The forest was suffocatingly quiet, the silence punctuated only by the frantic rasp of your breathing. Drenched in mud and sweat, you clutched his trembling hand as you both pressed yourselves against the coarse bark of a tree. The moonlight barely pierced the canopy above, casting the undergrowth in a silvery haze.

“We’re close,” Kyle whispered, his voice hoarse. His shirt was torn, blood staining the fabric where an arrow had grazed him. You glanced at his wound, your stomach twisting in helpless fury. It was a miracle you had made it this far.

"Close to what?" you hissed back, your voice sharper than you intended. "We don’t even know if the river’s real or just another one of their lies."

His jaw clenched, eyes searching yours, their usual warmth now tinged with desperation. “It’s real. It has to be. If we follow it, we’ll make it out.”

You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood. There was no time to argue, no time to fall apart. The hounds could pick up your scent at any moment, and the hunters—they weren’t far behind. You shifted your weight, wincing as the fresh gash on your calf pulsed. Each step felt like agony, but pain had long become your companion in this twisted game.

“Okay,” you muttered, your resolve hardening. “But we won't stop again. Not until we’re safe.”

He nodded, his grip tightening on your hand. Together, you pushed through the dense foliage, your steps careful but urgent. The night air was heavy with the metallic tang of fear, your every move haunted by the spectre of death.

The first howl sliced through the silence like a blade.

“They’ve let the dogs loose,” you whispered, panic clawing at your throat.

Kyle didn’t answer, only dragged you forward faster. Adrenaline surged through you, momentarily numbing the pain in your leg. You could hear them now: the distant baying of the hounds, the crunch of boots on fallen leaves. The hunters were closing in.