It doesn’t.
My memory swims with the voice that taught me what happened to girls who made men repeat themselves.
I shove the fear down and keep moving. Bare feet find uneven ground, sending jolts up my spine, but I force myself onward. If I can reach water, I can keep going. If I can keep going, I might make it to morning. If I make it to morning, maybe the mountain will hide me one more day.
Another bark rolls through the trees behind me. Closer now.
I drop fast, knees pulled tight to my chest, and listen. The forest goes still around me in a way that feels wrong. Waiting. Holding its breath with mine.
Then I hear it.
A man shouting in the distance. Sharp. Angry. Certain.
Not a search anymore. A hunt.
I push myself upright and stumble downhill, branches scraping my arms, panic rising so hard it turns my vision white at the edges. The trees close in as the path dips lower. Another hum presses upward. I bite it back so hard my jaw aches.
One more hour. One more night. One more stretch of ground between me and him.
Everything else comes later.
If it comes at all.
Something cracks behind me—too close, too heavy to be wind—and my heart slams so hard I taste copper.
I stop so fast my bad ankle nearly folds under me. The barking behind me fades for a second, swallowed by distance and trees. Another sound takes its place.
Footsteps.
Not crashing. Not drunk. Not careless.
Slow. Certain. Ahead of me.
My whole body turns to ice. They stomp when they hunt. They break branches. Curse. Laugh when they think they’re close. This is different. Quieter. Worse in its own way.
I drop behind a stand of saplings and press one hand to the earth, steadying myself. The cold mud bites into my skin. My throat tightens around a sound I do not let out.
A shadow moves between the trees.
Broad shoulders. Slow stride. A man who knows these woods well enough not to fear them.
For one wild second, I think evil somehow got ahead of me. Panic claws straight up my spine. I pull my knees in tighter and make myself small, hidden by brush and shadow, trying to become one more dark shape in the undergrowth.
The man pauses.
I stop breathing.
He is turned partly away from me, scanning the trees as if he heard a noise and is trying to place it. His hands hang loose at his sides. No rifle raised. No dog at his heel. No restless twitch that says he’s chasing prey.
Still dangerous.
All men are.
Behind me, far off but real, a dog barks again. Too far to save me from the man ahead. Too close to let me run back. I am trapped between one danger I know and one I don’t.
My mouth goes dry. I try to swallow and fail. A thin choke escapes before I can stop it.
The man goes still.
