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The forest is a blur of green and brown and shadow. The sun painting the ground in jagged slashes of light. My breath burns in my lungs as I leap over a fallen log and duck under a low branch. I can only hope that they didn’t plant any traps in this forest like they did in the other.

Then I hear it.

Somewhere behind me, I hear the countdown.

“Five,” Bodhi calls, too calm.

“Four,” Matteo’s voice now—low and dark and already promising something worse.

“Three.”

I don’t look back.

“Two.”

My heart pounds.

“One.”

They don’t shout. They don’t laugh. There’s no noise at all.

But I know.

They're coming.

I don’t pace myself. There’s no point, not with them behind me.

My chest pounds as I veer left, up a narrow path where the underbrush is thicker. My legs are already protesting, but I don't slow. I can't.

Bodhi calls behind me, sing-song and wicked: "Run, little storm. Let's see if you learned anything."

I ignore him. Push harder. Every step tears at my calves, my lungs, but I force my body to comply. One mile. I can do one fucking mile.

Branches whip against my arms. Sunlight flickers in and out. I keep low, fast, weaving between the trees, picking the fastest line through the terrain like it’s second nature.

Because it is.

Because I’ve done this before—obstacle runs, field drills, adrenaline-soaked missions.

Bodhi laughs again. Loud, wild. The crunch of leaves underfoot tells me he’s moving fast—but I expect that. Irememberthat. The way he chased me last time, how he gave me a lead and still cut me down like a shadow with teeth.

But it’s not Bodhi that makes my blood run colder.

It’s Matteo.

He hasn’t made a sound. Not one goddamn noise.

I catch glimpses of him through the trees. Cutting off paths. Herding me.

Like he already knows where I’m going before I do.

“Fuck off, Matteo,” I hiss between gasps, shoving through a thicket of branches.

No answer, of course not.

He wants me off balance.

He wants me afraid.