I scramble back into the trees, bracing one hand against a trunk to haul myself up. My legs feel like they’re made of water. My bag strap has twisted around my arm. My scarf hangs half off my neck, the fabric stretched, threads popped where fingers bit into it.
I should run. Every muscle in me knows it. Every animal part. Get away. Get safe. Put distance between yourself and the danger. Don’t look back.
I do run.
My body jerks into motion almost on its own, turning away from the fight. Snow sprays up around my calves. My breath saws in and out. My heartbeat pulses behind my eyes.
But before I disappear down the trail, I look back once, just once. And see him. The man who stopped him. Not a hero. Not in the comic book way. No cape, no dramatic spotlight, no perfect timing, and a clean getaway.
He’s rough around the edges, darkness in his eyes, jaw clenched. His hair is damp with snow, his jacket catching the moonlight. His fists are already bloodied. He looks like someone who’s seen more fights than Christmases.
But there’s something in the way he moves, focused, brutal, utterly unforgiving on my behalf.Something quieter. Fiercer. Real.
The attacker tries to scramble to his feet, but the man in leather drags him back down, pinning him with a forearm across his chest. Their faces twist in effort and rage. Snow scatters. A branch snaps under someone’s boot.
For the briefest second, as the attacker’s head thuds back into the snow and he goes limp, the stranger looks up. Our eyes meet. It can’t be more than a heartbeat, but it stretches, sticky and strange, the world narrowing down to just that line between us.
His gaze passes over me, not in the way the other man’s did. There’s no calculation there, no ownership, no ugly interest. Just a quick, sharp assessment. Is she okay? Then he exhales, shoulders dropping a fraction, and that’s it. The spell breaks.
My survival instinct grabs me by the scruff.Run,it says.Now.And I do.I turn and bolt down the path, lungs burning, legs shaking, my whole-body humming with terror and something else I don’t have a name for yet.
Adrenaline roars in my ears, drowning out the sounds of the fight behind me. The bend in the path comes and goes. The trees thin. In the distance, I see the faint orange glow of the streetlamp near my building entrance. I don’t slow down. Not until my hands are on my front door and my keys are trembling in the lock.
Only then, safe on the other side of the wood and metal and chain, do I let myself slide to the floor, back against the door, breath coming in ragged gasps. I press my shaking fingers to my mouth. And for a long time, I don’t move. I don’t know his name. I don’t know why he was there. All I know is that a stranger stepped out of the dark. And changed everything.
Three~The Fight
Jaxon
He Didn’t See Me Coming. None of them ever really do. He had her by the coat, dragging her backward into the brush like it was just another Thursday night and she was just another girl no one would miss.Wrong.
I’d just come around the bend in the road, headlight cutting a weak tunnel through the snow and dark, when I caught movement off to the side. People don’t usually walk this path at this hour. I know that because I’ve ridden this stretch more times than I can count, just me and the road and the ghosts in my head.
But this wasn’t normal movement. It wasn’t the lazy sway of a branch or the quick dart of a fox across the ditch. It was a struggle. I heard her before I saw her. A choked sound, half-strangled, not quite a scream, not quite words. Then a sharperone, like someone trying to shout with a hand over their mouth. My gut went tight.
I should’ve kept riding. That’s what most people would do. Tell themselves they misheard. Tell themselves someone else will deal with it. Tell themselves it’s none of their business. But I’ve never been good at lying to myself.
I eased off the throttle and killed the headlight as I approached the side cut. The bike’s engine dropped to a rumble, then silence, ticking as it cooled. The snow deadened the sound of everything else, swallowing it whole. Then I heard it again.
“Let me go—”
Her voice, small and raw, cut through the trees. That was it. The line. I swung off the bike before it fully stopped rocking, boots hitting the gravel, then the softer give of snow at the edge of the road. My heart was pounding, but my head went oddly clear.Tunnel vision. Focused.
I moved into the trees. The path was narrow, branches catching at my jacket. The cold bit at my face, but I barely felt it. I followed the sounds, scuffling, harsh breathing, the scrape of shoes fighting for footing.
Then I saw them. He had her by the coat, dragging her backward into the brush like she weighed nothing, like she was just a bag of trash he was hauling off to dump somewhere no one would find it. One hand twisted in the fabric at her collar, forcing her backwards; the other fumbled at his waistband like he was reaching for something.
She was fighting. I’ll give her that. Her boots were digging trenches in the snow, and her hands clawed at the grip on her, fingers white-knuckled. Her scarf hung askew, hair spilling out from under her hat, eyes wide and bright in the dim.
I didn’t think. I didn’t announce myself.
Didn’t warn him.
Didn’t yell“stop”like some daytime PSA.
I came out of the trees like a bullet.
I didn’t say anything.
