Bound By Thorns Part 01 (New draft)

I would prefer you read the scrapped draft. Hope you like the new version.

The wind howled through the empty streets, sharp and biting against my skin. The cold clung to me like a second skin, seeping through my clothes, settling deep into my bones. My shoes barely made a sound against the pavement, coated in frost that seemed to swallow every step I took. Each breath escaped my lips in a mist, fading into the night like a whispered secret.
Growing up, silence had always been my escape.
It was the only thing that could drown out the shouting, my father’s anger, and the endless storm in our house that never seemed to quiet.

Silence is what I thought I wanted all my life.
But this…? This was something entirely different.

I used to think that peace meant stillness. Quiet. A world without voices, without tension, without the hum of fear that followed me wherever I went. But now, as the night pressed in, I realized how wrong I’d been. This silence was different. It wasn’t exactly peaceful—it was heavy and suffocating. It wasn’t calm. Instead, it was empty, filling every inch of the city with a deafening loneliness.
I could barely walk through the streets without checking over my shoulder, half-expecting something to lunge from the shadows. Those addicts stumbled past me, their bodies hollowed out by the same drug that had consumed the city. They were ghosts, drifting through the streets in search of something I couldn't understand—something that maybe, for a fleeting moment, would make them feel like they were whole again.

Ever since that day, I have learned to keep my head low. I have learned to take silent steps. I have learned that if you draw attention to yourself…that could mean you get seriously hurt.
My fingers curled tighter around the bag, the plastic crinkling with every step. But I didn’t care if someone heard.
I was too tired to be scared, and too hungry to care.

Hunger always drags you back to the present, no matter how deep in your head you are.
The bag was heavy in my arms, but it was a good kind of heavy, the kind that meant we’d be full tonight, not just pretending.
It had been two days—maybe three—since either of us had eaten more than scraps. I stopped counting after the second day. You get used to ignoring the gnawing after a while, like tuning out a song you’ve heard too many times.
Our city used to hum with life. Shopkeepers with a hearty smile on their faces, music spilling out of open windows, people laughing in the streets.

Now it’s just empty.
The warmth that once filled every corner now felt like a distant memory.
My fingers were numb by the time I reached the alley. Same one every night. Same cracked bricks and faded graffiti. Same rusted fire escape groaning above like it could snap any minute. But it was ours.
Our home, in a way.

The street lights barely reached this deep into the alley. We'd made this place our routine — as close to "safe" as anywhere felt these days. I paused at the corner, my breath catching in my throat.
Not fear exactly.
More like instincts.
The shadows ahead of me were long, stretched out by the flames flickering in the cold air. A fire burned in a rusted barrel, its orange light casting warped shapes against the walls of the alley. My eyes narrowed as I tried to make out the figures standing near it.
Jason was there, but he was not alone.
A girl,
Judging by the voice.

Soft, uncertain. Not street-tough like us, but careful. Like she knew the city could bite.
He was sitting on the ground, half hidden by a dumpster, his hands over the flame, silently commanding it to rise further when it seemed to die.
I stood there at the mouth of the alley, quietly watching them. They were so engrossed in their conversation that neither of them had noticed me.

Jason didn’t look up, didn’t wave me over like he usually did. He just sat there, eyes locked on the girl.
Something about the way he looked at her unsettled me.
I just stood there, frozen, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.
He was nodding, like he trusted her. Like he knew her. I couldn’t see her face but she didn’t feel like much of a threat.
She was wearing a strange gear with guns and daggers strapped all over it. It was not the usual city-scavenged mix of rusted blades and makeshift weapons—this stuff was clean, sharp, intentional, too many for someone just passing through. Flowers were braided into her hair, and she looked just as old as me, maybe a bit older.

Nothing about her screamed danger, not the way she stood or spoke, but all the weapons with her meant otherwise.
But Jason was too relaxed to be bothered by any of that. He was talking to her like he already knew she was not a threat.
I took a step forward, the snow crunched beneath my feet
That’s when she looked up.

Her eyes met mine, glowing a faint green. Then, without a word, she raised her hand.
It was like the earth heard her call.

A sweet floral scent filled the air before the cracks in the pavement split wide open. Thick vines erupted from beneath the snow, coiling toward me like they’d been waiting. I barely had time to move before one wrapped around my ankle, yanking me off balance. I hit the ground hard, hands scraping against frozen concrete.

More vines slithered around me—fast and strong, like snakes with purpose. They wrapped around my wrists, my legs, my waist, pinning me down in a cold, green cage. I thrashed, but it was useless. The vines weren’t just plants—they listened to her.
The bag I had landed on the ground with a weak thud, its contents spilling out in slow motion like a cruel joke.
‘‘You are not going anywhere,’’ the girl said, ‘‘I knew someone was watching us. Who are you and what are you doing here?’’
“I should be the one asking you that!” I snapped, still breathing hard against the vines that were now pressing in on my ribs.

(more to add. This, too, can also be a future scrapped draft.)
Please tell me if any aspect of it is cliche. I know the line spacing could be more presentable, but what are your overall thoughts?

I hope you guys are having a good day. Thank you so much for choosing my story.
Vesper