The marks were deep, strong, and resonant. They were purposeful. The question that kept swimming to the surface of my broken mind was simply Had I put them there? It would be all too easy to follow someone else’s trail of metaphorical breadcrumbs into something less than savory.

I closed my eyes and attempted to sort through the panic that had risen within me. I saw things in flashes and fragments. I felt like a raw nerve. Running. The coppery taste of absolute fear in the back of my throat.

Blood??

My hand flew instinctively to my throat. Looking down, I found a small silver key hanging there. Puzzled, I turned it over in my hand, and found, wracking my memory so hard that it almost hurt, that I had no idea what it was for. Or if it was even mine to begin with.

Looking around in a groggy state of half-memories, I realized that fate hadn’t handed me much of a choice. Hiding the silver key inside my shirt, and unfolding my knife, I trudged off in the direction of the arrows, arm limp at my side.