ESCAPE INTO THE DARK

Sophia lay in bed, eyes wide open, staring into the shadows that stretched across her ceiling. The house was quiet now — too quiet. Her uncle’s snores rumbled faintly through the wall, broken by the occasional wet snort. She had learned to measure safety in those sounds; as long as they stayed deep and steady, she could move.

She clutched the small cloth bundle she had kept hidden under her bed for weeks — nothing more than a change of clothes and a few stolen scraps of bread, but to her, it was freedom. Tonight was the night. If she didn’t leave now, she might never get another chance.

Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might wake someone. Slowly, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, the wood creaking beneath her feet. She froze, breath caught, waiting for the sound of shifting weight in the other room. Nothing.

Step by step, she crossed the room. The door’s iron latch was cold against her fingers. She eased it upward, the faint click making her flinch. Still nothing. Inch by inch, she pushed the door open. The hinges groaned in protest, each note like a scream in the stillness. She slipped through, pulling it closed behind her.

The night air bit at her skin, cool and damp. It smelled faintly of woodsmoke and the earthy scent of rain-soaked dirt. She scanned the street — no lanterns, no neighbors lingering at windows. Still, she moved quickly, keeping her head down. The villagers were all too eager to trade gossip for favors; if word reached her uncle, he would drag her back. Or worse.

Her street was deserted, just as she had hoped. The dirt road curved gently toward the village edge, where crooked fences and overgrown grass marked the last traces of human order. Each step away from the house made her chest feel both lighter and tighter — lighter with the knowledge she was leaving, tighter with the fear of what waited beyond.

The forest gates rose in her mind before they came into sight, but when they finally did, her breath caught. They loomed high and black in the moonlight, their bars slick with dew, shaped like twisted fingers. Beyond them, the trees stood close together, their tops whispering secrets to one another.

She glanced over her shoulder. The village lay behind her, still and silent.

Sophia pressed herself between the narrow bars, the cold metal scraping her sleeve. Her slender frame slid through easily enough, though her bundle snagged and she had to tug it free. On the other side, the air changed — heavier, filled with the musk of damp leaves and something sharper she couldn’t name.

Find the second gate, she reminded herself. That’s the way out. The villager she’d asked had said nothing more. No path, no markers. Just the promise that another village waited if she could get through.

She stepped forward.

The forest swallowed her.

At first, it was silent — unnervingly so. No wind. No insects. Only her own breathing and the muted thud of her footsteps on the leaf-strewn earth. The quiet pressed on her ears until she could hear her heartbeat.

Then, gradually, sounds began to emerge. A distant rustle in the branches overhead. The faint flutter of wings. Something cracking a twig far off to the left.

Her lantern’s light wavered, shadows stretching like claws along the forest floor. The trees crowded closer together, their gnarled roots curling up from the soil. She began humming under her breath — a lullaby she barely remembered from her mother — more to steady her nerves than to keep her company.

A growl stopped her.

Low, deep, and close.

Her humming died. She turned her head slowly, eyes straining to pierce the shadows.

It emerged between the trees — low to the ground, muscles rippling under dark, matted fur, eyes catching the light in a cold glint.

Her breath caught. Her body screamed at her to run, but her feet refused to move.

Run, her mind whispered. Now.

Her legs obeyed before her thoughts could catch up. She bolted down the narrow path, branches clawing at her arms and face. The growl became pounding footfalls behind her — heavy, fast, relentless.

She risked a glance over her shoulder. Too close. Far too close.

“I can’t die like this,” she gasped, the words breaking into a sob.

A jagged stone caught her toe, and pain shot through her foot as she pitched forward. The lantern tumbled from her hand, rolling away and spilling weak light over the dirt. Her injured leg screamed when she tried to stand.

The predator advanced slowly now, savoring her helplessness.

Far deeper in the forest, Azriel paused mid-step.

The forest was his refuge — a place where he could hunt in peace, away from the noise of human settlements. He had been feeding earlier, the taste of fresh boar blood still lingering on his tongue, when he heard it.

A scream.

It cut through the night like a blade, sharp and human. His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. A human in my forest? Foolish… or fate.

He moved without sound, slipping between trees like shadow, following the frantic rhythm of a heartbeat. It was erratic, fast, flavored with panic. He inhaled deeply, letting the scent guide him — fear and something sweeter beneath it.

He saw her before she saw him.

A young woman, stumbling through the undergrowth, clutching at a bundle like it could save her. Her face was pale in the dim light, hair wild around her shoulders. And chasing her — a beast, closing in with the patience of a seasoned killer.

Azriel lingered for a moment, watching. It was not often prey came to him.

When the girl fell, he moved. One burst of speed, a crash of force, and the beast was thrown aside, its snarl cut short. His hand found its heart, and with a sharp pull, life left its body.

He turned to her.

Her wide, tear-bright eyes met his. There was fear there, yes — but something else too, something that made his hunger stir in a different way.

“You’re safe now,” he murmured, his voice low enough that it might have been meant for himself alone.

Her lashes fluttered. Her breathing slowed.

Before unconsciousness claimed her, he bent, brushing his lips lightly against hers — a fleeting, dangerous promise.