The rain hadn't stopped.
By dawn, the highway was a river of mist and sirens, every flashing light a warning. Cobi kept his hood low, sneakers sinking in the mud of the drainage ditch beside the road. His body shook from cold and adrenaline, still damp from whatever he'd been through at the station.
Cars thundered past above him. Every time headlights swept over his hiding place, he could swear he saw shapes dancing in the reflection — vines, eyes, hands reaching for him.
He needed to disappear.
At the next overpass he slipped into the woods, following a narrow creek, its surface trembling with light drizzle. He crouched between the trees, heart hammering, and caught sight of his own face on a flattened soda can.
The reflection wasn't right. The eyes glowed faintly silver.
"They call what they don't understand evil," the voice murmured. "But you're truth waking up. Keep moving."
"I'm not your vessel," he hissed, but the forest answered with a shudder — every leaf pulsing at the rhythm of his heartbeat.
A convenience store sat off the highway like a lonely outpost. Cobi pulled his hood tight and went in. News played on a small TV above the counter — his face filling the screen.
"Local teen, Cobi Rivers, wanted for questioning in connection with multiple deaths and disappearances near Willowridge…"
His stomach dropped. The camera followed officers combing through the forest while the reporter spoke about "cult-like symbols burned into the ground" and "unexplained electromagnetic surges." He looked down. Mud still caked his hands. Burn patterns ringed his wrists like faint sigils.
The cashier, a tired man in a trucker hat, frowned. "You okay, kid?"
Cobi forced a nod, slid a bottled water and a protein bar across the counter, hands shaking so badly he almost dropped them. The man's eyes narrowed — recognition dawning.
Cobi ran before he could call it in.
By nightfall, the town's perimeter turned into a search grid of drones and lights. From a ridge above it, Cobi watched them sweep through the fog, their beams carving shapes across the trees.
He was hungry, soaked, and exhausted — but something else kept him upright. A hum under his skin, subtle but constant, like the pull of roots deep in the earth guiding him forward.
In the distance, lightning flared — not white, but silver.
The same light as the plant.
The voice rose again, layered now — less whisper, more chorus.
"You can't run from what you're made of."
"Follow the light. The truth waits."
Cobi pressed his palms against his ears, screaming. "Leave me alone!"
A nearby oak quivered. From its trunk split a glowing seam, spilling pale sap that pulsed with the same light running in his veins. Tendrils crept toward him through the mud.
He stumbled backward, terrified — yet something in him answered. The mark on his wrist began to glow in unison. When he lifted his hand, the tendrils froze mid‑air, trembling like animals obeying a command.
The rain slowed. The forest grew still.
And in that silence, another sound seeped through — helicopters, search dogs, human voices shouting his name.
"Cobi Rivers! Come out with your hands where we can see them!"
He dropped to his knees, surrounded by light and shadow, manhunt and miracle, guilt and calling. One half of him wanted to surrender. The other heard the roots whisper.
"You are the storm they're trying to stop."
As the forest lights flickered against distant sirens, Cobi stood.
He didn't know yet if he was a victim or a weapon.
But either way, he was done running.