Chapter 4 – The First Trap
633 Words
Damian Blackwood didn’t sleep that night.
The whisper in the warehouse replayed in his mind like a broken record:
“Damian… you’ve already been chosen.”
Chosen for what?
A warning?
A threat?
Or something far worse?
By dawn, he was already in his office, the envelope spread across his desk. The second photo—the one Isadora said he missed—lay under a harsh fluorescent light. He stared at the symbol etched in the corner: the jagged triangle with intersecting lines, like a broken compass.
He traced it with his thumb.
A map, she said.
But a map to where?
Damian exhaled sharply and pinned it to his investigation board. He stepped back, studying it. Something was off. The lines weren’t random. They bent, slanted, intersected—exactly like…
He froze.
Coordinates.
His heart kicked.
Damian grabbed his notepad, scribbling quickly until the numbers took shape.
Coordinates—just cryptic enough to intimidate, but simple enough for someone like him to catch.
He entered them into his GPS.
The device blinked, calculating.
Then it pinged.
Blackwood Park.
The woods behind his old family estate.
A place he hadn’t visited in years.
A place filled with memories he’d buried under layers of adulthood and denial.
His fists clenched.
Of course the killer would drag him back there.
Back to the one place tied to his darkest childhood memories.
⸻
At Blackwood Park
The late afternoon sun hung low, casting long shadows across the forest floor. The air smelled of damp leaves and something metallic—too metallic. Damian’s instincts prickled.
He stepped deeper into the woods, boots crunching softly. The trees stood tall like silent witnesses, hiding everything and revealing nothing.
Then he saw it.
His breath caught.
A tree—its bark carved with the same jagged symbol. Fresh. Deliberate.
Damian approached slowly, fingers brushing the grooves.
A message dangled beneath it—a small black ribbon tied around a strip of paper.
He pulled it free.
Unwrapped it.
A single line:
“Tick, tock.”
Damian stiffened.
Tick… tock…
A sound began behind him.
Slow.
Steady.
Mechanical.
Tick.
Tock.
His blood ran cold.
He whipped around—
A device.
Strapped to a fallen log.
A timer blinking.
Counting down.
00:00:29
00:00:28
“Damn it!”
Damian lunged toward it, scanning the wiring. Whoever built it knew what they were doing—clean cuts, layered triggers, zero margin for error.
00:00:19
00:00:18
He yanked his knife free and sliced the outer casing. Sparks danced. Sweat rolled down his forehead.
00:00:11
00:00:10
His breathing quickened.
This wasn’t just a threat.
This was personal.
00:00:07
Damian made his choice.
He cut the main wire.
Silence.
Total, suffocating stillness.
The timer stopped at 00:00:04.
Damian exhaled shakily and collapsed onto the log. Someone wanted him dead. Someone was enjoying this.
He lifted his head—
And that’s when he saw her.
Isadora Vale.
Standing between two trees, watching.
Beautiful.
Cold.
Unreadable.
“Not bad,” she said, stepping forward. “Most people don’t survive the first trap.”
Damian’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
“You knew this was happening.”
“I told you,” she replied, brushing a leaf from her coat,
“you’ve been chosen.”
He rose to his feet, adrenaline still pounding.
“I’m not playing their game.”
Her smirk was sharp, almost cruel.
“Oh, Damian… you already are.”
She turned and walked deeper into the woods.
Damian hesitated only a second before following—he didn’t trust her, but she was the only one who seemed to understand this nightmare.
As they disappeared into the thickening shadows, Damian felt it again—
That electric pulse of danger.
The sense that the real hunt was only beginning.
And somewhere, hidden among the trees…
Someone was watching.
Waiting.
Smiling.
- Writer
