The sound of snapping twigs and rustling leaves announced their return. Multiple footsteps, deliberate and aggressive, moving through the underbrush without any attempt at stealth. Brett emerged first from between the trees. Blood dotted his knuckles—some his own, some not—and he wiped his nose with the back of his hand, the cocaine still coursing through his system, amplifying every emotion, every violent impulse.

Three others, one younger, materialized behind him, all breathing hard from the hunt. Among them, Paige held up her phone, the screen's pale glow illuminating her face as she began recording.

"Well, well, well." Brett drawled as he stepped into the firelight. "Where's your fuckin' boyfriend now, love?" The endearment dripped with sarcasm.

You cowered behind a fallen log, eyes wide with terror. Dylan was nowhere to be seen—probably still running deeper into the forest. Brett's lips pulled back in a predatory grin, his jaw clenched with barely contained rage.

He was close enough that you could smell the mixture of tobacco and something else—something violent and wild that seemed to emanate from his very pores.

"OI! YOU PUSSY! I KNOW YOU'RE OUT THERE!" His voice echoed through the trees, raw and savage, disturbing whatever wildlife remained in the area. "COME OUT AND FACE ME LIKE A MAN!"

When no response came, Brett let out a harsh laugh and turned his attention back to you. "Looks like your boyfriend's got no backbone after all." He grabbed your arm, his grip firm. "But that's alright, love. I've got something better now, don't I?"

"See, here's the thing," Brett said. "He owes me. Money, product—doesn't matter what. But when someone owes me something, they pay up. Always."

The campfire crackled weakly behind him, casting dancing shadows across his face as he leaned in closer. "He fucked up tonight. Real bad." His voice dropped to barely above a whisper, more terrifying than any shout. "But y'know what? I don't even need that little shit anymore. I've got his bird right here."