CASSIE
The woods are not silent.
That’s the first lie movies tell you about nature. They make it look peaceful. Still. A green cathedral where you go to find yourself.
The reality is a cacophony of violence.
Branches whip against my face. Dead leaves and branches crunch like breaking bones under my sneakers. My breath tears out of my lungs in ragged, whistling gasps that sound terrifyingly loud in the crisp morning air.
And ahead of me, the ghost moves without a sound.
Diego is twenty feet up the slope. He doesn’t hike; he flows. He steps over fallen logs that I have to scramble over. He weaves through brambles that snag my sweater. He is part of the landscape, a shadow moving through shadows.
I am an intruder. A loud, clumsy, exhausted intruder in running shoes that have zero grip on the frosted mud.
“Keep moving.” He doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t have to. He hears the struggle.
“I’m—moving,” I wheeze.
We’ve been running—no, evading—for an hour. Maybe two. Time dissolves when your entire world narrows down to the placement of your next step.
My thighs burn. My calves are knots of cramping muscle. The cold air stings my throat like swallowed glass.
Why did we leave the truck?
The question loops in my brain, a frantic mantra. The F-150 was right there. It had a heater. It had an engine. It had seats. We could be fifty miles away by now, blending into traffic on some anonymous interstate.
Instead, we are climbing a mountain in the middle of nowhere because a bird flew the wrong way.
It’s insane. It’s paranoid.
It’s suicide.
I slip.
My right foot finds a patch of wet moss on a rock. Friction vanishes.
I go down hard. My knee slams into the stone. The impact jars my teeth.
“Damn it.”
The sound of my voice freezes Diego instantly. He drops to a crouch, weapon in hand, scanning the tree line behind us.
“Quiet,” he hisses.
“I fell.”
He waits. Listens. The woods hold their breath.
After ten seconds, he holsters the weapon and slides down the slope to me. He moves with that terrifying economy of motion—controlled gravity.
“You hurt?”
“I banged my knee.”
“Can you walk?”
“Yes.”
