This is a bad idea," Lee whispers beside me, eyes wide as he scans the trees like they're about to come alive and eat us.
I roll my eyes, brushing past a low-hanging branch. "You always say that."
"Because you always have bad ideas," he mutters.
We'd been messing around near the river, just trying to pass the time, when we heard it—a loud, echoing bang. It cracked through the woods like a gunshot, sharp enough to make my heart skip. Even the birds went nuts, screeching and flapping into the sky like they were escaping something we couldn't see.
"It was probably nothing," I said at first. "Maybe a tree fell or something."
But of course, I had to get closer. That's who I am—I chase things. Even things I shouldn't.
Lee, being Lee, immediately said nope. That it was dangerous. That we should go back to the den. I told him fine, he could stay behind and be a scaredy-cat, but I was going with or without him.
He argued. Complained. Swore under his breath. But in the end, he followed me.
He always does.
We both live out here, in the woods. I know how that sounds—bad. But it's not. Not really. Not compared to everything else we've seen.
My mum died of heroin. I was the one who found her—blue lips, barely human. I was nine. I left and never looked back. Spent three nights curled up behind dumpsters, stealing scraps, watching people walk by without seeing me. Then I met Lee. We've been a team ever since.
Three years ago, we saw a man on TV—just through a shop window—talking about how he built a home in the wild. Something about the way he said it stuck with me. That night, I told Lee we were gonna do the same. And we did.
After a long hike, we found this old, half-destroyed house. Concrete chunks scattered like bones, windows blown out, roof missing. But a mile behind it, buried beneath moss and rust, we found a steel door.
It took everything we had to open it.
Inside was a narrow stairwell leading down into the dark. At the bottom: a long hallway and a single steel door left slightly open. Behind it, we found a bomb shelter. Cans stacked high. Powdered milk. Pasta. A dusty bed with old blankets.
We slept there that night, huddled together in the dark. For the first time in months, I felt safe.
It became our home.
We've spent years fixing it up. Stealing what we need. We're good at it—pickpocketing, sneaking. We had to be. And yeah, I know it's not something most people would be proud of. But we haven't been caught yet. And out here? That's what matters.
Now, I edge forward through the trees, careful with every step. It's quiet again—almost too quiet. Just the chirping of birds returning and the distant rush of the river.
Then, just as we reach the edge of the hill, we hear it.
A sound—sharp and sudden. A thump. Something shifting. Down in the dip ahead of us.
Lee freezes beside me. "That came from the ravine."
I nod slowly, peering ahead. The dip is steep—one of the places we avoid. If you fall down there, good luck climbing back up without help.
I motion for him to stay quiet and begin creeping forward.
"Adria, what the hell are you doing?" Lee hisses.
I glance over my shoulder. "Shh," I whisper back, crouching low as I move closer.
The ground slopes sharply. I kneel near the edge and peer down.
At first, I don't see anything—just the usual mess of rocks, leaves, and broken branches. But something feels… off. The air is still. Too still.
"I don't see anything," I mutter, turning to Lee with a huff. "Waste of time—"
A sound snaps from below us. A low groan—so soft I barely catch it.
We both spin toward the ravine.
"What was that?" Lee whispers.
"I don't know," I say quietly, my heart thudding.
I squint harder, eyes scanning the shadows at the bottom of the dip. And then I see it. Or… him.
A shape, half-covered in dirt and leaves. Arms and legs splayed. Motionless.
"Lee," I breathe, pointing. "Look."
He leans forward. When his eyes land on the man lying below, they go wide. "What the— How'd he get down there?"
"I don't know. Maybe he fell?" I squint, trying to see better. "He's not moving."
Lee swallows hard. "We should go. He could be dangerous. What if he's faking?"
I look at him, then back down. "Or he's dying."
"We're not doctors, Adria. We can't—"
"We can't just leave him," I cut in, firmer now.
Lee hesitates. But then, slowly, he nods. "Okay. But we need to be smart. If he's hurt and alone, he could die out here."
I nod. "You go get the rope from the den. I'll climb down."
"What? No." He grabs my arm. "You're not going down there alone. He could be… I don't know, some psycho or something."
"You won't even be gone ten minutes," I say. "And you know I'm right—I'm lighter. You'll have a better shot pulling me up than I would with you."
Lee scowls, clearly hating the logic.
I meet his eyes. "Please, Lee. Just go."
After a pause, he exhales sharply and backs away. "Fine. But if anything happens to you…"
"I'll be fine," I promise.
He gives me one last look—worried, frustrated, maybe a little scared—and then takes off into the trees, running toward the den.
As soon as he's out of sight, I let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding.
"I can do this," I whisper to myself.
crouch at the edge of the slope and glance down again. The man still hasn't moved. I can just barely make out one of his arms stretched at a weird angle beneath the leaves.
The dip is steep, almost vertical in some places. Lee and I avoid this spot for a reason—if you slip, there's no climbing back up without rope. But I don't hesitate. My fingers find the rough bark of a low-hanging tree branch, and I brace myself.
"Tree, step, balance," I whisper. That's the rhythm. That's how we learned to move in these woods.
I lower one foot carefully into a gap between two cracked stones, then bring the other down in front of it, steadying myself as I go. Once I'm balanced, I let go of the branch and crawl downward, my hands scraping against dirt and moss. I move slow, inch by inch.
I'm halfway down when I lose my footing.
A rock shifts beneath my boot, and my body jerks forward. "No—no, no—"
I slip.
My hands scramble for anything—branches, roots, vines—but everything slides past my fingers. I let out a yelp as I land hard on my tailbone and start to skid. Pain jolts up my spine.
I'm not thinking anymore, just reacting. I throw my weight sideways, trying to steer the fall, and finally manage to grab hold of a thick, low vine. It jerks in my hand but holds. My boots scrape violently against the slope until I come to a shuddering stop.
I lay there, heart hammering, dust clinging to my face, breath loud in my ears. That was way too close.
When I'm sure I'm not going to fall again, I push myself into a seated position. My palms are scraped raw—thin lines of blood already rising beneath the grime. I rub them against my jeans and force myself to my feet.
The man is only a few yards away now.
He's mostly buried under leaves, branches, and dirt—like the forest tried to swallow him. One leg is twisted awkwardly, his boots worn, his arms limp at his sides. His clothes are dark, torn in places. I can't see his face clearly yet.
I hurry over, falling to my knees beside him. "Okay, okay," I mumble, brushing leaves from his chest, then gently clearing the dirt from his face.
I suck in a breath when I see him.
Blood streaks his forehead, thick and drying around a nasty cut above his brow. His skin is pale beneath the smears of dirt. His features are hard to make out, but something about him looks… too still.
"Hey," I whisper, reaching out. "Hey, mister."
He doesn't move.
My heart pounds faster. I press two fingers to his neck, searching for a pulse—but his tattoos make it hard to tell what's skin and what's ink. My fingers shift, fumbling. Still nothing.
I hesitate, then lift my hand to his nose. Wait. Wait…
A slow, faint breath brushes across my skin.
Relief floods me so fast my arms go weak. "Oh thank God," I breathe, hands trembling.
He's alive.
I lean back and scan him the way they do in those doctor shows I've been binge-watching off gas station TVs—head to toe, checking for blood, broken bones, signs of breathing trouble. I even watched an episode where a guy held someone's stomach closed until help arrived.
No heavy bleeding. No bones sticking out. But he's definitely hurt. Badly.
I glance back to his face. His lips are slightly parted, but he's not waking up. Not really. I shake his shoulder gently.
"Hey… come on. You need to wake up."
Nothing.
I shake him harder, using both hands this time. "Hey! Mister!"
Still nothing.
"Excuse me!" I say loudly, not sure why that's the phrase that comes out. It just… does.
Finally, a groan rumbles from his chest. His head shifts slightly, and I freeze.
He's alive. And trying to move.
"It's okay," I say quickly, scooting closer. "I think you took a bad fall. You're hurt, but help's coming, okay? Just stay still."
His head turns toward me. He winces as he tries to open his eyes, but they flutter closed again.
"Don't force it," I say softly. "Just breathe. In and out, like this." I inhale, then exhale slowly.
He tries to copy me, and I see the tension in his chest ease a little. He's following my voice.
"You're doing good. Real good."
I glance around the area, looking for any kind of bag or phone. "Do you have a phone?" I ask. "I could call someone for you—an ambulance or—"
His hand shoots out suddenly and clamps around my wrist.
I flinch, but don't pull away.
"No… no doctors," he croaks, voice raw and strained.
I stare at him. "What? Mister, you—You really don't look good."
His eyes finally crack open.
They're blue. Deep, intense, and oddly calm despite the pain. When I first saw him, I figured he was way older—maybe thirty or forty. But now, seeing his eyes, he doesn't look that far from my age. Maybe early twenties. Maybe younger.
"Who… are you?" he rasps.
"I'm Adria," I say, quieter now. "My friend and I heard a noise. We found you down here. He went to get a rope."
The man's gaze doesn't leave mine. It's almost unsettling—like he's trying to memorize my face.
"Your friend?" he asks.
I nod and point up the slope. "He'll be back soon. We're gonna get you out of here, okay?"
He closes his eyes again, slow and deliberate. His voice, when he speaks again, is rough but a little clearer. "Where… did you come from?"
"Up there." I gesture vaguely toward the trees, where sunlight's barely trickling through. "We live nearby."
A faint smirk twitches on his lips. "Smartass," he mutters.
Then he coughs—sharp and painful, his body curling slightly with the motion. The hand on my wrist lets go, and he presses it against his ribs.
"You okay?" I ask, watching him closely.
"Yeah," he wheezes. "Just peachy, kid."
He coughs again and winces. I notice the way he holds his side, the grimace on his face every time he shifts. Whatever happened to him, it wasn't just a fall.
"You shouldn't try to move," I say, inching forward. "Let me help you."
"I'm fine," he mutters.
"You're not fine," I shoot back. "And I'm not a kid."
He grunts but doesn't argue. Instead, he pushes himself upright, sitting with effort. His hand swipes across his face, only making the dirt worse.
"Yeah… You really don't look so great," I say honestly.
He doesn't reply. Just stares at the ground, breathing hard.
He shifts again, trying to get to his feet, and I immediately reach out to stop him. "Whoa—no, no, don't stand. Seriously. You'll just make it worse."
"I've been through worse," he mutters, but his voice cracks, and he winces again when his weight hits his injured side.
I stand too, grabbing his arm to steady him. "You're stubborn, you know that?"
He smirks faintly. "You just met me."
"Yeah, and I already want to push you back down."
That earns a short, raspy laugh. "Feisty."
"Annoying," I correct him. "You're being annoying. I'm trying to help."
He doesn't answer. Just lets out a breath through his nose and braces himself as he stands fully. His knees wobble and I stay close in case he tips.
He looks around, eyes scanning the trees with confusion, like he's not sure what planet he's on. "Where the hell are we?"
"You're miles from town," I say, stepping back slightly but still watching him. "No roads for a while. If you were trying to get lost, congrats—you nailed it."
His gaze snaps to mine, and for a second, his expression sharpens. There's something behind his eyes—like he's calculating something I can't see.
I take a step back, heart ticking faster.
But then, just as quickly, the look fades.
"Sorry," he says, and his tone softens. "Didn't mean to freak you out. I'm just… disoriented."
"Yeah, well, maybe try blinking less like a serial killer."
A tired smile pulls at his mouth. "Fair enough. What's your name, kid?"
I hesitate. Just a beat. Then lie. "Jane."
He raises an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. "Jane, huh?"
I cross my arms. "Yeah. Got a problem with that?"
"Nope," he says, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Nice to meet you, Jane. I'm John."
"Of course you are." I don't say it out loud, but the look I give him says enough.
We stand there for a beat, his hand hovering near his ribs, mine still stinging from the climb. There's something weird about him—something both wrecked and alert, like he's been through hell but doesn't want anyone knowing it.
"Where am I?" he asks again, glancing around. "Like—really. You said I'm miles from town?"
"Yeah. About four miles out. You probably walked in circles or fell from somewhere higher up."
He doesn't answer. Just stares at the dirt like it might give him clues.
Then he looks back at me. "How old are you?"
I think about lying again. Say sixteen. Or twelve. Something safer. But then I figure… what's the point?
"Fourteen."
He nods, like that's what he guessed all along. "Right."
I squint at him. "How old are you?"
"Twenty."
I tilt my head. "You don't look twenty."
He shrugs. "You don't look fourteen."
"Touché."
Suddenly, John tenses and looks up the slope. I follow his gaze—and there's Lee, silhouetted against the sky, holding a thick rope looped around his shoulder.
"I got it!" Lee calls down. "He good?"
"Mostly!" I yell back. "He's alive and cranky!"
Lee starts tying the rope around the base of the tree near the edge. "I'll lower it in a sec!"
I turn back to John. "Think you can climb?"
He studies the slope, then looks back at me, that ghost of a smirk returning. "What, no piggyback ride?"
"You try that and I'll definitely drop you."
"Noted."
The rope drops, stopping a few feet from the ground. I wave him over. "Ready?"
He doesn't answer right away. He just looks at me—really looks at me—and for a moment, I forget to breathe. There's something in his eyes that makes my skin itch. Not danger exactly… but something unreadable.
Then he nods. "Yeah. Let's go."
He limps forward, each step stiff, and reaches for the rope. He winces as he starts to pull himself up, jaw clenched tight.
I grab a nearby branch and prepare to follow. I've done this climb before, but this time I go slower—keeping distance, just in case he falls.
He manages to get halfway before grabbing the rope. Lee grunts at the top, muscles straining as he starts to pull. "Almost there!" he yells.
John hoists himself up with surprising strength for someone who just nearly passed out. When he reaches the top, Lee helps drag him over the edge.
I follow close behind, catching the branch above me and pulling myself upward. I slip once, but Lee grabs my wrist and hauls me the last few feet.
"You okay?" he asks, holding me until I find my balance.
"I'm fine," I say, brushing off my jeans.
We both turn to look at John. He's on his feet, scanning the forest with that same tight expression. Eyes sharp now. Quiet. Watching.
Lee narrows his eyes. "So… who is this guy?"
"John," I say.
Lee gives me a look.
John's hand goes to his pocket. He pulls out a small black phone—one of those older, heavy kinds—and lifts it to his ear. No lock screen. No hesitation.
"Track me," he says quickly. "I'm four miles out of town. Woods north. Just follow the signal."
Then he hangs up.
"Who was that?" Lee asks warily.
John doesn't answer. Just looks at me. "Where do you both live?"
Without thinking, I answer, "Up near Maverick Lane."
John smiles. It's faint, but real this time. "Lying's not your strong suit, Jane."
Heat rushes to my cheeks. No one's ever called me out that fast before. Not even Lee.
Lee elbows me lightly and mutters, "You don't have to tell him anything."
I frown and nod, feeling small.
John glances between us, then softens his voice. "You're right, boy. You shouldn't help strangers. But I wouldn't hurt her."
He says it to Lee, but his eyes stay on me.
Something about the way he looks at me makes the hair on my arms stand up—not from fear, but… something else. Like he knows me. Or wants to.
"I'll take him to the road," Lee says suddenly.
My heart sinks. "But—"
"No," he says firmly. "Go home."
I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off with just a look.
Reluctantly, I nod. "Fine."
I don't say goodbye. I don't look back.
I just walk.
But I can feel it—John's eyes still on me, even as I disappear into the trees