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Despite my burning lungs and losing sight of the trail, I don’t stop running. Twigs snap and leaves crunch underfoot, giving away my location with every step. I nearly run headlong into a creek, but I skid to a stop just in time. Crouching low, I strain to listen for the pounding of pursuing feet. Still, I hear nothing beyond the deafening thud of my own heart.
There’s no controlling my breath now as panic floods my system.
“You’re hearing things,” I tell myself, trying to gaslight my own fears away, even though my gut tells me otherwise.
Wiping the sweat from my brow, I catch a faint exhalation—I’m certain of it—from a person. From my crouched position, I launch myself over the water and roll behind a bush, my mouth slightly open as I listen intently, my head tilted to the side.
Deep in the forest, the sunlight barely penetrates through the trees, and all I hear is the rustle of leaves and birdsong. The birds are like bards from eons ago, singing a tale of my demise for running into the woods alone.
My heart hammers in my chest, and a cold sweat trickles down my back. The forest, once my sanctuary, now feels like a trap closing in on me. Every rustle of leaves, every distant call of a bird, seems to hide a lurking menace.
I strain to hear, my senses on high alert as my breath comes in ragged gasps. There it is again—the soft, barely audible exhale of a person nearby. My pulse quickens, and my mind races.
I’m not alone out here, and it’s no longer a mere feeling. Someone is stalking me in the woods. Panic seizes me, and my racing thoughts become a jumbled mess. Are they Desmond’s men? Is it Lyric or Matty playing some kind of game?
I dare not move or make a sound, trapped in a desperate waiting game and hoping to catch a clue regarding their intentions.
My instincts scream at me to run, to get as far away as possible, but I’m paralyzed by fear. Adrenaline courses through me, both urging me to flee and holding me in place with terror.
Minutes stretch into an agonizing eternity as I remain crouched behind the bush, every muscle tense and every nerve on edge. My ears strain for any hint of movement or sound.
Then it comes—the softest of whispers, like a ghostly breath in the woods. It’s too close for comfort.
I have to choose to stay hidden and hope I remain unseen or break cover and make a run for it. The decision weighs heavily on me, but I know I can’t stay here any longer.
One breath, two. I run.
My desperate flight through the woods becomes a reckless sprint. I no longer care about obstacles and nearly trip over rocks and fallen logs several times. Branches whip against my face, cutting my skin and drawing blood, and I let out a cry of pain as I hear footsteps echoing behind me.
I’m not imagining it. Someone is chasing me. There’s no doubt in my mind now.
My arms flail at my sides as I stumble, and I nearly fall as I crash out of the woods and into a clearing of tall grass. It provides only minimal cover, but I sink down, still facing the forest, blades of grass brushing over me as I slowly walk backward.
There’s nothing. No movement. No sign of my pursuer.
It’s impossible. I swear I heard someone chasing me.
Tears well in my eyes as I turn to my left, leap out of the grass, and press myself against the back of a tree. In the distance, there appears to be a break in the trees with a trail marker painted in bright white.
I’m so close.
Stepping out from behind the tree, I take one step, then another.
Suddenly, muscular arms wrap around me from behind, and I let out a piercing scream. My entire body seizes up as my attacker throws me to the ground. I land on soft grass, which offers little cushion, and the impact knocks the wind out of me as my back slams on the ground. My vision blurs with tears, rendering me blind to my assailant.
This time, I won’t freeze, I’ll fight, but just as the thought rushes through me, I feel a knife’s cold, chilling edge press against my throat. My hands dig into the soft earth at my sides as the weight of the assailant’s body pins me down, trapping me, and fear courses through me like a violent storm.
A heavy weight presses down on me, and muscular thighs trap my own. There’s no escaping, even if the blade wasn’t pressed menacingly against my throat.
“So easy,” a male voice murmurs, sending shivers down my spine. “Make it harder next time.”
It’s a familiar male voice.
“Lyric?” I manage to rasp out.
“Took you long enough,” he mutters, his tone far from pleased. It’s strange. I should be furious with him, but I can’t think straight with his body pinning me to the ground. He molds to me like a weighted blanket.
“What’s easy?” I find my voice now that I recognize my captor. Adrenaline lingers on my tongue as Lyric tightens his grip on the knife, and my vision clears, offering me a view of the trees above me. His head is buried against my throat, where his hot breath brushes against my skin.
