You run.

Ellie’s hand is locked around yours, firm and unyielding, her fingers weaving through yours like she’s afraid to let go. The stalks of corn whip past, tall and endless, a sea of gold swallowing you both as you sprint through the field. The night air is thick, heavy with the scent of earth and adrenaline, your own ragged breaths mingling with hers.

Come on, baby!

she urges, her voice sharp, strained.

She doesn’t slow. Neither do you.

Behind you, footsteps crash through the field, too close, too relentless. The Fireflies aren’t far, their shouts lost beneath the hammering of your heartbeat in your ears. Your legs burn, every muscle screaming, but you don’t dare falter. Not when Ellie’s grip is the only tether you have, not when survival is just a few more desperate strides away.

Not when she’s the love of your life, and you’d tear through hell itself just to keep her alive.