The forest had grown darker, denser, as we pressed further from the cottage. Every rustle of leaves and snap of twigs sent my pulse racing, a constant reminder that we were not alone. The sun, now hidden behind thick clouds, left the world in muted shades of green and gray, perfect camouflage for anything—or anyone—watching from the shadows.
I kept my hand close to the hunting knife at my side, eyes scanning every movement. Alex followed closely, smaller and quieter than ever, his steps hesitant but determined. I could feel his tension, the fear in his muscles mirroring my own, and yet I forced myself to stay calm. Panic was a luxury we could not afford.
We had gone only a few miles when I noticed the first clear sign of pursuit. A broken branch, crushed in a deliberate way, caught my attention. Footprints, partially covered by dirt and fallen leaves, trailed parallel to our path. Whoever it was had been careful, but not careful enough.
"Alex," I whispered, crouching low beside him. "We're being followed. Stay close. Don't make a sound unless I tell you."
His eyes were wide, but he nodded. I had to teach him caution, patience, and observation—skills that might one day save his life. Survival was no longer about hiding; it was about anticipating, predicting, and acting.
We continued forward, taking a longer, winding path to throw off whoever tracked us. My heart beat in my ears as I moved silently, each step deliberate. Then, a faint rustle to my right caught my attention. I froze, pressing myself against a tree, and saw him: a man cloaked in muted brown, blending almost perfectly with the forest. His knife glinted faintly in the dim light, and his eyes were sharp, calculating.
Randy's scout. One of his many agents sent to test, intimidate, or kill.
I weighed my options quickly. Attack and risk exposure, flee and risk pursuit, or outsmart him. Strategy won. I motioned for Alex to hide behind a low bush while I crept closer, keeping to the shadows.
The scout moved methodically, searching for signs of us. I noticed a small patch of soft earth beside a fallen log—perfect for a trap. I kicked a stone lightly, aiming to make a sound behind him, and he turned sharply, revealing a thin rope I had hidden earlier under leaves. A snare. His foot caught it, and he stumbled forward, falling to the ground with a grunt.
I didn't hesitate. I moved swiftly, keeping low, and pressed the knife to his throat. He froze, eyes wide with surprise.
"Who sent you?" I demanded, voice low but commanding. "And why?"
He struggled slightly, then stopped, sensing the sharp edge at his neck. I could see the recognition in his eyes: he knew he was caught, but perhaps not who had caught him. I leaned closer.
"Randy knows we're alive," I said, pressing the knife slightly more. "And if you value your life, you will leave this forest immediately. You will tell no one where we are. Do you understand?"
The man's lips trembled, then he nodded once, sharply. I released him, but not before marking him with a shallow scratch across his arm—a warning if he survived to return. He scrambled away, disappearing into the shadows as silently as he had appeared.
I exhaled slowly, trying to steady my shaking hands. Alex emerged from his hiding place, his small face pale but resolute. "Was he going to hurt us?" he asked, voice trembling.
"Yes," I admitted, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "But now he knows he's not the hunter. We are."
We rested briefly, the forest silent again except for the distant caw of a raven. I studied the map once more, tracing the lines and symbols that pointed toward mountains and rivers. In the chaos of the last few days, I had overlooked a detail—a small marking indicating a hidden path through the cliffs north of here. That path would take us closer to the treasure and, hopefully, further from Randy's eyes.
I packed the map carefully, pressing it against my chest. "We keep moving," I said firmly. "Slowly, quietly, but without stopping. Every step takes us closer—not just to survival, but to justice."
Alex nodded, gripping my hand. I could feel his trust, fragile and precious, but real. He had survived the night of fire, the flight through the forest, and now this confrontation. He was stronger than I had given him credit for. Together, we could endure what lay ahead.
As the sun dipped further behind the clouds, the forest seemed to grow more ominous, the shadows lengthening, twisting like living things. I couldn't shake the feeling that we had been watched even after the scout had fled, that someone—or something—larger was tracking us. Randy's forces were vast, and I knew the first confrontation was only a taste of what was coming.
I looked at Alex, then back at the dense trees ahead. "The path is dangerous," I whispered, "but it is ours to walk. Step by step, we reclaim what was stolen. And no one… no one… will stop us."
The forest held its silence, and I knew it was listening.