Book 8: Why I Must Hate Her

Evander

I’ll give credit where credit is due and admit that Kenna is fast. She darts across the grassy expanse of wide open farmland at a speed I hadn’t expected, and I find myself jogging to try to catch up to her. 

She cuts between two barns and disappears into a shadow of silver mist. 

“Kenna,” I pant, looking around for the tell tale signs she’s near. 

A twig crunches in the distance. I whirl around to see footsteps shifting through the grass. They disappear as Kenna–invisible to the naked eye–climbs over a fence and down an embankment. 

She came into this ability as a child. I vividly remember the day it happened and how jarring it had been. One second, we were playing in the woods surrounding Old Moonrise while her grandmother, Cressendra, forged wild herbs, and the next, Kenna was simply gone. 

But not really. I could hear her screaming for help but couldn’t find her. I felt her grabbing my arms, bu