The forest is a blur of green and brown and shadow. The sun painting the ground in jagged slashes of light. My breath burns in my lungs as I leap over a fallen log and duck under a low branch. I can only hope that they didn’t plant any traps in this forest like they did in the other.
Then I hear it.
Somewhere behind me, I hear the countdown.
“Five,” Bodhi calls, too calm.
“Four,” Matteo’s voice now—low and dark and already promising something worse.
“Three.”
I don’t look back.
“Two.”
My heart pounds.
“One.”
They don’t shout. They don’t laugh. There’s no noise at all.
But I know.
They're coming.
I don’t pace myself. There’s no point, not with them behind me.
My chest pounds as I veer left, up a narrow path where the underbrush is thicker. My legs are already protesting, but I don't slow. I can't.
Bodhi calls behind me, sing-song and wicked: "Run, little storm. Let's see if you learned anything."
I ignore him. Push harder. Every step tears at my calves, my lungs, but I force my body to comply. One mile. I can do one fucking mile.
Branches whip against my arms. Sunlight flickers in and out. I keep low, fast, weaving between the trees, picking the fastest line through the terrain like it’s second nature.
Because it is.
Because I’ve done this before—obstacle runs, field drills, adrenaline-soaked missions.
Bodhi laughs again. Loud, wild. The crunch of leaves underfoot tells me he’s moving fast—but I expect that. Irememberthat. The way he chased me last time, how he gave me a lead and still cut me down like a shadow with teeth.
But it’s not Bodhi that makes my blood run colder.
It’s Matteo.
He hasn’t made a sound. Not one goddamn noise.
I catch glimpses of him through the trees. Cutting off paths. Herding me.
Like he already knows where I’m going before I do.
“Fuck off, Matteo,” I hiss between gasps, shoving through a thicket of branches.
No answer, of course not.
He wants me off balance.
He wants me afraid.