If he died today, he would do so untethered. Not as a dog responding to commands, but as a man—flawed, scarred, dangerous—choosing his own end.
The wind shifted.
Something in the air changed—pressure, intent, the subtle tightening of spacebehind him.
A ripple crawled over his senses.
Someone was watching him.
His spine straightened, but he didn’t reach for a weapon. He closed his eyes for the briefest heartbeat, letting instinct sharpen.
Footsteps.
Light. Trained. Purposeful. Over-confident.
A predator who didn’t bother hiding because he thought he’d already won.
Eric opened his eyes and lifted his head, his expression cooling like a blade dipped in ice water.
Lyle.
He turned slowly, almost lazily, as if granting an annoyance the courtesy of acknowledgment.
Lyle stepped from the tree line, the pistol in his hand raised, the muzzle an unblinking black eye aimed at Eric’s heart. Dirt scuffed his boots. His breath curled in white plumes. His brown eyes gleamed with an ugly satisfaction—an animal’s version of triumph.
The forest behind him stretched in a bramble of dark green and shadow. Wind rustled the branches overhead, sending dead leaves spiraling through the air like burnt paper.
“Looks like it’s just you and me now, Freak,” Lyle growled, settling his stance.
Eric stared at him for a long, silent moment.
Then he exhaled softly—almost amused.
His internal thoughts flickered like a second heartbeat:
Poor, stupid man.
You think you’re the hunter.
You never saw the real predators walking beside you.
He shook his head, a ghost of a smile touching his mouth.
“You have no idea who you’re messing with, Lyle,” he said quietly, his voice carrying easily across the still air. “You never did.”
Lyle’s jaw twitched. The pistol rose a fraction.
Eric stepped forward once, his expression sharpening—no fear, no hesitation. Just inevitability.
“I warned you,” he murmured. “You should have listened while you had the chance.”
His eyes glinted, dark and fathomless, as the quiet lake behind him reflected their standoff like a scene in a nightmare too calm to be real.
“Let me ask you something, Lyle. Do you believe in monsters?”
The wind stirred the pine needles as Benoit Jeffries stood motionless at the edge of the perimeter, one gloved hand raised in the still air. His eyes were half-closed, his breath slow, deliberate. It was an effort to keep the searing pain behind his eyes from dropping him to his knees.
Flashes assaulted his vision.
