The entire compound erupted into sound—shrieking sirens that shattered the night, red emergency lights that suddenly blazed to life.
They'd been discovered.
"LOCKDOWN!" Morrison's voice cut through the chaos, amplified by the PA system. "FULL LOCKDOWN! PRISONER ESCAPE IN PROGRESS! SECURE ALL EXITS!"
"Run,RUN!" Evan said to himself, and he did, sprinting through the forest with Anaya clutched against his chest.
Behind them, he heard shouts, running footsteps, doors slamming open as personnel mobilized. Dogs barked—they'd brought out the tracking dogs. Vehicles roared to life, engines screaming as they tore across the compound toward the fence.
Morrison's voice again, cold with fury: "FIND THEM! LOCK DOWN THE PERIMETER! SHOOT TO KILL IF NECESSARY!"
Shoot to kill.
Evan ran faster, branches whipping at his face, roots trying to trip him. Anaya's arms were tight around his neck, her face pressed against his shoulder, her small body trembling.
Searchlights swept through the trees behind them, cutting through the darkness like white-hot blades. The dogs were getting closer—Evan could hear them, getting louder, more frenzied.
"Papa," Anaya whispered, terrified. "Papa, they're coming."
"I know, kid. Hold on."
They burst through a thicket and suddenly the ground dropped away—a steep embankment leading down to what sounded like a stream. Evan didn't hesitate. He half-ran, half-slid down the slope, using trees to control their descent, praying he didn't lose his footing and send them both tumbling.
They hit the bottom, and yes—a stream, about six feet wide, water black and swift in the darkness.
Behind them, at the top of the embankment, flashlight beams cut through the night. Voices: "There! They went down!"
No time to think. Evan splashed into the stream, gasping as the cold water hit his legs, then his waist. Anaya whimpered but held on.
"The water will mask our scent," he told her, hoping it was true. "Hold your breath if you need to."
He waded downstream, fighting the current, using the darkness and the water as cover. The dogs reached the embankment—he could hear them, confused now, losing the scent trail in the water.
But the soldiers had flashlights, and they were spreading out along the bank, systematic, professional.
They were going to be caught.
Unless—
Ahead, the stream curved sharply around a bend. On the far side, a fallen tree created a natural bridge from bank to bank, its massive trunk half-submerged in the water. And beneath it, where the roots had torn free from the earth, was a hollow space—dark and hidden.
Evan pushed through the current toward it, his legs burning with the effort. The water was deeper here, up to his chest now, and Anaya was getting soaked despite his attempts to keep her elevated.
"Papa, I'm cold," she whispered, her teeth chattering.
"I know, baby. Almost there."
Baby. When had he started calling her that?
He reached the fallen tree and ducked beneath it, pulling them both into the hollow space beneath the roots. It was cramped and dark and smelled of rot and earth, but it was hidden. The massive root ball created a natural screen, and the tree trunk above blocked the view from the bank.
Evan pressed Anaya against the muddy wall, covering her with his body, making them both as small as possible. His hand gently covered her mouth—not to silence her, but as a reminder.
Not a sound. Not even a breath.
The flashlight beams swept closer. Evan could hear the soldiers now, spread out along both banks, moving methodically downstream.
"Check every fallen log, every hollow," a voice ordered. "He's on foot with a kid. They can't have gotten far."
Footsteps on the bank directly above them. So close Evan could hear the crunch of leaves, the rasp of fabric against branches.
A flashlight beam played across the water, illuminating the stream in patches of harsh white light. It passed over their hiding spot—once, twice—but the angle was wrong, the shadows too deep. The soldier moved on.
More footsteps. More voices. The dogs were barking again, but they sounded confused, frustrated. The water had worked—it had broken their scent trail.
"Spread out," Morrison's voice, slightly distant but unmistakable. "They're in this sector somewhere. Find them."
Evan felt Anaya shaking against him—from cold, from fear, from exhaustion. He held her tighter, trying to share what little warmth he had, his hand still gently covering her mouth. She didn't struggle, didn't make a sound. Just pressed closer, trusting him to keep her safe.
Minutes passed. Or hours. Time had lost all meaning in the darkness beneath the roots.
Gradually, the sounds of the search moved away. The flashlight beams grew more distant. The voices faded.
But Evan didn't move. Not yet. Morrison was smart, and he was thorough. This could be a trap—pull back the search to make them think it was safe, then wait for them to emerge.
So Evan waited. His legs cramped from the awkward position. The cold water had soaked through his clothes, stealing heat from his body. Anaya was shivering violently now, her small body convulsing with cold.
He needed to get her warm. But he needed to wait. Just a little longer.
"Papa," Anaya breathed against his hand, so quiet he almost didn't hear it. "I can't feel my feet."
"Sh*t". Hypothermia. If they stayed in this water much longer, the cold would do what Morrison's soldiers hadn't.
Evan made a decision. Slowly, carefully, he shifted, pulling them both up and out of the water. The night air hit his wet clothes like a physical blow, but at least they were out of the stream.
He listened. The forest around them was quiet now—just the normal sounds of night. No voices. No dogs. No flashlights cutting through the darkness.
They'd lost the pursuit. For now.
"We need to move," Evan whispered. "Can you walk?"
"I—I think so."
He set her down carefully, and she immediately stumbled, her legs numb from the cold. Evan caught her, scooping her back up. She was so light, even soaked with water. Too light. When had she last eaten a real meal?
"Okay, new plan. I carry you."
"Papa, you're tired. I can—"
"I've got you, kid. Just hold on."
He moved through the forest parallel to the stream, putting distance between them and the compound but staying near the water in case they needed to hide their scent again. The moonlight filtered through the canopy, enough to see by, but barely.
Every sound made him freeze. Every snap of a twig, every rustle of leaves. But nothing emerged from the darkness. Just trees and shadows and the steady rush of the stream.
They walked for what felt like hours. Evan's arms burned with Anaya's weight,even though she was light, his legs shook with exhaustion, but he didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Morrison would have search parties out all night, and when dawn came, they'd bring the full force of the military.
They needed to be far away by then.
Finally, when Evan's vision was starting to blur with fatigue, when his legs threatened to give out completely, he spotted something ahead—a structure of some kind, dark against the trees.
A cabin. Old, abandoned by the looks of it, with boarded windows and a door hanging crooked on its hinges. But it was shelter, and right now, shelter was everything.
Evan approached carefully, listening for any sign of occupation. Nothing. The cabin was empty, had been empty for years by the looks of it.
He kicked open the door—it gave easily, the wood rotten—and stepped inside. Darkness absolute, and a smell of mold and decay. But it was dry, and it was hidden, and it would have to do.
Evan set Anaya down carefully. She was shaking so hard her teeth rattled.
"We need to get you out of these wet clothes," he said, his own voice shaking now too. Adrenaline was wearing off, leaving him hollow and trembling.
"C-cold," Anaya managed.
In the darkness, Evan stripped off her soaked dress, then his own wet shirt. It wasn't much, but at least they weren't sitting in wet clothes anymore. He pulled her against his bare chest, sharing body heat, wrapping his arms around her small form.
"Better?" he asked.
She nodded against him, still shivering but less violently. "Papa? Are we safe now?"
Evan looked around the dark cabin, thought about Morrison's soldiers still searching the forest.
"For now," he said. Because that was the only truth he had to offer.
They sat in the darkness, two fugitives from everything Evan had ever known, hunted and alone and with nowhere to go.
But alive. Still alive.
Behind them, in the distance, he could still hear the faint sounds of the search—engines, voices, the baying of dogs. Morrison wouldn't stop. He'd search all night, all week, all year if necessary. Because this wasn't just about recovering a prisoner anymore.
This was personal.
Evan had betrayed everything—his duty, his mission, his loyalty to humanity. He'd chosen an elf child over his own people.
And he couldn't bring himself to regret it.
"Sleep, kid," he whispered, holding Anaya close. "I'll keep watch."
"Promise you won't leave?"
"Promise."
She believed him. Of course she did. She'd trusted him from that first moment in the holding cell, had called him Papa and meant it, had given him her complete faith.
The weight of that trust was crushing.
But Evan held her anyway, in the darkness of an abandoned cabin, while Morrison's soldiers searched the forest and the walls he'd built around his heart crumbled completely.
Tomorrow would bring new dangers, new challenges. Tomorrow they'd have to figure out where to go, how to survive, how to evade the manhunt that was surely coming.
But tonight—tonight they were alive, and they were together, and they were free.
It would have to be enough.
Outside, through the broken cabin door, the first hints of dawn were beginning to gray the eastern sky.