Chamberlain.
Hyannis Port, Massachusetts.

Shadows are beginning to creep across the grass by the time Yuto finally breaks through the trees, doubled over and panting. I smirk at his clear antics. No doubt he walked the whole way and then started running just to look like he sprinted the entire way here.

"Took you long enough," I say, but I can't keep the smirk on my face because a pure grin stretches across in its place. I can't hide my relief that he's here, either. In all honestly, I was terrified of being left alone out here, at the mercy of anyone who could come and find me. I saw him coming via the map, but I don't know, I guess I was afraid something might happen to him on the way.

He wipes his brow and grins sheepishly, but doesn't say anything before coming over and tackling me in a hug. I can't help but yelp in pain, and I don't know if the prickling in my eyes that comes next comes from that or the sheer joy of seeing him, finally.

"What's wrong?" he asks as he lets me go, face pressed in concern.

"Nothing. Just…" I smile at him, really meaning it, despite everything. "It's really good to see you."

He grins.

"And also, my leg is really fucked up."

"Christ, Gwen," he says. "No wonder you're just sitting there, acting all coy."

"Not intentionally," I say with a half-chuckle. "Just can't really move." I take in his questioning look and respond before he can ask. "Last night, this whole area at the top of the mountain lit up. I don't know why, but there were all these explosions. I wasn't right in the thick of it, but still got knocked off my feet and my leg got crushed under a boulder. Crawled over here until I decided it wasn't worth the screaming pain to keep going."

He scoffs. "You're an idiot. Couldn't even outrun a rock?"

"Hey," I say, swinging at him. "Can you help me out or not?"

Yuto plops down next to me and opens his pack, stripping it of its supplies. He's got a couple snacks, a mostly-full water bottle, another sweatshirt, a gun, and some bandages. "Sorry, I would have brought you more food," he says. "Alaina wanted us to pool everything, so I had to be a little sneaky with the fruit. Also, I was hungry and I finished the almonds before I got here. Don't be mad."

I shake my head. How could I be mad at him? To come all this way and bring me a pack of fruit and some water? And they say chivalry is dead.

He wipes my forehead with a gauze bandage, and it comes back red. I flinch. "Don't worry," he says. "You just had a bit on you, you're not bleeding. Also, this is nasty." He tosses it away into the trees. "No more of that. Let's see your leg."

"Wait," I say. I don't want to look at it under my trousers; I know my leg's probably damaged beyond repair at this point, but until I know that, I can keep pretending I just made it up or something. "You were with Alaina and all them, right. What happened there? They just let you leave?"

"I kind of just… bailed," he says. "I mean, it was hard to tell if I felt safe or not there. We had five of us there when I left, it was Alaina, Eimer, Brandon, and Blake, but Blake kind of showed up out of nowhere last night and I don't know, I just didn't trust that. Alaina was… well… being Alaina, as I'm sure you can imagine." He grimaces. "Anyways, staying with them was just the best short-term plan for me, even if it felt like a disaster waiting to happen. But from the second the vans left, I wanted to come find you."

I smile, but it feels sadder even though I am genuinely pleased he wanted to come find me. "But why? To do what?"

"I don't know, honestly," he says. "I guess I just had this feeling that it had to be us together out here. I didn't really have a plan after that."

"Well, I don't have one either," I admit. "So I guess it's not like this injury really ruined my whole game plan here." Except my chances, I can't help thinking. I know Yuto will do everything in his power to keep me alive— he'd hitch me on his back and carry me around for the rest of this thing if he had to— but that helps neither of us. I'm as good as dead; it's only a matter of time before someone comes along and puts me out of my misery.

As the thought of my inevitable demise crosses my mind, our watches buzz in unison. I don't even want to know who it is, but I don't have a choice. "Harper Robbins is dead. Manner of death is unknown."

We sit together, solemn. I reach for his hand almost without thinking. His fingers close around mine, squeezing. One moment of purity, of affection, in a cold, cruel place.

Then Yuto notices my empty water bottle and pulls away, and I miss his touch the second he leaves. He picks up my water bottle and gets to his feet. "I'll get you some more water, try to get some food or something. I don't know. But I'll be right back."

"Don't worry," I scoff, but I wave cheerfully as he leaves. "I'll be here."

I feel even lonelier without him. It feels a bit pathetic, to have lasted a full day and a half essentially alone but the second someone finds me, I can't handle being left alone. But it's not just anyone, it's Yuto. Which I guess makes sense why I miss him already. We were never anything official, just together for the fun of it. But all the teasing, the playfulness… I guess I really do feel affection towards him, although I don't know exactly what those feelings are. Besides, no use worrying about something that might have been. I've got to remember that none of that matters anymore.

Yuto's back in about ten minutes, and even though I never doubted that he'd come back, it's still a relief to see him. He's holding two full water bottles and two large sticks. "For crutches," he explains as he sets them down next to me. "And here, some more water."

"Yuto…"

"No, I had to. You're worth risking it for."

I want to bury my reddening face in my hands. "No, I just meant… that's really sweet." I smile up at him. "Thank you."

He shrugs, like it doesn't mean a thing to him. It probably doesn't. But it means the world to me.

"So about that leg," he says. "Let's get a closer look."

I shake my head but shift, wincing, to let him roll the leg of my trousers up. He gives me a fiendish grin—there's really no other way to describe it—and my brow furrows in confusion. "What?"

"Just thought it'd be harder to get you out of your pants at a time like this."

I swing at him, and this time connect satisfyingly with the side of his face. He pulls away, laughing like he's said the funniest joke in the goddamn world. "You're such a fucking idiot," I say. "That was so stupid. Come on."

He chuckles, but quickly stops when he realizes every tiny movement is making me hiss in pain. The euphoria at seeing him isn't enough to overwhelm my senses and bury the real problem here. I handle it for as long as I can—just about long enough for him to roll the pant leg up to my knee. Then I make him stop. "Don't. I can't…"

"Gwen…"

I know by the tone of his voice that it's bad. Really bad, probably. I don't want to look down. But there's no use kidding myself anymore, not when he knows what's down there and I don't.

The first thing I see is red—more than I expected, for a likely broken leg. Then the bone, protruding out from my shin at an awkward angle. It makes me sick to see. But I'm not exactly surprised, either, even if I'm trying to keep myself from feeling entirely disgusted and despondent.

"So, that's what we're dealing with here," I say, clenching my teeth. "Good to know."

"We'll figure something out," Yuto says quickly. Too quickly. He knows as well as I that this is a death sentence now. Nothing he can do with those bandages will put a dent in an injury like that.

But I nod at him as if I believe it. I can pretend just as well as he can.

Glitter by 070 Shake.

20th: Wesley Byrne. Killed by Juliet Maudsley.
19th: Harper Robbins. Died from Grievous Wounds.

What's up!

Had this planned out for awhile, but had to finish up some final essays and before I got this done. But hey here we go!

I find myself relying pretty heavily on my dialogue to shape a chapter, so having two POVs without dialogue was good practice for more monologue-type writing. I still don't detail the environment as much as I would like to... it's just harder for me to get a good description going than it is to write people and thoughts. That's why there might be a lot of "there was a bush there" instead of like, cool flowy writing.

I also really tried to balance POVs but Juliet's ended up being like 700 words longer than any of the others. I'm trying, I promise.

If you're reading, I'd love to hear your thought! I don't care much about reviews for the sake of reviews, I just want to hear how I can improve and, of course, I'd love to know your thoughts and if you're enjoying it.

There's much more to come, especially next chapter. Till then, stay safe and I'll see y'all soon!