#Chapter 212: The Golden Knife

Moana

One moment, I was in the interrogation room with the police officer sitting across from me.

“Ms. Fowler?” he asked, standing from his seat with a worried look on his face. “Are you alright?”

My eyes were wide and my hands were shaking. I was standing with my back against the wall, feeling as though I couldn’t get a full breath into my lungs. The room felt as though it was closing in on me, and I felt trapped inside like an animal caught in a net.

And then, suddenly, I felt my knees buckle under me. I fell to the ground, and then everything went dark with only Edrick being the very last thing on my mind.

When I woke up, I was in a dark room. In fact, it was pitch black… But when I held my hands up in front of my face, I found that I could see my own hands perfectly. The room itself was black, like a void.

called out. My voice felt thick and heavy. There

few minutes of waiting, there was finally

female voice said. I immediately

or see anything. It felt like an eternity, but also a split second at the same time. Was I sleeping? Was this just a strange dream? It felt too long and vivid to just be a regular dream… I felt perfectly conscious, not at all like I was

asking about the specifics of what happened in the warehouse. No matter how hard I tried to stay focused and keep myself level-headed, I couldn’t stop seeing Ethan’s gun in front of my face. At one point, I started to

void. I moved around, or at least

myself, then it was awful and lonely. The thought of being conscious

made it up in my mind or if it was real, and if someone else was here with me. But when I started to see Michael’s face materializing in front of me, I wished that it was neither of those things. I would have rather

I told Michael, taking a few steps back. But he didn’t speak. He just sneered at me, and eventually the rest of his body came into view as though he was loading into this new instance, like a virtual reality. His neck, then his shoulders, his arms and his chest… Then, eventually, his hands. He was holding something in

was golden — even the blade itself was golden — with an ornate handle that had the head of a wolf on the end. He was holding it

with trees on either side. I felt a gasp catch in my throat and I whirled around to see a sheer drop below

raised, ready to stab me. When I turned around, the tip of the knife was nothing more than a mere centimeter

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