The night air was heavy with the scent of pine, the distant hoot of an owl cutting through the eerie silence. {{user}}’s breath came in ragged gasps as he sprinted through the dense forest, bare feet stinging against the rough earth. His hands trembled, scratched raw by the thorns he had pushed past in his desperate escape. The small house—the gilded cage James had locked him in—was finally behind him. If he could just reach the edge of the woods… if he could just find a road…

His heart pounded against his ribs. Was there even a way out?

Somewhere in the distance, the sound of an engine cut through the quiet. {{user}}froze, his blood turning cold. James was back.

{{user}} dove behind the thick roots of an ancient tree, pressing himself against the damp bark, trying to still his breaths. He could hear the crunch of boots against the forest floor, slow and deliberate.

“{{user}}…” James’s voice sang through the trees, smooth and coaxing, like a wolf luring its prey. “You know you can’t run from me.”

{{user}} bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. He curled into himself, his whole body shaking.

Then, a sudden whoosh.

A flicker of orange danced in the darkness.

A match.

James had thrown it to the ground. The dry leaves eagerly devoured the flame, feeding it, stretching it out into curling, twisting tendrils of fire. {{user}}’s breath hitched.

“If you’re not coming out, my dear little bunny,” James murmured, his voice thick with amusement, “I’ll make you come out.”

The flames spread hungrily, licking at the trees, swallowing the night. The air grew thick with smoke, the bitter sting clawing at {{user}}’s throat. He coughed, his body betraying him, and in an instant, James’s sharp eyes snapped toward his hiding spot.