I keep my body low, every nerve lit, the old lessons snapping into place. The first rule my father ever taught me: survive. The second: don’t trust anyone to save you.
Now, with Leon pressed at my side, that rule is starting to slip.
A bullet tears bark from a tree inches from Leon’s head. I don’t think, I just act—grab his arm, yank him hard, and we crash to the ground, breath tangled, leaves and cold earth pressed against our skin. He stares at me for a second, eyes wide, and I realize he hadn’t seen it coming. His face twists with something like surprise, but there’s no time for explanations.
“Go!” I hiss, already crawling toward a fallen log I spotted earlier, the kind that could break a shot or hide us for a heartbeat.
He follows without hesitation. There’s trust in it, silent and sharp, and it makes my chest ache in a new, dangerous way.
The forest is thick here, roots and undergrowth slowing the men behind us. I glance back—three, maybe four, shadows fanning out, voices low, coordinated. Leon signals—fingers flicking, silent orders. I nod, leading us sideways through a narrow deer trail, barely visible beneath the ferns.
For a while, all that exists is movement. Leon covers me as I dart across open ground, his shots controlled and deliberate, each one buying us precious seconds.
I pull him along winding paths, through hollows and over moss-slick logs, drawing on old instincts and the cloudy memories of childhood games in these kinds of woods. We weave a desperate pattern, never straight, never obvious.
We double back, then double back again, turning the terrain into our ally. The attackers hesitate, shouts echoing, uncertain.
I feel Leon close behind me, always a step to my left, always watching my back. There’s no room for argument, for pride, for anything but survival.
A sudden volley of bullets splits the air. Leon curses, grabbing my hand and hauling me down behind a boulder. He shields me with his body, one arm braced against the stone, the other steady on his pistol.
The cold press of his chest against my back is a comfort and a warning—how close we are to losing everything.
I hear footsteps crashing through the brush, boots skidding on loose earth.
Leon squeezes my hand, murmurs, “On three.” I count with him, pulse thunderous, and when he moves, I move, springing from cover as he lays down fire.
We sprint, lungs burning, every breath scraping raw. I lead him up a narrow ridge, half hidden by brambles.
A branch snaps behind us. It’s too close. I turn, catch a glimpse of a masked man, rifle raised. Instinct takes over. I sweep Leon out of the way, kicking his legs from under him just as a bullet slices the air where his head had been.
He lands hard, and for a second, his eyes flash with shock, and then gratitude.
“You’ve been holding out on me,” he pants.
“No time for secrets now,” I whisper, pulling him after me.
We scramble higher, slipping in mud, thorns snagging at our clothes. There’s a clearing ahead, bright with harsh morning sun—dangerous, exposed.
We huddle at the edge, listening to the chaos behind us. Leon leans in, mouth close to my ear.
“They’ll expect us to go for the horses. We head for the car. I parked it south, near the old gate.”
I nod, sweat stinging my eyes. “I know a shortcut. Trust me.”
His answer is a grim, wordless smile.
We break from cover, running low, zigzagging through the open. Gunshots follow, cracking past us, but Leon’s aim is true.
He fires over his shoulder, dropping one of the men in pursuit, then another. I scan ahead, searching for the overgrown path I noticed the day before. There—between two fallen birches, almost hidden. I grab Leon’s sleeve and pull him into the brush.
We plunge into darkness, branches whipping our faces, mud sucking at our boots. The path is barely there, just a ribbonof old leaves and faint impressions, but it leads away from the sound of pursuit.
I move quickly, praying it hasn’t grown over completely. Leon keeps close, silent now, trusting me to guide us.
For a moment, the world narrows to our breath and the pounding of my heart. I wonder if he’s afraid. I wonder if he’s angry.
When I glance back, I see only focus, only the fierce determination that made me both hate and admire him from the start.
