I can hear them moving again—CRUNCH CRUNCH—through the forest, far but too close. My chest hammers—THUD THUD—each beat echoing like a warning.
"Stay here," the officer whispers, kneeling beside me. "You're safe. For now."
I shake my head. "Safe? Safe isn't a word for tonight."
His hand tightens slightly on my shoulder. "You're alive. That's all that matters."
I glance toward the trees where shadows twist—SWISH—and my stomach tightens. "Alive, yes. But for how long? They haven't given up."
"Backup is on the way," another officer says, voice tense over the radio—STATIC—words clipped, urgent. "Unit Twelve, status check."
I pull the blanket tighter around me, the damp fabric sticking. "They want me to say something," I mutter, more to myself than anyone else. "Something I didn't do. Something I can't do."
"You don't have to," the officer says. "Not with us."
I shake my head violently. "They'll kill him. They always knew his name too."
Silence. Then: "Who?" the officer asks softly.
"Serafin," I whisper, voice breaking. "He stayed back to—he stayed behind."
My chest constricts, cold settling into my bones. "I can't… I can't live with—"
Footsteps—CRUNCH—cut through the underbrush again, closer this time. My breath catches.
"They're testing," I say, panic rising. "Making sure I react."
Another crunch—CRUNCH CRUNCH—and then a twig snaps—SNAP—behind me. I spin, heart exploding—THUMP THUMP—and see nothing but trees.
"He's alive," I tell myself, gripping the blanket so tight it tears slightly—RIP. "He has to be."
A flashlight flicks—CLICK—slicing through the shadows on the far side of the clearing.
"They're moving toward the staging area," an officer mutters. "We need to relocate you."
"I don't move without him," I insist. "I won't leave him."
The officer exhales sharply. "Caoimhe, if you go now, you survive. That's all we can promise."
I swallow hard. "If I leave him… I'm not surviving."
Silence.
Another crack of branches—CRACK—then a low, deliberate voice carries from the darkness. "You can't protect him."
I spin, heart hammering. "Who's there?"
No answer. Just the wind—RUSTLE—and the distant hum of engines approaching—VROOOOM.
The radio blares suddenly—STATIC—"All units, converge on the east perimeter! Suspects may be armed!"
I glance toward the lights bobbing in the distance—FLASH—police vehicles forming a perimeter.
"They've got us boxed in," I mutter. "Every exit covered."
Serafin's name falls from my lips again. "I can't just let him—"
Footsteps pound closer—THUMP THUMP—heavy, organized.
"He's waiting," I whisper. "I know it. I can feel him. He's waiting for me to choose."
A vehicle door slams—BANG—too close. My stomach twists. "They're coming."
The officer kneels again. "Caoimhe, you have to decide. Do you come with us, or—"
"No," I cut him off. "I'm not leaving him."
The forest trembles around me—CRACK CRASH—branches snapping as movement grows louder. Another flash of light—SWEEP—illuminates something moving between trees. Just one figure, cautious, deliberate.
I recognize the silhouette instantly. Relief and terror mix—my throat dry. "Serafin," I whisper.
He steps fully into view, mud and scratches covering him—SPLASH—and breathless, but alive.
I run—CRUNCH—into his arms. He catches me, steadying both of us.
"They're coming," he says, voice low. "We don't have much time."
"I don't care," I snap. "I'm not leaving again. Not tonight. Not ever."
He presses his forehead to mine. "Then we survive together. Whatever it takes."
A shout behind us—YELL—and gunfire erupts—BANG BANG BANG—too close. The ground shakes. Leaves swirl around us—RUSTLE SWOOSH—branches snapping under heavy boots.
Serafin grabs my hand. "Follow me! Stay low! Move!"
I stumble after him—CRUNCH CRUNCH—adrenaline taking over, pain disappearing, focus narrowing to the single, unbroken fact: he's alive, I'm alive, and the hunters are still here.
A car screeches on the old road—SCREECH—tires biting gravel, engines roaring—VROOOOM—closing the circle.
I glance at him, breath ragged. "What do we do?"
He doesn't answer. He can't. His eyes scan the clearing, the treeline, calculating.
I realize then that the choice isn't mine.
It's already been made.
They've cornered us.
And whatever comes next—whatever decision is forced upon us—will decide not just who survives, but who pays.