Page 23 of Stream & Scream

And she tries.

Fuck, she tries.

Just a breath, a whisper, a gasp.“Forgive m?—”

My blade flashes once.

Sharp. Clean. A single motion practiced a hundred times.

Her voice stops. Her eyes go wide. Her pulse erupts under my hand, then flutters, then fades.

I lower her gently, almost reverently, onto the forest floor, her body warm and slack in my arms. Blood seeps from her neck in slow pulses, trickling down her shoulder to the ground beneath. Her braid unravels like a ribbon, fingers twitching once before stillness settles in.

The drone finds us then.

Buzzing low like a metal insect, its lens blinking as it descends into the clearing, catching the tableau in eerie silence. I wipe the blade on her torn leggings, stand to my full height, and turn toward the camera.

I don’t pose.

Iownit.

“For the faithful,” I say, voice cold through the comm filter. “Your god doesn’t live here.”

Then I reach down, rip the still-blinking wrist-cam from her arm, and hold it out so the drone gets a clear view. Her slack face. Her ruined throat. Her blood soaking the earth like wine spilled during communion.

“Let the audience decide if this looks like salvation.”

The drone hovers and captures every inch.

Then I turn and fade back into the trees without a trace, like a shadow that never existed.

By the time they find her,ifthey find her, there’ll be nothing left but bloodstains, a broken prayer, and the echo of a voice whispering sins into the pine needles.

A lesson.

A warning.

A sacrifice.

The forest keeps her now. Holds her. And somewhere, cameras are still rolling. Viewers are still watching.

Let them cheer.

Let them cry.

Let them believe this was random.

It wasn’t.

Welcome to the fucking game.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Olivia

Night one.

Imove through the trees knowing I’m being hunted. I feel like prey.