Lucas was shoved, tumbling onto a pile of dirt and weeds. The dirt cushioned his fall, preventing injury. He lifted his head and shouted, "Felicia!" But down the slippery slope, she was nowhere to be seen.

Shawn erupted in laughter, clutching a shard of porcelain stained with blood—a remnant of his earlier attack on Felicia as she protected Lucas. Fate, he thought, was on his side. Perfect timing, perfect place, perfect setup. Felicia, distracted by Lucas, hadn't noticed the slope leading to a cliff and waterfall. Shawn had used his last ounce of strength for one final, desperate strike. If he failed, he'd accept it; but fate, clearly, was smiling upon him. Felicia had fallen. There was no chance of survival.

Shawn's laughter was maniacal. Lucas, terrified, sat on the ground, his small face etched with horror. Shawn's gaze froze him; instinctively, Lucas tried to flee.

"Where do you think you're going?" Shawn sneered, seizing Lucas's arm. "You're going down there too!" he grinned maliciously, about to toss Lucas over the edge.

But someone intervened. A hand caught Lucas; a powerful kick sent Shawn flying, coughing blood before his head struck a rock, rendering him unconscious. Stephan, having heard the commotion, had arrived just in time.

Lucas cried, pointing towards the slope. "Felicia! She fell—she fell there!"

Stephan immediately looked down. Felicia had fallen? A chilling aura enveloped him; his usually calm, dark eyes burned with red. The waterfall's roar was deafening; the mist, a piercing chill. In the dim moonlight, he saw her: against the cliff's edge, a pair of delicate hands clung to a vine growing between the cracks in the stone, preventing a fatal fall.

Hearing the commotion, Felicia looked up and grinned. "Hey, Mr. Russell, mind giving me a hand?" Her carefree smile, in the moonlight, held a hint of pride. She had reacted quickly enough to grab the vine; otherwise, she would have been swept away or severely injured. Seeing Stephan, she felt reassured. He wouldn't leave her, would he?

He didn't. He extended his hand; the tension and worry left him as he saw her safety. "Thanks!" she said, clutching the vine with one hand and his outstretched hand with the other. Her feet slipped; she needed help and a solid foothold to climb back up.

As Stephan pulled her upward, he asked, "Felicia, did you happen to borrow my jacket the other day?"

Felicia froze, nearly betraying herself. Her mind flashed back to the night of her forced engagement with Arnold—a reckless, dizzying night.