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I ride him faster, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside me, pleasure builds again, hot and tight in my belly. I don’t even realize I’m crying until my tears fall on his chest.

He doesn’t notice. His eyes are glazed, lost in pleasure as I grind down on his throbbing length, and he’s close. I can feel it in the way his thrusts grow erratic, in the way his fingers dig into my skin like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.

“Bunny—” His voice is wrecked. “I’m gonna—fuck—”

I lean down, my lips brushing his lips for the last time, my fingers curling around the knife.

“I love you, Daddy,” I whisper.

Then, I don’t hesitate. I plunge the knife into his chest.

His body jerks beneath me, his eyes flying wide open—shock, betrayal, pain—but I don’t stop.

I stab again.

And again.

Blood spills between us, hot and slick, but I keep riding his still-rigid cock, my hips gyrating, pussy clamping, unable to let him go.

His hands scramble at my waist, weak now, but I don’t let go. I can’t. I drive the knife deeper, and deeper, until his breath gurgles in his throat and his hands give out.

The last thrust is the hardest. The knife sinks straight into his heart, and at the same moment, pleasure shatters through me, my walls contracting around him as I come with a broken sob.

His body goes still beneath me.

I stay there, panting, the knife still buried in his chest, his blood sticky on my skin.

Then, slowly, I twist— just making sure —and the cage goes silent.

I sob. Just for a second, I let myself feel it. The crashing pain, breaking my heart and wrecking my soul.

“I’m so sorry,” I breathe, stroking his perfect face with my bloodied fingers before closing his eyes.

Then, the survival instinct kicks in—I don’t have much time.

I pull out a knife from his heart and scramble to my feet, tossing his hoodie over my naked body before I leave. The cage door clinks shut behind me as I rush to the exit.

I don’t run. I’m still terrified of these woods. I don’t know how far the others are, and I don’t want to do anything hasty that could alarm them.

I have no idea where I‘m going, I just know I need to get as far from here as possible. The sun is still high, filtering through the thick crowns, and the cicadas are singing, which must mean the path is clear.

Everything seems to go smoothly. Just my legs tremble, feet hurting against the rocks and roots.

I have no idea how long I wander around, but my exhaustion is getting the best of me.

I’m weak, even with all this adrenaline pumping through my veins.

I start stumbling, my head getting dizzy, but I push forward. I have to.

My foot catches on something hard, harder than a root. Maybe a bone? I crash to the ground with a shriek, my hands sink into something wet and spongy. I don’t want to know what it is, but the smell of rotting flesh hits my nose, making me gag.

I try to get back up, but my body screams in protest.

Then I see it.

A camera. It’s lying a few feet away, half-buried in the dirt. The screen is cracked, but it’s still intact. I recognize the sticker on it with Ghost Daddy’s logo.

I crawl toward it, my hands shaking as I pick it up. It’s cold, the metal casing rough against my skin. I press the power button, not expecting it to work, but the screen flickers to life. The battery icon is red, almost dead, but it’s enough.

A video starts playing, dated early May. What the hell? That’s a month before the gang and I arrived at the Airbnb.

At first, it’s just shaky footage of the woods, the camera jerking around as whoever’s holding it runs. Then I hear it—his voice. Ghost .

My stomach twists as I listen to him, his voice panicked, breathless. He’s saying something, but I can’t make out the words. The camera swings around, and for a moment, I see his face. He’s terrified.

Then he screams.

The camera drops, the image spinning wildly before settling on the ground. I can still hear him, his screams growing louder, more desperate. Something moves in the background, something dark and fast. There’s a sound—a wet, tearing noise—and then silence. The screen goes black.

My mind races, trying to make sense of what I just saw.

Ghost. He’s dead. I mean, he's been dead before I… But how? He was with me this whole time. He was—

What’s happening? What is this? I don’t understand. I don’t—

I feel like I’m going to be sick, but I force myself to my feet, my legs unsteady. I have to keep moving. I have to find help. I stumble forward, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps. The woods feel darker now, the shadows deeper.

Then, I notice silence. The cicadas stopped buzzing.

With a pounding heart, I turn around…

And there he is. Alive and well.

Ghost is standing right before me, his pants up, no mask, crazy hair. Blood covers his chest, but the cuts are gone. His eyes are raging, boring into me.

“You thought you could escape?” he growls, making me jump up. “How cute. You’re my little prey, and I’ll hunt you down every time you try to run.”

Everything slowly sinks in.

My hands are shaking so bad that the camera slips onto the ground. I look around and realize that I’m standing in human remains. In what’s left of the real Ghost.

He— this being —wanted me to find it. To learn the truth the hard way. He probably even wanted me to kill him—or try to—just to show me that I can’t. That no matter what I do, I’m trapped.

I yelp as he moves, approaching, but I’m frozen in place, paralyzed by fear. His bones are snapping with each step, limbs elongating, boots giving way for cloven hooves. Reddish-brown fur pushes through his skin, short and sleek. Antlers crack from his skull, spanning wide like a jagged crown.

And then, there’s nothing else, just darkness before my eyes.