The forest was alive with echoes of violence.
The night air felt like smoke against my throat as I ran. My lungs burned, my boots hit the dirt in uneven beats, but I didn't care. Every sound—the snapping branches, the rush of the wind, the distant crack of a gun—fed my panic. Somewhere ahead of me, Rafael was fighting for his life.
I didn't think. I only followed the chaos.
The trail led downhill, toward the black stretch of road that vanished into trees. The scent of iron was heavy in the air—blood. I stopped for half a heartbeat, pressing my hand to the nearest tree to steady myself. The bark was slick with dew, but something darker stained it. My fingers came away red.
"Rafael," I whispered, my voice breaking.
A sharp burst of gunfire cut through the silence again—closer this time. I broke into a sprint. The cold whipped at my face, my hair tangled around my mouth, but I didn't stop until I saw the faint glow of headlights flickering through the fog.
