You’d been following faint traces for over an hour — broken branches, a smear of blood too fresh to be old. He was close. You could feel it in your chest, in the way the night held its breath.

And yet… nothing.

Until now.

A flicker of movement. A presence behind you. The air shifted. A whisper of warmth too close to your neck.

You barely sense him before he’s behind you — close, too close.

“Still chasing me, Sweetheart?” he breathes against your ear.