Copyright 2026 by DJ Rawlings

12:15 AM

I stop beneath the branches.

I hate myself for stopping, but the words have already reached my feet. I can feel the inside of a shoe so clearly that it is almost another kind of pain: cloth against skin, a sole that will hold when I step on stone, laces I can pull tight enough to keep everything together.

Something lands ahead of me.

I draw back. A pale shape lies beyond the low branches, just outside the reach of my hand. His light touches it, moves away, and leaves the white canvas visible against the dark leaves.

My shoe.

The left one. A piece of string runs through the top eyelets where the lace broke after cheer practice. Lucy said it looked like a little bandage. I told her shoes could not get hurt, and she said mine looked hurt anyway.

I reach before I think.

My fingers pass between two twigs. The shoe is farther away than it seemed. Another few inches and I could hook the heel with one finger.

A boot settles beside it.

I pull my hand back so fast that a twig scratches my wrist.

“There you are.”

The light enters beneath the branches. I turn my face away and press against the ground. His boot blocks the shoe now. I can see only the white toe beyond the dark leather.

“Put them on.”

I do not move.

“Your feet must be freezing.”

My right hand shakes against the leaves. I push it beneath my chest, where he cannot see it. The branches are not a hiding place anymore. They are a low ceiling holding me on my stomach while he stands outside.

“We can talk about this somewhere warm.”

The memory of the room comes with the word warm. The little heater beside the door. Its orange bars. The way he switched it off when I would not answer him.

I look to my left. The branches thin there, opening beneath the curve of a fallen limb. I cannot tell whether my shoulders will fit.

He crouches. The light lowers with him.

“Look at me, Hannah.”

My eyes turn before I can stop them.

His face appears behind the flashlight, partly hidden by glare. His mouth is calm. One hand holds the beam. The other rests against his thigh, with a dark strip of cloth wrapped around the place I hurt him.

I cannot look at that hand.

“I know you're frightened.”

He reaches beneath the branches.

I shove myself backward. My heel catches a root and pain jerks through my leg. His fingers close on the edge of my sleeve, holding me for half a second before the damaged seam tears.

He pulls out with a piece of cloth in his hand.

I crawl left.

“Don't.”

The word is sharp enough to stop me inside, but my arms keep moving. I push one shoulder beneath the fallen limb. Bark drags across my back. My shirt catches, and I pull until the fabric stretches tight against my throat.

I am stuck.

His boots move around the branches.

I flatten my cheek into the leaves and reach behind me. My fingers cannot find the place that holds me. I pull again. The collar presses harder. Air comes in a thin, frightened whistle.

“Stay where you are.”

He is coming around the end.

I force myself backward an inch. The pressure eases. My hand finds the cloth above my shoulder and lifts it off a broken stub of wood.

I slide through.

Open ground touches my face. I get one knee beneath me, grab a sapling, and rise so quickly that the forest tilts. The flashlight sweeps toward the opening behind me.

I run before I can see where it will land.

The trees are closer together here. I pass between two trunks and feel them scrape both shoulders. Behind me, his body strikes one hard enough to shake water from the branches. He makes a short sound and comes after me.

I hear every step.

My breath catches high in my throat. I try to get it lower, but the next breath is worse. A sob escapes. I clamp my lips shut and stumble into a wall of young firs.

Needles fill my face. I push through them with both arms, turning sideways when the branches refuse to bend. The little trees spring back behind me. His flashlight breaks into pieces across them.

“Hannah.”

I cannot tell how close he is now. His voice seems beside my ear, but the branches behind me have not opened.

I keep going.

One tree ends and another begins. My shirt snags. I pull it free. A branch slides across my cheek and hooks beneath my hair. I bend until it releases me, then try to straighten too soon and hit the branch above it.

The second blow knocks me to my knees.

I stay there for one breath. Two. Behind me, he pushes into the firs.

I get up.

The ground descends beneath the little trees. I can no longer see his beam, only a white glow moving through the needles. When I look ahead, the trunks seem to lean downhill with me.

I put one hand against the nearest and lower myself over a root. My feet slide. I catch another branch and pull upright.

Above me, he stops moving.

“Be careful.”

The warning makes me hurry. I do not want his hand close enough to be the thing that catches me.

I step past the next tree.

The ground goes away.