I settle onto a thick branch about fifteen feet up, press my back against the trunk, and try to quiet my breathing. My thighs burn. My hands are scraped raw. But I’m hidden. For now.
The forest goes quiet.
Too quiet.
No birds. No wind. Just the sound of my own pulse hammering in my ears.
Then I hear it—footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Not the frantic sprint of someone searching. The measured pace of someone who already knows.
Maksim’s voice cuts through the darkness, almost lazy.
“You climbed.”
Fuck.
How does he—
“Smart,” he continues, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Most people run horizontal. You went vertical. I like that.”
I press harder against the trunk, willing myself invisible. The knife handle digs into my stomach. My fingers flex around the brass knuckles.
“But here’s the thing, Beda,” he says, and his voice is closer now. Much closer. “I can smell you.”
My stomach drops.
The marshmallow body wash. That stupid, cheap shit I bought because it was on sale. It’s going to get me killed.
Or worse.
His footsteps stop directly below my tree.
I hold my breath.
“I know you’re up there,” he says conversationally. “So are you coming down on your own, or do I come get you?”
Neither sounds good.
I stay frozen, calculating. If I jump now, I might land wrong, twist an ankle. Then I’m done. If I wait, he’ll climb up and corner me on this branch with nowhere to go.
“You have five seconds to decide,” Maksim says.
My mind races. There’s another tree close by—maybe five feet away. If I can jump—
“Five.”
I shift my weight carefully, testing the branch.
“Four.”
It’ll hold. Probably.
“Three.”
I crouch slowly, muscles coiled.
“Two.”
I take a breath.
