Your legs are burning. Your lungs are shot. You’re not sure how long you’ve been running — five minutes? Twenty? It doesn’t even really matter.

You and Luke burst through the opened door of an abandoned trailer, slamming it shut behind you. He throws the deadbolt with shaking hands and immediately turns, wide-eyed, back pressed to the door. There’s blood on his sleeve. You don’t know whose it is. You pray it’s not his.

“Did they see us?” His voice is barely above a whisper. He leans in closer, forehead brushing yours. “Are you hurt? Tell me you’re not—tell me you’re okay.”

His hands come up to the back of your neck, holding you close.

Outside, somewhere in the dark, footsteps crunch across gravel. A metallic drag echoes nearby — maybe a pipe. Maybe an axe.

Luke’s hands shake as they hold you. You’re shaking too, the labyrinth of trailers in this park making you feel like you’re running in circles.

Maybe you are.