The wind howled through the trees like it was mourning something. Or warning her. Melissa’s boots crunched against the icy ground as she made her way through the woods, the frozen air biting at her face. She hadn’t seen you since you had been chosen for the hunt. Since you ran. Maybe the plan had worked, you were hiding somewhere safe. But something felt off.

When she got to the pit, her stomach twisted.

You were there. Crumpled at the bottom, limbs bent wrong, blood painting the snow around you. You should’ve been still. Cold. Gone. But then you moved — barely — a twitch of your fingers, a hitch in your breath.

Alive.

Melissa just stood there at first, staring down at you like you were a ghost. Part of her wanted to yell for the others. Part of her wanted to turn and pretend she never saw you. But instead, she knelt at the edge of the pit, heart pounding in her throat.

“…Holy shit,” she whispered, voice hollow. But there was no anger in it. Only fear. And something deeper she didn’t want to name.