His breathing hitches and slows.
His eyes are wide and frightened as I stare right back.
For a second, I think—I should feel something. Guilt. Horror. Something human.
But I don’t.
All I feel is… numb.
And alive.
My hands are stained with blood. His blood. It’s warm and tacky. My legs are shaking as I stand, knees knocking together. I look down.
Tim’s still alive. Barely.
He’s clutching at his stomach and choking on his own blood; it seeps between his fingers, pooling around him, soaking into the wooden floor. The light in his eyes flickers. It’s fading, dying.
And I feel nothing.
Just the sound of my own breath, shallow and jagged, and that constant muffling noise in my ears, like water trapped inside my skull.
Then—I see it.
A flicker of light outside the window.
Then another.
My body locks.
Two flashlights. Close. Moving. Getting closer.
I don’t move.
My limbs won’t work. My breath catches in my throat.
They’re coming back, Nate and the others.
My vision tightens, the edges going dark. My ears ring louder, pressure closing in like a noose.
I can’t move. I’m frozen.
They’re going to see me. They’re going to find me standing over him—blood on my hands, the knife still in his stomach.
Nate will kill me.
I’m going to die.
A whimper escapes my throat, small and raw. My knees threaten to buckle. My chest is heaving, lungs squeezing like they’ve forgotten how to work. My body is trembling, but I can’t do anything.
And then I hear Tyler’s voice.
Soft, sharp, terrified. Not real—but I hear it like he’s right beside me.
“Move, Lucas. Go. Now.”
My head snaps up.
“Move,” he says again, like he’s scared. I can hear it, as it clouds my pounding head.
