It's dark as pitch out here, with nothing but bioluminescent shrooms as light. The usual critters and insects that normally buzz about at night are now eerily quiet. It's so quiet, I'm afraid the sound of my heart pummeling my rib cage might start an echo. Every little sound has me on edge. Gentle breezes molest my ears like the whisperings of a stalker--like someone breathing down my neck.

I press myself as deeply into the hollowed tree trunk as possible. Everything smells of dirt, musk, and terror.

An hour earlier:

"Are you...OK?" I hesitantly asked though the words slipped in one ear and out the next. The man seemed content with ripping my throat out with his eyes, until suddenly that wasn't enough. He stood up shakily, not caring that the towel slipped down his legs, and his face went from crazy to murderous in .5 seconds.

"Traitor," he growled like a wild animal and tore past the couch towards me.

I barely ducked aside when he collided with callous force into the kitchen counter, a gashing hole where I once stood. And that was all I needed to see. I bolted outside like a bat out of Hell and ran fast as my legs would carry me into the darkening woods behind the house.

The sound of branches and roots shredding up right behind my heels stabbed life-saving adrenaline into every vein and most important--I knew these woods better than anyone--so I gained some distance, threw myself under the nearest dead tree...

...and wait.

A snapping twig sends another spike of adrenaline coursing through me, but I force myself still. Leaves crunch beneath slow, calculated steps. Silence. Another step. He knows I'm here.

I don't dare to breathe.

Panting. Someone--something--is panting into the air like a fucking creep. This is it, I'm gonna die in the middle of nowhere and nobody's going to know or care. Another crunch and a form comes into view. My heart dips into my stomach like a heavy stone. There is an opening from my hiding spot where I make out the tall, pale form stumbling into the small clearing. It's dark in these woods, darker still where I'm hunched, so I can only hope that him turning in my direction doesn't mean he's seen me.

Every hair on the back of my neck standing on end is not because he's coming this way. Because he definitely, definitely can't see me, right?

Gods.

He sees me. He hears the bloody heart in my chest hammering louder and louder with every step. Green eyes glimmer in the night like a demon's, staring directly into my own. Time must have skipped forward at some point, because the next thing I know my bare back is scraping the forest floor with my shirt tearing upwards. Immediately, sharp rocks are cutting my back open, though I barely have time to register the pain. The bone-crushing grip on my ankle pulls hard, ripping a scream from my throat I don't even recognize.

The world is a blur and all the blood is rushing to my head. My body's in the air, then it's slammed back to the ground.

Guttural sounds echo into the night like curses when the grip on my ankle drops, and those sounds turn to words: "Traitor. Traitor."

I can hear pathetic ramblings spilling from my own lips without my consent--I don't even know what the fuck I'm saying, begging maybe. My mind is scrambled. Sloppy tears and snot run down my face, mixing with the dirt to make a muddy mess of a human being. I'd like to think in my last moments I wouldn't go out like a coward, but I guess I'd be wrong.

The man standing over me with teeth and claws bared suddenly snaps up then. He's staring straight ahead, still manic, when a beam of light swings out of nowhere and lands directly on his face like a spotlight. The freak doesn't even blink from the sudden light.

"What are you doing out here," a clear voice breaks the haze of panic and confusion clouding my senses.

I try to scramble to my feet but a sudden shot of pain from my ankle warns me to stay down.

Amon emerges from the shadows, a flashlight in one hand and a thick black nightstick in the other. He doesn't seem to even register my presence, impassively observing the naked animal bearing down on me instead. Maybe I've gone mad, but there's a... spark in his eyes that betray his cool and professional demeanor.

Excitement.

"State your business," Amon orders, expertly twirling his nightstick.