The sound of traffic in the distance is drowned out by the sound of my own breathing, the rhythm of my steps, the sharp awareness of everything around me.
I reach the end of the street—feint left, then bolt right. I keep going. Faster.
My lungs burn, the adrenaline pushing harder, sharper. Every step feeding into the next.
I glance back—and in my haste, I feel my ankle hit something uneven. “Ow!” I cry out as it twists awkwardly beneath me, my knees buckling slightly and almost sending me into a nearby puddle.
No sign of Soren. I can feel him anyway. Somewhere behind me. Not rushing. Not chasing. Watching. Tracking.
My breath stutters. I push harder. My pace quickens, turning again, moving through space that feels like it’s shiftingunder me, like the layout is subtly guiding me without me realizing it.
That realization hits harder than anything else. This isn’t random. This is designed.
My chest tightens.
I don’t slow down. I can’t.
My body is fully awake now, every nerve lit up, every movement sharp, precise, my breath uneven but controlled enough to keep going.
And underneath it, something else. Something that shouldn’t be there—heat. Low. Coiled.
My stomach flips. No. Not now. Not like—But it’s there. Stronger with every step. With every second I feel him behind me without seeing him. With every moment that stretches just long enough to make me think—maybe. Maybe I can—Don’t stop now.
I keep running, and I see a series of structures to my right. Dim lights spin in the background.
What the fuck.
I realize it’s an abandoned theme park—a rusty roller coaster looming above me, the track incomplete, carriages teetering on the edge. A carnival tent sits beyond it.
Hard nope to that one.
I keep running.
To my left, an abandoned junkyard. Chunks of old cars sprawled into the darkness, grimy parts occasionally shining in the moonlight. It’s a deathtrap.
Hell no.
I keep running.
My pulse spikes. I turn again, into an alleyway—and there’s nowhere left to go.
The space narrows.
Then I see them.
Men, emerging from the shadows that lick the sides of thestreets. Five. Each of them laser-focused on me. Walking toward me, their cadence a little off-speed.
Fuck. Where the hell is Soren?
It was one thing to be chased by my hoodie-and-mask-wearing psycho, but these guys look seriously deranged. And one hundred percent focused on me.
“Run, Ivy. They’re not fucking around.” Soren’s voice booms from a distance.
I turn back to what looks like a dead end, and that’s when I see it—a chain link fence. It’s taller than me, but there’s an abandoned milk crate sitting at one end.
I hoist myself up, thanking fuck for my Pilates workouts, using every ounce of upper body strength to pull myself over, narrowly avoiding the razor-sharp barbed wire that lines either side of the fence.
I land heavily on the other side, my breath almost knocked out of me as I see two of the guys begin to scale the fence.