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He’s pale.
Not bad.
Not critical.
But not fine either.
His side is already soaking through again.
Not good.
Not even close.
“We need shelter,” I say.
“Already looking.”
Lightning flashes through the trees—bright, sharp, exposing everything for a split second.
And in that second—
I see it.
“There,” I say, pointing.
A structure.
Barely.
Half-collapsed.
Wood and stone.
Old.
Abandoned.
But still standing.
“Works,” Jase says.
We move.
Fast.
Because standing in the open in a storm while being hunted?
Not ideal.
The cabin is worseup close.
Roof partially intact.
Door hanging.
Inside—
Dark.
