“We move.”
The words are quiet, but final. I blink.
“What?”
He looks at me. His eyes are hard and cold and there’s something in them that makes my heart skip and my breath catch with fear.
“Not safe here.”
I shake my head, cold sweat beading on the back of my neck.
“No. We’re not going anywhere. You brought me here but you can take me back.”
He takes a step toward me. It’s not aggressive, but my heart spikes anyway. There’s no mistaking the intent. We’re moving, whether I want it or not. I shift back a half step, sand sliding under my heel.
“Stop,” I say, sharply.
He keeps coming. The space between us compresses. The ground slips and I’m forced to stop moving unless I want to lose my footing. He’s too close, but pauses, watching. Waiting.
For what I don’t know. I hold my ground, jaw tight.
“I’m not going with you,” I say.
A heartbeat. Another. Nothing. Another then?—
“Stay.”
I blink, thrown off by the change of intent.
“Stay?”
He nods once, small and sharp, but very controlled.
“Safe.”
I stare, shaking my head.
“That’s not how this works.”
“No?” Another beat. Then, more deliberate: “Come.”
It’s not a request, but not exactly a command either. Still it’s close enough. Fear flutters in my chest and my stomach is churning, but I can’t just go along like this.
“No,” I say, firmly. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Silence. He watches, measures, then moves, coming closer. Still not moving fast or violently, but with a certainty that makes my chest tighten painfully. I try to step back because I am certain that standing still isn’t going to work.
He’s narrowed the space, and every instinct I have tells me not to break it the wrong way, so I hold, waiting and watching. He shifts first, moving past me with smooth, controlled movements. He angles toward the sloped wall, one hand bracing briefly against the packed sand as he tests it. Then he looks back at me.
“Come,” he says with the same quiet certainty.
“No,” I say, shaking my head.
His gaze flicks to the ceiling, to the thin places where light leaks through, then back to me again.
“Not safe.”
“I’m not following you into the middle of nowhere,” I snap. “I don’t even know where we are.”
