The storm had passed, leaving a wet, trembling world behind. Mist curled over the highway, blurring trees into ghostly shapes. Everything looked softer, quieter—but I knew better. Danger didn't announce itself with thunder. It slipped in the corners, behind headlights, in the rhythm of a footstep too deliberate.
Travis drove with quiet intensity, hands tight on the wheel, jaw set. The playful, teasing energy from last night was gone, replaced by something sharper, like a knife sliding out of its sheath. I mirrored him, senses alert, scanning the shadows, every sound measured.
"They're close," I said softly, voice low enough that even the wind might not carry it.
He nodded, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. "I saw a blur back there. Didn't seem accidental."
"Hunters," I confirmed. My stomach tightened—not the gnawing emptiness of hunger, but a deeper, more urgent fear. One we couldn't just outrun this time.
We passed an abandoned gas station, its neon sign buzzing weakly, casting pale light over cracked asphalt. I slowed the car slightly, heart hammering, eyes sweeping. No movement. Too quiet. Perfect ambush.
"Think they'll try something?" he asked, voice calm but edged with something I didn't often see: concern.
"They always try something," I said. "We just haven't figured out what yet."
Travis sighed and shifted the guitar case between us. "I don't do well with stealth missions."
"You'll learn," I replied, smirking slightly. Humor was necessary—even here, even now. He glanced at me, amused, and I almost cursed myself for the warmth his expression brought.
The fog thickened, wrapping around the car like a living thing. I slowed even more, careful, ears straining. Then—the subtle crunch of tires on gravel behind us. Not a coincidence. Hunters.
"They're following," I whispered.
He smirked briefly. "Guess we'll make it interesting, then."
I shot him a look. "Interesting doesn't mean safe."
"Safe is boring," he replied. His pale eyes flicked to mine. "Boring doesn't keep hearts racing."
I rolled my eyes, but my fingers itched toward the knife under my jacket. We approached a fork in the road. One path led deeper into misted woods; the other skirted along a rocky incline that could hide a hundred eyes. I chose instinct over caution, turning sharply into the woods.
Branches whipped against the car, scraping metal and glass. Rain, still faint, slicked the dirt into mud. We bumped over hidden roots, the vehicle groaning under strain, but it was enough to throw shadows off our scent.
The sound of footsteps erupted behind us—hunters had split, one on foot, one following us in another car. My pulse raced, but there was a rhythm to this chaos now. Danger sharpened our senses, drew us together.
We stopped at a small clearing, far enough from the road that the mist made visibility negligible. Travis killed the engine. Silence swallowed us, thick and oppressive.
"They'll expect us to run," I said, sliding the knife from my jacket. "But maybe we make them miscalculate."
"Calculations are boring when you can improvise," he replied, dropping the guitar case beside him and flexing his hands.
I stared at him. "You're insane."
"Only on bad days," he said with a grin. "Today, I'm dangerously charming instead."
We moved together, fluid, practiced—an unspoken choreography born of shared survival. Shadows shifted in the mist; shapes approached. Hunters, confident, thinking they had the upper hand.
I struck first, knife flashing through fog, the metallic whisper slicing air. Travis moved beside me, hands and strength honed for improvisation, and in tandem, we were chaos incarnate.
The first hunter fell back with a grunt, eyes wide. The second stumbled over a root, and I pressed advantage, kicking dirt into their face. Travis handled the remaining one, flipping a fistful of gravel with a grin, landing a precise blow.
When the fight was over, we stood in the clearing, panting, adrenaline still singing in our veins. Rain had returned, soft and cooling, washing blood and mud from our skin. Silence followed, heavy, but not empty.
"You're insane," I said again, wiping sweat from my brow.
He laughed softly, shoulders heaving. "You love it."
I glared at him, though my heart still hammered in response—not just to danger, but to the way he made me feel alive. "Don't tempt me to agree."
He reached for my hand, this time not teasing, but firm and grounding. "We survive," he said quietly, eyes searching mine. "Together."
"Together," I echoed, letting the word linger. It tasted foreign on my tongue, dangerous, but not unwelcome.
We found temporary shelter in the remains of an old shed, barricading doors with rotted wood and holding our breaths. Night stretched on, punctuated only by the distant roar of tires and the whispers of wind through broken boards.
Travis leaned close, voice barely a whisper. "We're not invincible. But for tonight, we can pretend."
I allowed myself a small smile, letting my head rest lightly against his shoulder. "Pretend," I agreed. Pretend the hunters weren't out there, that the night wasn't a web, that we could just be two people alive and fighting together.
The moment lasted, fragile as ice, before reality crept back. Shadows beyond the shed shifted—a reminder that danger was never far. Hunters didn't sleep. And neither could we, not really.
But for now, we survived. And somehow, that felt like victory.