“Maybe,” Brady says. “But standing here freaking out in the open isn’t helping us.”
I hate that he’s right. I hate that everything right now feels like the wrong choice. “What do we do?” I ask, my voice smaller now. Luke runs a hand through his hair, thinking.
“We need distance from the road. Somewhere, we can hear him coming if he’s out there. Somewhere we’re not just sitting ducks.”
“The woods?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says.
“That’s a terrible idea,” I laugh, only it sounds scared.
“Probably,” Brady mutters. “But staying here is worse.”
Silence falls over us for a second. The kind that feels heavy. Like whatever choice we make next… there’s no undoing it. I look between them, my chest still heaving, my thoughts spinning out of control, but then I nod.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Okay… we go into the woods.”
“We’ve got you,” Brady says, squeezing my shoulder. Luke reaches for my hand again, grounding me the same way he did on the trail earlier, like he’s trying to remind my body what safe is supposed to feel like.
It almost works.
We move back toward the truck just long enough to grab what little we can—a bottle of water each, a flashlight from the glove box, and a throw blanket slung over Brady’s shoulder—and then Luke shuts the door quietly, as if the sound might carry and we are already being hunted. That thought makes my stomach turn, because it’s true.
The trees loom ahead of us, dark and endless, swallowing what little light is left. For a second, I hesitate, just like I did before the waterfall, only this time… It’s not about choosing to live. It’s about trying not to die. “What if he’s already out there?” I whisper.
Luke squeezes my hand once. “Then we face him together.”
That should terrify me—and it does—but as Brady moves closer on my other side, boxing me in again, I realize something that settles deep in my chest, right alongside the fear. I’m not running alone anymore. “Okay,” I say again, a little steadier this time.
As we step away from the truck and move down the dirt road, all I can do is pray that we make it out alive. The dirt road doesn’t stay wide for long. It narrows into something almost impassable, forcing us closer together as the trees thicken around us. Branches stretch overhead, blocking out what little light is left, and the deeper we go, the darker it gets. Every step feels too loud, gravel crunching under our shoes, leaves shifting with every movement we make. No one says anything, but I can feel it in both of them. They’re listening just as hard as I am.
A sharp snap echoes somewhere off to our right, and I freeze instantly, my grip tightening around Luke’s hand as my heart jumps into my throat. “Stop,” I whisper, barely able to get the word out. They both go still without hesitation. We listen, all three of us holding our breath, straining to hear anything else. For a moment, there’s nothing but the faint rustle of leaves in the wind.
“It’s probably an animal,” Brady says quietly, but there’s no confidence in it.
“Yeah,” Luke adds under his breath. “Probably.”
That word doesn’t mean anything anymore. Probably doesn’t keep us safe.
“Keep moving,” Luke murmurs, and we do, but slower now, more careful. The flashlight cuts a narrow path ahead of us, but everything beyond it feels wrong, like it’s hiding something just out of reach. My eyes keep drifting past the beam, trying to see into the darkness anyway, as if I’ll somehow catch him before he catches us.
“How far are we going?” I ask, my voice low and unsteady.
“Far enough,” Brady answers.
“For what?” I press.
“So we’re not easy to find,” he says.
That makes my stomach twist, because Austin doesn’t need easy. He just needs time.
I try to focus on anything else. The feel of Luke’s hand in mine, the steady presence of Brady at my side, the sound of our breathing. The silence around us is deafening. After a few more minutes, Luke slows to a stop and looks around, his expression tight.
“Here,” he says quietly.
I glance around, but nothing about this place feels safer than anywhere else. It’s just trees and darkness, the same as before. “What makes this better?” I ask.
“It doesn’t,” he admits. “But we can’t keep moving forever. If he comes down the road, we’ll hear him.”
