Milt held his breath as the sound echoed again through the ravine. Stone grinding against stone. Not careless. Deliberate. Something heavy moving where nothing should.
The man beside him had already shifted, body angled toward the entrance, weight balanced on the balls of his feet. Calm, but tight.
"That wasn't a patrol," the man whispered. "Too slow. Too quiet."
Milt's claws slid out without him willing them. The pressure beneath his skin stirred faintly, like an ember refusing to die.
Another scrape sounded, closer now. Pebbles rattled down the ravine wall.
Milt swallowed and forced his breathing steady. Whatever was out there had found the ravine for a reason.
And reasons, he'd learned, were rarely good.
The man motioned Milt deeper into the shelter, then eased forward himself, peering through a narrow crack between stone slabs. He didn't speak for several seconds.
"Single," he finally murmured. "Big."
Milt shifted despite the pain flaring through his legs. "Soldier?"
The man shook his head once. "No armor. Moves wrong for it."
A shadow passed across the ravine floor. Broad shoulders. Long arms. Its silhouette stretched and warped by uneven stone.
It stopped.
Milt's ears flattened. He could smell it now—old sweat, leather, and something sour beneath. Human, but wrong around the edges.
A voice rumbled up from below. "I know you're there."
The man cursed under his breath. "Told you you were loud when you ran."
Milt clenched his jaw. "What is he?"
"Trouble," the man replied. Then louder, "Move along. Nothing here."
A low chuckle echoed. "Funny. Soldiers said the same thing. Right before I found blood."
The figure stepped closer, boots crunching gravel. A hand slapped against stone, feeling for cracks.
Milt's heart hammered. If this stranger found the entrance, there would be no room to maneuver. No escape route that didn't involve crawling past him.
The man beside Milt shifted again, subtly placing himself between Milt and the opening.
"You looking for coin?" the man called. "Or glory?"
"Looking for answers," the stranger said. "And maybe a bounty."
Milt's stomach dropped.
The stranger sniffed the air. "Demi-human. Fresh. Hurried."
The pressure flared reflexively, stabbing pain through Milt's skull. He bit down hard, fighting the instinct to strike.
The man acted.
He kicked loose a stone slab on the far side of the shelter. It crashed down the ravine with a thunderous crack, echoing wildly.
"Run!" the man barked.
Milt didn't hesitate.
He burst from the shelter's rear gap and slid down loose earth, ignoring the pain as it tore at his legs. Behind him, the stranger shouted in surprise, then anger.
Footsteps gave chase.
Milt forced himself into a zigzag through the ravine, using fallen rock and broken roots to slow pursuit. The pressure surged despite his resistance, flooding his limbs with borrowed strength.
He leapt a narrow gap, landed badly, and kept moving.
An object whistled past his head and shattered against stone. Thrown. Heavy.
The stranger laughed. "Fast for a cub!"
Milt's vision tunneled. The pressure burned now, not smooth but jagged, tearing through muscle and nerve alike.
Ahead, the ravine narrowed into a slot barely wide enough for his shoulders. He dove into it, scraping fur and skin, and wedged himself sideways as the space constricted.
The pursuer skidded to a halt outside, cursing loudly.
"Clever," the stranger growled. "But you can't stay there forever."
Milt collapsed deeper into the slot, shaking violently. The pressure vanished like a snapped cord, leaving his body hollow and weak.
His limbs spasmed, refusing to respond properly. He tasted blood again, copper and hot. Every breath felt shallow and wrong.
Outside, the stranger paced, boots crunching slowly. Patient. Confident.
"You hear me, beast?" the voice called. "Soldiers want you alive. Hunters don't care. Me? I just want paid."
Milt pressed his forehead against cold stone and focused on not passing out. If he lost consciousness now, it would be over.
The stranger stopped moving. Silence stretched.
Then, from the other side of the ravine, a sharp whistle cut through the night. Answered by another.
The stranger swore. "Damn it."
Boots retreated hurriedly. Gravel slid as the weight moved away.
Milt stayed frozen long after the sounds faded, afraid to trust the quiet.
When he finally dared to move, his muscles screamed in protest. He dragged himself from the slot inch by inch, collapsing against the ravine wall once free.
He was alive.
Barely.
And now he knew something new.
The hunt wasn't just official.
It was profitable.
The man found him near dawn, limping but intact.
"Thought I lost you," he muttered, hauling Milt upright.
"You almost did," Milt replied weakly.
They moved without speaking, putting distance between themselves and the ravine. By the time the sun crested the horizon, Milt could barely stay on his feet.
The man stopped near a stand of dead trees and looked at him hard. "This ends one of two ways," he said. "You disappear so completely no one bothers. Or you get strong enough that chasing you costs more than it pays."
Milt wiped blood from his nose and met his gaze.
"I'm tired of running," he said.
The man's mouth twitched. "Good. Running was never the point."
From the hills behind them, a horn sounded—long and deliberate.
Milt understood then that the chase had only changed hands.