My legs had lied to me.
Taking that single, deliberate step toward the immense shadow by the wall hadn’t been an act of courage; it had been the final, desperate twitch of a system suffering from extreme sensory overload. The second my bare foot touched the cold floorboards between them, the microsecond of heavy, golden stillness shattered, and the human survival instinct I’d supposedly inherited from millions of years of un-eaten ancestors finally kicked the door open.
I didn't run toward the door. Jake was there, crouched like a coiled spring, a line of dark blood still staining his chin.
Instead, my eyes locked onto the small, single window at the side of the cabin.
Moving didn't feel like moving; it felt like executing a series of poorly written commands. My hands, completely numb
