The first thing Evelyn needed was food.
The second thing was a new shirt.
The third thing was to stop laughing at inappropriate moments.
She was making very little progress on the third.
A branch caught her sleeve as she pushed through the undergrowth, and a sharp, breathless giggle escaped her.
It wasn't funny.
Nothing was funny.
Daniel had shot her.
Her childhood friend had looked her in the eyes, pointed a gun at her chest, and pulled the trigger because he wanted to be sure.
And when she'd come back, he'd looked pleased.
Not relieved that she was alive. Not horrified by what he'd done.
Pleased.
Evelyn stumbled over a root and caught herself against a tree. She stayed there for a moment, one hand pressed against the bark, waiting for the sudden tightness in her chest to pass.
"Brilliant," she muttered.
She looked down at her shirt.
The bullet hole sat just below her left collarbone, surrounded by a dark, stiffening patch of blood. Beneath it, her skin was completely unmarked.
She touched the spot.
Nothing.
No wound. No pain. Not even a bruise.
Her wrist was healed too. The burn she'd carried since escaping Northstar was gone, along with every scratch and cut she'd collected in the woods.
Her body had apparently decided that being murdered was an excellent opportunity for some general maintenance.
A laugh escaped her.
She pressed a hand over her mouth.
"Stop."
The word came out harder than she'd intended.
A bird startled from a nearby bush, and she flinched so violently that her hand flew toward the pistol tucked into her waistband.
She froze.
Then very carefully took her hand away.
"Right. That's going to be a problem."
She had no idea how to handle a gun.
She knew which end was dangerous. She knew pulling the trigger made something terrible happen. She also knew that Daniel had managed to get himself shot in the leg while wrestling her for it.
Technically, she'd shot him.
Accidentally.
She tried not to think about the sound he'd made.
Or the blood.
Or the fact that she'd left him there.
He was alive when she'd run. Conscious. Shouting after her.
He'd probably found help by now.
Probably.
Evelyn swallowed.
She hated that she was worried about him.
She hated even more that part of her wished she'd aimed higher.
That thought stopped her walking.
For several seconds, she stood motionless among the trees.
Then she shook her head.
"No."
She wasn't doing that.
She wasn't going to become someone who casually wished people dead.
Even Daniel.
Especially Daniel.
Although—
"No."
She started walking again.
The forest eventually thinned, revealing a narrow road bordered by hedges and damp fields. Beyond a low rise, rooftops clustered around a church tower.
A village.
Or a town. She wasn't particularly interested in the technical distinction.
There were buildings.
Buildings meant shops.
Shops meant food.
And food meant she might finally stop feeling as though her stomach was trying to consume itself.
She looked down at her bloodstained clothes.
Unfortunately, buildings also meant people.
People who had received a very specific World Quest.
She glanced at the pistol.
Walking into a shop with a gun tucked into her trousers seemed like an excellent way to create an entirely new set of problems.
Leaving it somewhere seemed equally stupid.
After several minutes of indecision, she found a fallen tree a little way back from the road. She checked that nobody was watching, crouched beside it, and carefully pulled the pistol free.
She didn't touch the trigger.
She didn't attempt to unload it.
She didn't even want to look at it.
She wrapped it in broad leaves, pushed it into a hollow beneath the roots, and covered the opening with loose bark and soil.
Then she stared at the hiding place.
Someone could find it.
An animal could disturb it.
She might forget where she'd put it.
"Wonderful."
She wedged a thin twig into a split in the fallen trunk, pointing toward the hollow.
It was not exactly a sophisticated security system.
But she would recognize it.
Hopefully.
She stood and brushed dirt from her hands.
"Right. Armed robbery is off the table."
A pause.
"Just ordinary robbery, then."
She giggled.
And immediately hated herself for it.
***
The town was larger than she'd expected.
Not large enough to have much traffic, but large enough for a petrol station, several cafés, a pharmacy, and a supermarket occupying a broad building near a roundabout.
The supermarket was enormous.
Evelyn stopped across the road and stared.
Bright windows. Automatic doors. Rows of shopping trolleys. A cheerful banner advertising weekend discounts.
People went in carrying reusable bags.
People came out carrying groceries.
Nobody was running.
Nobody was screaming.
Nobody was trying to kill anybody.
It was almost offensive.
She caught her reflection in the dark window of a closed shop.
And stopped.
"Oh, come on."
The bullet hole was painfully obvious.
Just below her left collarbone, surrounded by dried blood that had spread across the navy fabric. She tugged at the neckline, trying to pull the damaged section farther toward her shoulder.
That only made the stain more visible.
She tried pulling the shirt sideways.
Worse.
She crossed her arms over her chest.
Better.
Unfortunately, she now looked like someone desperately trying to conceal something.
Which, admittedly, she was.
She uncrossed them.
Then crossed them again.
"Oh, for God's sake."
Her dark hair hung loose around her shoulders.
She gathered a thick section and pulled it forward over her left shoulder, arranging it across the bloodstained fabric.
That helped.
A little.
She tilted her head.
The hair slipped aside.
She caught it and dragged it back into place.
"Stay."
A passing man glanced at her.
Evelyn froze.
He kept walking.
She stared after him.
*Right. Nobody cares. Nobody's looking.*
She looked back at the reflection.
*Except the entire world is looking for me.*
Her mouth twitched.
"Wonderful."
She adjusted her hair again, holding her left shoulder slightly forward.
It was uncomfortable.
But at least the hole was less obvious.
She could do this.
She just needed to keep her hair in place.
Avoid sudden movements.
Avoid attracting attention.
Avoid anyone recognizing her face.
And somehow steal enough supplies to survive.
Simple.
Absolutely nothing could go wrong.
***
The supermarket smelled of fresh bread, cleaning products, and roasted chicken.
Evelyn nearly cried.
Not because of the chicken.
Because of the bread.
A whole display of warm rolls stood near the entrance, golden and impossibly inviting.
She hadn't eaten properly since Northstar.
Her stomach growled.
Loudly.
A nearby shopper glanced at her.
Evelyn stared very hard at a promotional sign.
She took a small shopping basket from a stack.
That was normal.
Normal people used baskets.
Criminals probably used baskets too, but at least she was blending in with the general basket-using population.
She walked past the bakery display.
Then came back.
Picked up a packet of rolls.
Put it in her basket.
A sandwich followed.
Two bottles of water.
A packet of crisps.
A chocolate bar.
She hesitated.
Then added another chocolate bar.
She deserved chocolate.
She'd died six times.
Surely that qualified her for some sort of loyalty discount.
She moved deeper into the shop.
Clothing occupied one large section near the back. Cheap jeans, leggings, T-shirts, hoodies, underwear, socks, and shoes hung beneath fluorescent lights.
Evelyn looked down at herself.
The navy shirt was beyond saving.
Her grey trousers were filthy.
The oversized black boots she'd stolen from the Northstar facility had rubbed her heels raw before Daniel had kindly shot her and repaired the damage.
At least the boots weren't actively hurting anymore.
Small mercies.
She selected dark leggings, a plain black T-shirt, a grey hoodie, socks, underwear, and a pair of trainers.
The trainers were probably a little too big.
Still better than the boots.
Then she paused.
Looked at the clothes.
And looked down at the bullet hole in her shirt.
One change of clothes wasn't enough.
That had become painfully obvious.
Undying repaired her body.
It didn't repair fabric.
And considering how frequently people had been killing her lately, spare clothes were beginning to feel less like a luxury and more like essential survival equipment.
She picked up two additional T-shirts.
Another pair of leggings.
Extra underwear.
More socks.
She hesitated.
Then added a third T-shirt.
"God, I hate that this makes sense."
A woman browsing nearby glanced at her.
Evelyn pretended to examine the price tag.
The woman moved on.
She found a canvas backpack among the accessories.
It was cheap, dark green, and had several compartments.
Perfect.
She placed it in her basket alongside the food she'd already collected. The bread rolls, sandwich, crisps, chocolate bars, and two bottles of water were beginning to make the basket rather heavy.
And she still needed hair dye.
She looked at the backpack again.
She was planning to steal a bag so she could carry all the other things she was planning to steal.
"Congratulations, Evie," she whispered. "You've discovered organized crime."
A sharp laugh escaped her.
The woman browsing children's jackets turned.
Evelyn coughed.
Again.
She was beginning to sound genuinely ill.
She carried her basket toward the toiletries section.
Hair dye occupied almost an entire aisle.
There were so many shades of blonde that Evelyn briefly wondered whether she'd misunderstood the concept of hair colour.
Ash blonde.
Golden blonde.
Honey blonde.
Dark blonde.
Platinum blonde.
Natural blonde.
Extra light blonde.
*What the hell is unnatural blonde, then?*
She picked up a box featuring a smiling woman with impossibly perfect hair.
The woman looked as though she'd never been shot in her life.
Lucky cow.
Evelyn read the instructions.
Dark hair might require lightening first.
Of course it might.
Nothing could ever be simple.
She found a lightening kit and a box of blonde dye, then stood comparing them for several minutes.
The instructions were complicated.
There were warnings.
Patch tests.
Processing times.
Gloves.
Apparently changing her appearance was going to involve chemistry.
She was a psychology student.
She knew just enough about chemistry to appreciate how badly this could go.
"Could be worse," she murmured.
She considered that.
"Actually, no. Let's not challenge the universe."
She added the products to her basket.
Food.
Clothes.
Backpack.
Hair dye.
Toiletries.
Far too much to carry out discreetly.
She was going to need a different approach.
***
The changing rooms were unattended.
A sign requested that customers take no more than six items inside.
Evelyn counted her clothing.
Far more than six.
Naturally.
She looked around.
There were cameras in the main clothing section.
Of course there were.
She could see one mounted above a display of jackets.
Another near the aisle.
She looked toward the changing rooms.
No cameras inside.
At least, none she could see.
That was something.
She selected six items and carried them into a cubicle, taking the basket and backpack with her.
For several seconds, she stood staring at her reflection.
Her face was pale.
Her dark hair hung in tangled strands around her shoulders.
There was dried blood along the collar of her shirt.
She looked exhausted.
She looked frightened.
She looked—
She looked like Evelyn Holloway.
The woman on every adventurer's quest list.
She pulled the curtain closed.
Then she sat on the little bench and covered her face.
She wanted her mother.
The thought arrived so suddenly that her throat tightened.
She wanted to go home.
She wanted Lucy to tell her everything was going to be fine.
She wanted Oliver to complain about something stupid.
She wanted her father to ask whether she'd eaten.
She wanted—
She pressed her palms harder against her eyes.
"No."
Not here.
She couldn't fall apart in a supermarket changing room.
That would be ridiculous.
She had standards.
Apparently those standards now included stealing underwear but not crying near a mirror.
She laughed once.
Then bit her lip until the sound stopped.
After a moment, she stood.
She pulled off the navy shirt.
The fabric caught briefly against her hair.
She looked down at it.
The bullet hole was small.
The bloodstain wasn't.
She turned the shirt over in her hands.
It was strange.
There was so much blood.
And yet her body was completely healed.
She folded the shirt carefully.
Then stopped.
Why was she folding it?
She wasn't going to wear it again.
She wasn't going to keep it.
She didn't want to see it.
She dropped it onto the bench.
The grey trousers followed.
Then the oversized boots.
She changed into the new underwear first. Northstar hadn't bothered providing any, and she'd been stuck without it ever since. At least that was one small indignity she could finally put behind her.
Then she pulled on the black T-shirt and leggings, followed by the grey hoodie.
The new clothes felt almost impossibly clean.
She looked at herself.
Better.
Much better.
She adjusted the hoodie.
Pulled the sleeves over her hands.
Then pushed them back.
She looked like a normal young woman.
A slightly exhausted normal young woman.
But normal.
She sat down and pulled on the new trainers.
They were a little loose, but comfortable enough.
She stood.
Walked two steps.
Turned.
They would do.
She looked at the old clothes on the bench.
The bloody shirt.
The filthy trousers.
The boots.
She should take them.
Probably.
But why?
They were useless.
And carrying them would only make everything harder.
She stared at the bloodstained shirt for several seconds.
Then turned away.
She wasn't keeping souvenirs.
She gathered the spare clothes and packed them into the new backpack, followed by the hair products and toiletries.
Then she transferred the food from her shopping basket. The bread rolls, sandwich, crisps, and chocolate bars went into the main compartment, along with both bottles of water.
The bag was getting heavy.
She adjusted the contents, trying to keep the food from being crushed beneath the clothes.
It wasn't particularly elegant, but everything fit.
She zipped the backpack shut and slipped it over her shoulders.
For a moment, she simply stood there.
Clean clothes. Comfortable shoes. Food. Water. Spare clothing.
All of it stolen.
"Well," she muttered, "at least I'm a prepared criminal."
She looked at herself one last time.
Grey hoodie.
Black leggings.
New trainers.
Dark hair.
A backpack.
She looked almost ordinary.
Then she noticed the price tag hanging from the hoodie.
"Oh, for—"
She pulled it off.
Another tag scratched at the back of her neck.
She found it and tore it away.
The trousers had one too.
Of course they did.
She removed the visible paper tags, trying not to make too much noise.
Then she stopped.
What if there were security tags?
The hard plastic ones.
The ones that made alarms go off.
She checked the hoodie.
Nothing obvious.
The trousers.
Nothing.
The trainers.
She turned one over.
There was a label inside, but no large plastic tag.
That didn't mean anything.
Maybe there were hidden ones.
Maybe the doors would scream the moment she approached.
Maybe—
"Stop."
She took a breath.
She was doing it again.
Thinking herself into a panic.
She zipped the backpack.
Pulled the hood up.
Then hesitated.
Would that make her look suspicious?
She lowered it.
Then raised it again.
"Oh, honestly."
She left it down.
For now.
She stepped out of the cubicle.
A shop assistant stood nearby, sorting returned clothes.
"Everything all right?"
Evelyn stopped dead.
Her heart seemed to slam against her ribs.
"Yes."
The assistant smiled.
"Find everything you needed?"
"Yes."
"Lovely."
Evelyn waited.
The assistant went back to folding a jumper.
That was all.
Evelyn stared.
Then realized she was staring.
"Thanks."
She walked away.
Too quickly.
*Brilliant. Six deaths, and apparently my greatest enemy is retail security.*
A giggle escaped her.
She clamped her mouth shut.
She was going to get herself arrested for being weird.
Not for theft.
For being profoundly, catastrophically weird.
***
The problem with stealing was that Evelyn had never done it before.
Not properly.
She'd taken things from a dead guard, but that had been different.
He hadn't been using them.
Probably.
She tried not to think about that either.
She had attempted to steal apples from a farmer, but he'd caught her before she'd managed to take anything.
And now she was standing in a supermarket wearing unpaid clothes, carrying a backpack full of more unpaid clothes, wondering how ordinary criminals managed to make this look easy.
She could simply walk out.
That was the obvious solution.
But there were cameras.
And security gates.
And people.
So many people.
She wandered through three aisles pretending to examine products she had absolutely no intention of buying.
Cereal.
Cleaning supplies.
Pet food.
She stopped in front of a display of pet food, pretending to read the ingredients while trying to slow her breathing.
Near the front of the store, several self-checkout machines stood beside the staffed tills.
An employee was helping an elderly man scan a bag of potatoes.
Another customer argued with a machine about an unexpected item in the bagging area.
Evelyn watched them.
The machines looked simple enough.
But she didn't have money.
She didn't have a card.
She didn't even have a phone.
She had a backpack full of stolen clothes, food, water, and hair dye.
Her stomach growled again.
"Traitor," she whispered.
She moved toward the entrance.
The automatic doors opened for an arriving family.
Beyond them lay the car park.
Freedom.
Or at least the next thirty seconds of it.
Evelyn tightened her grip on the straps of her backpack.
Everything was inside. Clothes, food, water, hair dye. Far more than she'd ever intended to take when she'd first walked into the shop.
Her hands were trembling.
She forced herself to walk.
Not run.
Walking was normal.
People walked out of supermarkets all the time.
Some of them even paid for things.
She was nearly at the doors when a voice called behind her.
"Excuse me!"
Evelyn stopped.
Every muscle in her body went rigid.
*Don't turn around.*
*Turning around is suspicious.*
*Not turning around is suspicious.*
*Everything is suspicious.*
"Miss? Excuse me!"
She turned.
A young employee in a green uniform was approaching.
He couldn't have been much older than she was.
"Sorry," he said. "I think you've forgotten to pay for something."
Evelyn stared at him.
He looked at the backpack.
She looked at the backpack.
Then back at him.
There were several perfectly reasonable things she could have said.
*Oh, sorry.*
*I forgot.*
*I'll go back.*
Instead, she said, "Probably."
The employee blinked.
"What?"
Evelyn blinked too.
*Probably?*
*PROBABLY?*
Why had she said that?
A strange little laugh escaped her.
The employee's expression changed.
"Miss, I'm going to need you to come back inside."
She took one step backward.
"Right."
"Please."
Another step.
He glanced toward the security desk.
Evelyn saw the movement.
And something inside her snapped.
Not anger.
Not violence.
Just fear.
Pure, immediate, overwhelming fear.
She turned and ran.
"Hey!"
She heard him shout.
"Stop!"
She didn't.
She sprinted through the automatic doors, nearly collided with a shopping trolley, and shot across the car park.
Someone swore.
A car horn sounded.
She kept running.
Her trainers slapped against the pavement.
Her backpack bounced painfully against her shoulders.
Behind her, the employee shouted again.
She didn't look back.
She reached the far side of the car park, squeezed between two parked cars, and darted down a narrow service lane.
A delivery driver shouted something as she passed.
She ignored him.
At the end of the lane, she turned left.
Then right.
Then left again.
She didn't know where she was going.
She only knew she needed to get away.
By the time she finally stopped behind a row of garages, her lungs were burning.
She bent over, hands on her knees, and gasped for breath.
Nobody followed.
No footsteps.
No shouting.
Just the distant sound of traffic.
She straightened slowly.
Then she started laughing.
It came out in short, breathless bursts.
"Oh, God."
She pressed a hand over her mouth.
"Oh, God, I actually did it."
She'd stolen things.
Actual things.
From an actual shop.
She was a criminal.
A terrible criminal, admittedly.
Possibly the worst criminal in Britain.
But still.
She laughed harder.
Then stopped abruptly.
Because she was crying.
She hadn't even noticed when it started.
Tears ran down her cheeks as she stood behind the garages, clutching the straps of her stolen backpack.
She wiped them away angrily.
"Stop it."
Her voice cracked.
"Just stop."
She leaned against the brick wall and closed her eyes.
For several minutes, she did nothing.
Eventually, her breathing steadied.
She opened the backpack.
The sandwich was crushed.
One chocolate bar had broken.
The bread rolls had survived.
The hair dye boxes were slightly dented.
Both bottles of water were still there.
Everything else seemed intact.
She stared at the contents.
"Well."
She sniffed.
"At least I'm a successful terrible criminal."
***
The public toilets were beside a small park.
Evelyn had walked past them twice before working up the courage to go inside.
The building was old but reasonably clean, with tiled floors, a row of sinks, and several cubicles.
Nobody was there.
She checked each cubicle.
Empty.
She chose the accessible toilet at the end because it had a sink inside and a door that locked.
She turned the lock.
Then tested it.
Twice.
Then a third time.
Only then did she relax enough to put her backpack down.
"Right."
She looked at the mirror.
"Let's make some terrible decisions."
The hair-lightening kit was more complicated than she'd hoped.
There were gloves.
Two bottles.
A packet of powder.
Instructions printed in several languages.
Warnings about ventilation.
Warnings about skin contact.
Warnings about leaving the product on too long.
Evelyn read everything.
Twice.
She had died six times.
She was not going to accidentally dissolve her scalp because she'd been too impatient to read a leaflet.
She mixed the product carefully, trying not to spill anything on the sink.
Then she applied it to her hair.
It was awkward.
Messy.
And much harder than the smiling woman on the box had suggested.
Her arms began to ache.
She got product on her forehead.
Then on her ear.
Then somehow on the sleeve of her hoodie.
"Wonderful."
She scrubbed at the fabric.
The stain remained.
She stared at it.
"Perfect. New clothes, already ruined."
She took off the hoodie and folded it out of the way.
The lightener smelled awful.
She worked it through her hair as evenly as she could, then waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Every few minutes, she checked the mirror.
At first, nothing seemed to happen.
Then her hair began changing.
Dark brown became reddish.
Reddish became copper.
Copper became something alarmingly close to orange.
Evelyn stared.
"Oh, no."
She leaned closer.
"Oh, that's bad."
She checked the instructions.
The recommended processing time wasn't finished.
She waited a little longer.
Her hair became lighter.
Not blonde.
Not properly.
More like a confused mixture of gold, copper, and pale brown.
She rinsed it thoroughly, trying not to flood the floor.
Water splashed everywhere.
Her sleeves got wet.
The sink looked as though someone had been washing a particularly unfortunate animal in it.
She dried her hair as best she could with paper towels.
Then stared at the result.
"Oh, bloody hell."
She looked ridiculous.
Not completely ridiculous.
But enough.
She opened the blonde dye.
Perhaps the second box would help.
Perhaps it would make things worse.
At this point, she was committed.
She followed the instructions again.
Mixed.
Applied.
Waited.
Rinsed.
More paper towels.
More mess.
More muttered swearing.
By the time she finished, her arms were trembling with exhaustion.
She leaned toward the mirror.
Her hair was blonde.
Sort of.
A warm, uneven blonde with darker patches near the roots and a distinctly golden-orange tone in certain sections.
It was not the elegant transformation she'd imagined.
But it was different.
Very different.
She tilted her head.
The girl in the mirror tilted hers.
Evelyn frowned.
The girl frowned back.
She pulled a strand forward and examined it.
"Well."
She considered the result.
"At least nobody's going to mistake me for a professional hairdresser."
A small laugh escaped her.
This time, it felt almost normal.
She put the grey hoodie back on and pulled the hood up.
Then down.
Then up again.
She studied herself.
The hood concealed most of her hair.
Which rather defeated the purpose of dyeing it.
But it also made her feel safer.
She left it down.
For now.
She sat on the closed toilet lid and pulled the crushed sandwich from her backpack.
It tasted wonderful.
Not because it was particularly good.
It was actually a little soggy.
But it was food.
Real food.
She ate it so quickly that she barely tasted the last half.
Then she ate a bread roll.
Then another.
Then half a chocolate bar.
Her stomach protested the sudden abundance.
She slowed down.
Drank some water.
Waited.
For the first time in days, she felt something approaching human.
Not safe.
Not happy.
But human.
She cleaned the sink as thoroughly as she could with paper towels, gathered the used packaging, and shoved everything into the rubbish bin.
Then she looked at herself in the mirror again.
Blonde.
Well, mostly blonde.
There were darker patches near the roots, and the ends had taken on a distinctly golden-orange colour that the woman on the box had somehow neglected to mention.
She tilted her head.
The girl in the mirror tilted hers.
"Well, you look terrible."
A pause.
"Different, though."
She pulled a strand of hair forward and examined it.
Different was good.
Different meant that someone looking for a dark-haired university student might walk straight past her.
At least, that was the theory.
She wasn't entirely convinced.
She put the grey hoodie back on properly, then glanced down at the backpack resting against her feet.
For the first time in days, she had food. Clean clothes. Spare clothes, even.
She hadn't died getting any of them.
A small, tired smile appeared on her face.
"Look at that. Progress."
There were still plenty of problems to deal with.
She needed somewhere safe to sleep. A way to contact her family. Money, somehow. And she still had absolutely no idea what to do about the World Quest.
But those could wait a little longer.
Right now, she had a sandwich.
And terrible blonde hair.
Evelyn looked at her reflection one last time.
"Could be worse."
She considered that.
"Please don't take that as a challenge."