The first scream echoed across Lake Ralton just as the sun disappeared behind the mountains.

Then came silence.

Not true silence. The lake still lapped lazily at the shore. Pine needles whispered overhead in the evening breeze. Somewhere deeper in the woods, a chipmunk scattered through dry leaves. But the forest seemed to tighten around the sound, as though every living thing had paused to listen.

A woman burst through the tree line seconds later.

She nearly slipped on the rocky incline before catching herself against a pine trunk hard enough to strip bark beneath her fingernails. Blood streaked down her bare legs in dark ribbons. One hand pressed desperately against the deep wound carved across her back while the other shoved branches from her path.

Her breaths came ragged and wet.

Think.

Think.

The panic clawing through her chest threatened to drown everything else, but she forced herself to focus.

She knew these woods.

That mattered.

She had spent half her teenage years out here smoking with friends, swimming in the lake after dark, dragging old boyfriends down hidden trails to escape the town. She knew which cabins sat empty through the summer months. Knew where the old ranger shelter had collapsed years ago. Knew where the terrain dipped and narrowed.

And she knew there was an emergency storm shelter less than a quarter mile ahead.

If she could make it there—

A branch snapped somewhere behind her.

She froze instinctively.

The footsteps that followed were slow.

Measured.

Not the crashing sprint of someone afraid of losing her.

He was walking.

The realization hit harder than the pain in her back.

Tears blurred her vision as she forced herself forward again, limping now. Her right leg threatened to buckle beneath her weight every few steps. Blood soaked through the waistband of her ripped shorts and dripped onto the forest floor behind her in thick splashes.

Too much blood. He could follow it blind.

Panic surged hot through her chest again, but this time she shoved it down.

No.

If he expected her to panic, she wouldn't. She suddenly veered off the main trail, ducking through a wall of thick brush before scrambling down a narrow slope littered with loose stone. Her shoulder slammed painfully against the earth as she slid the last few feet.

The storm shelter sat half-hidden among the trees below.

Relief hit so hard it almost made her dizzy.

She stumbled toward it, fumbling at the swollen wooden door with shaking hands. It resisted at first before finally groaning open. Darkness swallowed her whole. She shoved the door closed behind her and pressed herself against it, trying desperately to quiet her breathing.

Think.

Her frantic eyes adjusted slowly to the cramped interior.

Mold.

Rust.

Collapsed shelving.

Rotting firewood stacked in one corner.

Then—

Crunch.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Footsteps outside. Slow. Unhurried.

A shadow passed beneath the crack at the bottom of the door. She clamped both hands over her mouth hard enough to hurt.

Three soft knocks sounded against the wood,almost polite.

"You know," a man's voice said calmly from outside, "most people keep running."

The voice was warm.

That was the worst part.

Not distorted. Not monstrous. Calm. Familiar. Like a man making conversation at a grocery store.

Her eyes darted toward the pile of firewood.

"You doubled back," he continued softly. "That was smart."

The praise made something cold twist violently in her stomach.

The handle began to turn. Slowly. The door creaked inward.

She moved before she could think.

The chunk of firewood cracked against the side of his head with a sickening thunk. The masked figure staggered sideways into the frame.

She bolted past him. For one glorious second hope exploded inside her chest, then she heard him laugh. Not angry.

Delighted.

The sound chased her through the trees.

"Atta girl," he called after her.

Her injured leg buckled halfway up the ridge. She hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs. Before she could rise, a hand twisted violently into her hair. Pain ripped through her scalp as she was dragged backward through dirt and pine needles. She screamed and clawed at the arm restraining her, catching glimpses now of the pale mask hidden beneath the hood. Blank white features. Dark hollow eye sockets. A face that looked almost peaceful if not for the thing wearing it. He rolled her onto her back and pinned her there with terrifying ease.

"Please—" she choked out.

The masked head tilted slightly, studying her. The dark eyeholes moved slowly across her face as though memorizing it. Up close, she could hear his breathing now. Uneven. Not from exertion, but from excitement.

"You know," he murmured softly, "I almost thought you were gonna make it."

The praise curdled her stomach worse than the violence had. His gloved hand slid around her throat. Not squeezing yet, just feeling.

Feeling the frantic pulse hammering beneath her skin.

The knife appeared in his other hand with frightening smoothness, steel catching silver moonlight through the trees.

"You fought harder than the others," he said quietly.

There was genuine admiration in his voice. As though he meant it. As though this mattered to him. Tears spilled sideways into her hairline as she trembled beneath him.

The knife pressed lightly beneath her jaw, and still he watched her.

Watching.

Watching.

Like this was the part he truly loved. Not the blood. Not the killing. The moment people understood they belonged entirely to him. A shaky breath escaped behind the mask.

"You feel it now, don't you?" he whispered.

The blade dug just enough to sting.

"That moment."

His thumb brushed once against the side of her throat, almost gentle.

"When you finally know nobody's coming."

Her body shook violently beneath him, and the man behind the mask moaned softly at the sight of it before dragging the knife across her throat.