The night had teeth. Mist clung to the trees, low and suffocating, and the highway, slick with rain, reflected only fragments of light from broken lampposts. Every shadow could hide a threat. Every sound could be a hunter.
Travis gripped the steering wheel with pale, knuckled hands, jaw tight. I sat beside him, senses sharpened to a razor's edge, ears straining for any sound that didn't belong.
"They're close," I said softly, voice steady though my pulse betrayed me. "I can smell them in the wind."
He nodded, eyes scanning the road ahead. "I saw the other car back there. They've split up—classic tactic. One ahead, one behind."
"Which means we're the prey in the center of the trap," I muttered.
"Charming," he said, smirking despite the tension. "Really makes me feel alive."
I shot him a glance, half amused, half annoyed. "Alive's relative. You might want to survive first."
The mist thickened, swallowing the road, and I tensed. Something moved—faint, deliberate. Hunters. They'd been patient, silent, letting us run, letting us breathe. But now the game was over.
"They're waiting for the right moment," I murmured.
He shifted in his seat, guitar case resting beside him. "Then we make the right moment ours."
We exited the highway onto a narrow back road, lined with skeletal trees whose branches clawed at the sky. The mist wrapped around us like a shroud. I felt my heart hammering—not from exertion, but from the thrill and terror of knowing the hunters were closing.
Ahead, the faint glow of headlights pierced the fog. Behind us, another pair of lights moved with deliberate precision.
"They've split perfectly," I said, gripping the knife beneath my jacket. "One blocks escape, the other chases."
"Perfect for a little chaos," Travis said, eyes glinting, pale and dangerous.
We parked near an abandoned barn, the kind of place humans had long forgotten. It smelled of rot and earth, but that made it ideal. We slipped inside, silent as shadows, bodies moving in practiced unison.
Hunters approached cautiously, weapons drawn. They didn't know what they were stepping into.
"After you," I whispered to Travis, voice low.
He grinned, shrugging. "You're so polite."
The first hunter stepped into the dim light. I lunged, knife flashing. He went down before he even registered the threat. Travis was already moving, fists and elbows precise, swift, handling the second hunter with efficiency and deadly grace.
The third lunged from the shadows, and I felt a flicker of panic—but Travis was there. His hands grabbed mine, guiding my strike, moving with me, a duet of survival.
"Think we could make this a habit?" he teased, even as we ducked another attack.
"Not in a million years," I snapped, though the adrenaline made my blood sing.
By the time it was over, the hunters lay incapacitated, groaning or unconscious. Rain filtered through the broken roof, dripping down onto us, washing away blood and sweat. Silence returned, but it was heavy now, weighted with the knowledge that it could return at any moment.
I leaned against Travis, chest heaving, feeling the tremor of adrenaline that made our proximity feel electric. "We can't keep running like this forever."
"Maybe not," he said, voice low, brushing wet hair from my face. "But while we can… we survive. Together."
I let out a breath, letting his words sink in. Trusting him felt like a risk, but one I couldn't deny. "Together," I echoed.
The storm outside began to ease, mist curling over broken beams and puddles on the dirt floor. But I knew it wouldn't last. The hunters were patient. They were methodical. They would not forget.
And we couldn't either.
Travis touched my hand, gentle, grounding. "We'll figure it out," he said. "Always do."
"Always?" I asked, voice soft, uncertain.
He smiled faintly, eyes bright despite the shadows. "Always," he whispered.
For a moment, the world fell away—no hunters, no fog, no danger. Just us. Just the warmth of shared survival, of breath mingling, of hearts racing in tandem.
But the night reminded us swiftly that it was temporary. Every shadow, every whisper of wind was a reminder that we were still prey. And prey had to be clever.
We exited the barn cautiously, scanning the road, every step deliberate. The highway stretched out before us, mist curling over asphalt, headlights fading into silver haze.
I glanced at Travis. "We're not invincible," I said, voice steady but quiet.
He shook his head, brushing rain from his cheek. "No. But we're dangerous."
I let out a laugh, sharp, brief, because even in moments of terror, some truths demanded acknowledgment. Dangerous together.
And for now, that was enough.