Wei did not move at once.
He crouched deep in the grass, knees pressed into cold, wet soil, his breathing forced low and shallow. The wind drifted slowly through the trees, carrying with it the greasy scent of meat roasting over an open fire. It slipped into his nose bit by bit, clinging, refusing to fade.
The silver-armored warrior was in the center of the clearing.
He squatted beside the fire, his armor reflecting the flames with a hard, muted sheen, like silver stone polished again and again by time. The fire danced, but its light could not reach beneath the visor of his helmet. Shadow clung there, thick and undisturbed.
His movements were steady.
He turned the meat.
He cut it.
He held it to the flame.
No wasted motion. No haste. No pause.
He did not look alert.
He did not look like he was waiting.
He looked as though the clearing already belonged to him.
Chun pressed close against Wei's side. Her fingers dug unconsciously into the dirt, curling, releasing, curling again. Her gaze slid more than once toward the small figure tied to the tree, then snapped back as if the sight burned.
Little Butterfly hung her head, motionless.
Too motionless.
It was not the stillness of sleep.
It was the stillness of someone who had learned that sound led to pain.
"We can't wait for daylight," Chun whispered, her mouth close to Wei's ear. "When the sun comes up, none of us will get out."
Wei nodded, but he did not answer.
His eyes never left the silver warrior.
He was not watching the weapon.
Not the fire.
He was watching the warrior's back.
More precisely, he was watching how completely unguarded it was.
The sight tightened something in Wei's chest.
This was wrong.
His father had taught him that truly dangerous enemies never gave their backs away.
Yet this undead thing had kept his back to the forest the entire time they had been hiding.
As if he did not care.
As if everything in the darkness had already been accounted for.
Chun swallowed and whispered, "If we can draw him away…"
She did not finish.
They both knew how hollow the words were.
Drawing away a silver-rank undead was not a plan.
It was a gamble with no winning side.
Wei finally moved.
He did not stand.
He shifted forward, inch by careful inch, easing his weight ahead.
Grass brushed against cloth, making a faint sound.
Almost nothing.
At the same instant—
The silver warrior paused.
He did not turn.
He did not look back.
The piece of meat in his hand simply stopped, suspended over the fire.
A spark popped from the flames.
Wei froze.
For a heartbeat, he was certain he had been discovered.
Then the warrior lowered his knife again. The blade fell. The cut was clean.
As if nothing had happened.
Wei let out a breath he had not realized he was holding.
But before the relief could settle, something cold crept up his spine.
No.
That pause had not been coincidence.
He was sure of it.
The warrior had known.
Not in the way of hearing a noise.
But in the way someone knows an object is on the table without needing to look.
Aware, but uninterested.
Chun did not notice.
Her attention was fixed on Little Butterfly.
"She can't hold on much longer," Chun whispered. "If we don't do something, she'll die here."
The words struck Wei like a pin driven straight into his chest.
He stopped hesitating.
He stood.
The grass collapsed under his knees with a clear, unmistakable sound.
This time, the silver warrior did not pause his knife.
He did not look up.
The firelight slid across his armor, tracing cold, rigid lines.
Wei took a step forward, out of the trees.
Then another.
Then a third.
He was fully in the open now.
He could feel Chun's gaze boring into his back, sharp with fear and disbelief.
Are you insane?
Wei did not turn.
He knew that if he did, he would stop.
"Hey."
His voice sounded dry in the night.
The silver warrior did not respond.
Wei took two more steps.
Heat from the fire washed over his face. Fat dripped into the flames, hissing loudly in the sudden quiet.
"I'm talking to you."
This time, the silver warrior reacted.
He set the knife down.
The motion was gentle.
Not defensive.
More like something had finally reached the point he had expected.
He lifted his head.
Beneath the visor were eyes that were pale and empty.
They were not eyes that looked.
They were eyes that confirmed.
Confirmed position.
Confirmed distance.
Confirmed that the target had stepped fully into the space prepared for it.
Wei's heart contracted violently.
In that instant, he understood something terrifying.
From the moment he stepped out of the trees, this was no longer about distraction.
He had not drawn attention.
He had been selected.
The silver warrior did not rise immediately.
He simply looked at Wei.
There was no anger in that gaze.
No hunger.
No curiosity.
It was the look one gave to a tool that had begun to move on its own.
Chun bit down hard on her lip in the grass.
She wanted to call Wei back.
But her throat locked.
No sound would come.
And suddenly she understood.
It was not Wei who had taken the attention.
The attention had been on him from the beginning.
"You…" Wei forced the words out, his throat tight. "Aren't you here to catch people?"
The silver warrior tilted his head.
The motion was slight.
But every hair on Wei's body stood on end.
"People?"
The voice was low, grinding, like stone dragged across stone.
"You misunderstand yourselves."
Only then did he stand.
Not in a rush.
Not in a sudden lunge.
He rose the way something sealed away for a long time might rise when its bindings were finally undone.
Armor plates shifted.
Metal rubbed against metal in slow, measured rhythm.
Wei realized too late that the distance between them was far shorter than he had believed.
So close that retreat was no longer an option.
The silver warrior took one step forward.
Just one.
The ground trembled faintly.
"Run," he said.
The word was calm.
Almost kind.
Like a final courtesy.
Wei's mind went blank.
He wanted to run.
But his legs lagged, just a fraction of a second behind his will.
In that brief delay, a more horrifying understanding struck him.
This was not the start of the chase.
This was the most merciful part of the hunt.
The silver warrior was waiting.
Waiting for him to move first.
Waiting for him to choose direction.
Waiting for him to expose every possible escape with his own feet.
Wei turned.
The night tore open in front of him.
He ran.
And behind him, the silver warrior's footsteps followed.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Always at a distance that could be heard.
A distance chosen carefully.
A distance that promised he would never forget he was being hunted.