Diana
The looming farmhouse emerges from the thick trees as we stumble into the clearing.
My feet ache and my clothes are damp from the evening dew, but any shelter is welcome after a day spent wandering these dark woods.
Anthony glances at me, fatigue etched on his face.
"We should ask if we can stay here. Just for the night," he says, pointing at a farmhouse that looks functional.
We can see lights streaming out of the windows.
I nod, too exhausted to argue.
My T-shirt clings to my skin, dotted with specks of dried blood—none of it mine, thankfully.
Anthony's shirt tells a different story, the fabric saturated with deep crimson stains along his left side.
"You need to change," I say, gesturing to the gruesome evidence of the days' violence. "Here."
I pull open the backpack and
