Sasha
The smile was the worst part.
We were standing at the edge of the tree line. Riley hadn't moved in ten minutes. Just stood there. Staring at the Stalkers. Eight of them. Kneeling in the shadows like they were waiting for something.
Then she smiled.
Not a real smile. Not the kind you give when something is funny or warm or good. Something else. Something that made my stomach turn inside out.
Her lips curled. Her eyes stayed dead. Like a doll's face painted on.
"Go," she whispered.
The Stalkers stood up.
"Find him."
They moved. Fast. Silent. Disappeared into the trees like smoke.
"Allen," Riley said. She wasn't talking to me. She was talking to the empty air. To the dark. "Bring him to me."
---
I should have said something. Should have asked what she was doing. Should have grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
But I didn't. Because I was scared. Not of the Stalkers. Of her.
She turned to me. The smile was gone. Her face was blank again. Normal. Like nothing had happened.
"We follow," she said.
"Follow what?"
"The blood."
---
We found the first body a mile south.
One of Allen's guys. I recognized him. Broad shoulders. Thick neck. The same one who'd killed the kid with the axe.
He was on the ground. His chest was open. Ribs cracked apart like someone had ripped him from the inside. His face was frozen. Eyes wide. Mouth open. Like he'd seen something that shouldn't exist.
Riley stepped over him. Didn't look down.
"Three more ahead," she said.
---
She was right.
The trail was easy to follow. Blood on the leaves. Drag marks in the dirt. Screams in the distance that got louder as we walked.
The second body was a girl. Seventeen. Her arm was gone. Torn off at the shoulder. She'd tried to run. Made it thirty feet before they caught her. Her back was covered in claw marks. Deep enough to see bone.
Riley walked past her too.
"Riley," I said.
"What?"
"You're not... you're not going to stop?"
"Stop what?"
"This." I pointed at the bodies. The blood. The broken bones. "They're doing this because you told them to."
She looked at me. Her eyes were cold. Empty.
"Yes," she said. "And?"
---
The camp was burning when we got there.
Tents on fire. Supplies scattered. Bodies everywhere. Some were dead. Some were dying. Some were screaming for help that wasn't coming.
The Stalkers moved through the chaos like shadows. Fast. Silent. They didn't make sounds. Didn't growl. Didn't roar. They just... killed. One moment someone was standing. The next they were on the ground. Throat torn. Chest caved. Face gone.
I watched a boy try to run. Seventeen. Maybe eighteen. He'd almost made it to the trees when a Stalker caught him. It didn't bite him. Didn't claw him. It just... grabbed his head. Twisted.
The sound was wet. Crunching. Like stepping on dry leaves.
The boy's body fell. His head faced the wrong way.
Riley watched. Her face didn't change.
But I saw her hands. Clenching and unclenching. Like she was feeling something she didn't want to feel.
---
Allen was in the center of the camp.
I saw him through the smoke. He had a knife in each hand. His shirt was red. His face was red. His arms were covered in blood that wasn't his.
Two Stalkers circled him. One was missing an arm. The other had a gash across its chest. Black blood dripping down its stomach.
Allen wasn't running. He was fighting. And he was winning.
He ducked under the first Stalker's claws. Drove his knife into its ribs. Twisted. Pulled. The Stalker fell. Didn't get up.
The second one lunged. Allen sidestepped. Brought his other knife down. Caught it in the Stalker's neck. The creature gurgled. Swiped. Caught Allen across the chest.
He staggered backward. His shirt opened. Blood poured out. Four deep lines from shoulder to ribs.
He didn't fall.
He looked up. Through the smoke. Through the fire. Through the bodies.
And he saw Riley.
"You," he said.
Riley didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stood there. Watching.
"You think this scares me?" Allen shouted. Blood was dripping from his chest. From his hands. From the knives. "You think sending these things makes you strong?"
He kicked the Stalker off his knife. Turned to face her fully.
"I've survived worse than you. Worse than them. I've been here longer. I've killed more. I've taken more pain than you—"
"Then why are you running?"
Riley's voice was quiet. Flat. But it cut through everything. The fire. The screaming. The dying.
Allen stopped.
"You're running," she said. "I can see it in your eyes. You know you can't win. Not against me. Not against them."
Allen looked at the Stalkers. At the bodies. At the fire.
Then he ran.
Not toward Riley. Away. Into the trees. Alone. His people were dead or dying. His camp was burning. His weapons were bloody and broken.
He ran. And Riley let him.
"Why didn't you stop him?" I asked.
She watched the trees where he'd disappeared. Her face was blank. But her eyes... something was there. Something hungry.
"Because I want him to know," she said. "I want him to feel it. The fear. The running. The knowing that someone is coming for him."
She turned to me. That smile flickered again. Just for a second.
"Death is too fast for Allen. He needs to suffer first."
---
The fire burned for hours.
We sat at the edge of the camp. Watching. Waiting. The Stalkers had disappeared into the trees. The ones that were still alive. Three of them had died killing Allen's people.
Riley didn't seem to care. She just sat there. Her bow in her lap. Her eyes on the flames.
"You're different," I said.
"I know."
"The way you smiled. The way you sent them. That wasn't Riley."
She looked at me. For a second, I thought I saw something in her eyes. Something soft. Something scared.
Then it was gone.
"Maybe not," she said. "Maybe I'm becoming something else."
"Something worse?"
"Something that survives."
---
The sun came up.
The fire died. The smoke cleared. The bodies were still there. Dozens of them. Kids who'd followed Allen. Kids who'd believed he could protect them.
They were wrong.
Riley stood up. Stretched. Her back didn't hurt anymore. The wound was almost gone. Just a scar now. Pink and new.
"We need to find the others," she said.
"The ones who left?"
"Yes. They're scared. Alone. Allen is still out there. They'll need protection."
"From you?"
"From him."
She picked up her bow. Counted her arrows. Still thirteen.
"Let's go," she said.
I followed.
Because someone should.
Even when she smiled like that.
---
End of Chapter Thirteen