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We can’t stay still.

He looks out over the valley with his jaw tight, the blade of his scythe still humming with restrained magic. Then he glances at me. Not like he’s asking for my input. More like he’s checking if I’m still upright.

I am.

Barely.

I wipe blood and moss from my hands, suck in another breath, and try not to think about what else is out here. Or what’s still following us?

I don’t know who dropped us in this nightmare. I don’t know why they’re letting us run like this, hunted, hurt, every hour pulling us deeper into something neither of us understands.

It hits the ground so hard that the field buckles. One second, I’m blinking against the unnatural red light bleeding from the sky, trying to steady my legs. The next, the thing is here.

The creature doesn't come from the trees. It comesthroughthem. Splintered trunks crash down behind it in a slow-motion wave of groaning wood and falling branches, and when it steps into the field, everything changes. The wind picks up. The translucent grass bends away from it like it's not just big, but wrong. Like the ground itself regrets holding its weight.

It stands on four limbs, each the width of a boulder, plated in something black and armored that shines like beetle shell. Its body is hunched and low, but tall enough that its jagged back cuts into the glow from the sky. Ribs, long and gnarled like broken branches, jut out at odd angles, pushing against stretched, sinewed flesh that pulses slightly with every breath it takes. The head is long and narrow, with more bone than muscle, and the jaw splits down the middle instead of at the sides. Inside, rows of teeth churn like a grinder, rotating slowly, wet and silver. It has no eyes. Just a mouth and a nose, flaring wide as it finds us.

Theo moves before I can think. The scythe in his hand coils with smoke, the blade lengthening, curving sharper. The edge isn’t metal, it’s something more primal. It drinks lightly. The air near it warps with heat and hunger. His arm tightens, veins standing out along his forearm as he shifts his stance, grounding himself against the incline.

“Luna,” he says, voice calm in that way that means everything’s about to get very bad. “Don’t move.”

“I can’t,” I bite back. “I’m literally handcuffed to you.”

The creature lunges. It doesn’t leap. Itfoldsforward, its front legs buckling as it launches like a battering ram. The jaws split wide, revealing that endless churning void, and Theo pulls me sideways, hard. We crash into the red grass just as the beast’sface slams into where we’d been, dirt and moss erupting in a wet spray.

Theo twists us apart as far as the cuff allows and then hurls himself toward the thing. His body moves like smoke, all sharp edges and flow, every step grounded in power, I can feel crackling through the chain between us. The scythe whips forward, catching the creature just below the jaw. The blade doesn’t just cut, itdevours.Flesh melts on contact, sizzling into ash that floats for a moment before vanishing completely.

The monster shrieks. Not loud, but low and deep, like a cello string pulled too far. It rears back, its front limbs slamming into the ground again, but Theo’s already moved. He flickers behind it, his form almost ghosting for a second as his body catches the arc of a shift. That’s when I realize he’s not just fast. He’sslipping.

His powers are active now, full force. Desire. That’s what he is. That’s what hewields.

The creature slows mid-lunge, its focus faltering. Its head sways slightly, movement too fluid. The scythe digs into its shoulder, not just slicing through muscle but warping it, pulling at something deeper, like Theo’s pulling the will to fight straight from its bones.

But it resists. Its head jerks, and the grinding teeth lurch sideways. It snaps at Theo’s side, nearly catching him, but he spins away, dragging me with him as the cuff pulls taut. The strain yanks my shoulde,r and I hit the ground again, scrambling upright just in time to see the creature rush.

This time, Theo doesn’t dodge.

He plants his feet, holds the scythe high, and breathes in.

The wind around us snaps backward. I feel it before I see it. The pulse. Like the air is collapsing in on itself.

Theo’s body glows, faint and sickly, the way the sky does before a storm. And then his voice,lowand ancient, cuts the space between us in half.

“Want.”

The word slams into the creature like a command. Its body stutters. Its limbs seize. It skids in the dirt, whole form shuddering as Theo's power pours into it, not like a weapon, but like a hook. It writhes, muscles twitching beneath its hide, not in pain but in confusion. In hunger. In need.

He steps forward slowly, blade dragging behind him. “You want something, don’t you? That’s what brought you here. Hunger. Thirst. Purpose.”

The creature growls again, but softer. Limbs trembling. Its mouth drools molten strands of silvery black liquid.

Theo smiles, sharp and feral. “Let me show you what craving feels like.”

And then he drives the blade through the side of its skull.

No roar. No final cry. Just a collapse. Like a puppet with its strings cut. The body falls sideways, the weight of it shaking the ground. A small tremor ripples through the valley as the thing lets out one last breath, then nothing.

I stumble back a step, knees nearly buckling. Theo turns to me, his chest rising and falling hard, face pale but still composed, still focused.