For a second, I didn't know where I was. I felt the bite of cold stone against my spine and the heavy, damp weight of ivy pressing against my face. Then, the smell hit me—rotting leaves.
It all rushed back. The crash.
Beside me, curled into a tiny, shivering ball under the curtain of vines, Adrien was still asleep. We were still on the limestone ledge. We were still alive.
I let out a breath that hurt my chest, a small puff of white in the freezing morning air. Two days. It had been two days since we fled Valentin's estate, and somehow, we had survived the first night in the open.
I shifted slightly, trying to ignore the agonizing cramp in my legs and the dull, heavy ache of my pregnant belly. I needed to move. We couldn't stay here; this ledge was a grave waiting to happen. If there weren't men hunting us, there were wolves or boars.
I reached out, my throat feeling like it was lined with sandpaper. "Adrien," I whispered, my voice barely a thread. "Baby, wake up."
