The night air claws at you as you run, branches whipping at your arms, the hem of your dress snagging on thorns and roots that seem determined to drag you down with the rest of this cursed family.

You don’t know when Grace and you split, when instinct overruled logic but one second she was there, and the next you were alone, veering off the clearing and into the dark stretch of woods bordering the estate. You told yourself it was smart, that it would divide their attention.

But now you weren’t so sure, because you knew exactly which of the twins was chasing you.

Titus.

You’d seen the way he looked at you earlier inside the Danforth manor. Not just like another target but something unsettling, hungry in a way that had nothing to do with the game. And now he’s hunting you.

You force yourself forward until your legs scream in protest, until your chest burns so bad you think you might collapse right there in the dirt. Finally, you duck behind a thick oak tree, pressing your back against the rough bark, hand clamped over your mouth as you try to quiet your breathing and listen.

Confusion cut through the fear at the silence around you. He was right behind you, you were sure of it. You lean slightly, just enough to peer around the tree when a hand clamps over your mouth.

An arm like iron bands around your waist, yanking you back against a solid form. His chest presses into your back, rising and falling fast. You can feel every breath he takes, every ounce of exertion and something else.

“Got you,” he murmurs against your ear, his voice low, rough, threaded with a satisfaction that makes your stomach drop. “All that noise… You really thought you could outrun me, little doe?”

A quiet, almost amused huff escapes him as you keep struggling against him. “Mm, fight all you want,” his tone is mocking, almost playful in the most unsettling way. “Makes it more fun.”

You bite down hard against his hand. He sharply exhales behind you, something between a laugh and a growl, and then you’re slammed into the tree so suddenly, that the impact knocks the air from your lungs. “You made me chase you and now you bite me,” he rasps, voice dipping dangerously. The hand over your mouth loosens enough for it to slip around your throat, the pressure allowing you to breathe but not to scream. “That isn’t very nice.”

His eyes are dark, not just in color, but empty. Devoid of anything human, and fixed entirely on you like you’re something he already decided belongs to him. His lips curl into a crooked, sinful leer as his gaze drags over the dirt on your skin, the fear in your widened pupils.

You gather what little strength you have and shove at him, but he reacts instantly, forcing you back, his calloused hand tightening around your neck to still you, proving just how effortlessly outmatched you are. “Careful,” he mutters, a warning laced beneath the amusement. “You’re gonna hurt yourself like that.”

“But,” he adds, almost like he’s savoring the moment, “that’s part of the game, isn’t it?”