Page 39 of Damsel in Disguise

My first instinct is to ignore it, to tell myself it’s nothing and take a different route. Just bad timing and a wrong coincidence.

But the thought doesn’t sit right.

If it wanted to pass by me discreetly, it could have. It wouldn’t have announced itself like this.

I’m not dressed for this. I’m exposed in ways I don’t like to be, legs bare, movements readable, nothing between me and the road but thin fabric and bad judgment.

I hesitate for exactly one breath.

Then I change lanes and take a different route—there’s not much of an option for me except the narrower road that curves away from the main stretch. The very wrong one. At least, I never saw Alistair take it.

Unfortunately, it’s quieter. One-way. No shoulder. No easy turnarounds. Just a ribbon of asphalt hemmed in by overgrowth and shadow.

Once I’m on it, I realize there’s no way back without confronting the other rider.

My pulse spikes, sharp and unwelcome. I tighten my grip on the handlebars, lean forward, and gear up, pushing past one-fifty. The engine growls beneath me, sending vibration rattling up my body.

Outrun it. That’s the plan.

Get distance. Find somewhere to disappear. Hide long enough for the situation to sober—if it ever does.

But the bike follows.

Not aggressively. Not erratically. Just there. Maintaining the same measured distance, as if it’s studying me.

Then suddenly another headline blinks from the other side. What the… fuck?? Only for a brief second, hinting that there’s not just one but two bikes after me.

It’s clear now. I’m the target for some unknown reasons.

The road narrows fast. Trees close in, branches knitting shadows tighter over the asphalt, the night pressing closer with every meter.

The bikes don’t gain on me. They don’t fall back either, just match my pace with unsettling precision.

I’m spiraling internally, mind scrambling for options, when both the headlights blink once and then go dark.

The bikes vanish into nothing.

My heart slams against my ribs, not adrenaline anymore but raw, unfiltered terror.

Acting on instinct, reckless and desperate, I flick off my own headlights too and immediately realize I’ve made a mistake.

There’s a sudden rush of mass beside me, the violent displacement of air. Something enormous passes too close by both sides of me simultaneously.

The next moment, I’m defying gravity—floating, suspended, the bike no longer beneath me.

Then the crash.

The bike wrenches sideways, ripped out from under me. I’m lifted—weightless for a fractured second, suspended in mid-air—before pain detonates through my whole body as I slam into the merciless ground.

There’s no warning. No screech of tires. Just a sudden bloom of white light in my peripheral vision. The impact hits me from the side, hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs, hard enough that I feel like the world tilts and splits apart.

My thoughts scatter.

Sound collapses into a dull, underwater roar. The sky spins, darkness smearing into darker. I taste blood. Something in my shoulder cracks—not sharp pain yet, just a sickening pressure that tells me it’s wrong. Very wrong.

I try to move.

I try to make a sound.