"Stay low," she said, her voice steady despite everything.
Before I could ask anything else, the first gunshot shattered the night.
Glass exploded inward as the rear window burst apart, spraying fragments across the seats. The sound was deafening, a sharp metallic crack that echoed violently off the cliffside.
The car lurched as my father swerved instinctively, correcting just in time to keep us from spinning off the road.
Another burst of gunfire followed.
I screamed as bullets tore through metal, sparks flashing along the side of the car. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might break through my ribs.
I twisted despite my mother's grip and saw them—black vehicles emerging from behind us, engines screaming as they closed the distance with terrifying speed.
Three. No—four.
They moved like they had rehearsed this, spreading out, boxing us in.
One pulled alongside us, its window already down, the muzzle of a gun flashing again and again as it fired directly at us.
My mother shoved me lower and reached beneath her jacket.
"No," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Mom—"
She fired back.
The recoil jolted her shoulder, but her aim didn't waver. The pursuing car veered sharply as its windshield shattered, slamming into the vehicle behind it. Tires screeched as both cars collided, metal folding violently as they spun out of control.
My father didn't hesitate.
He cut the wheel hard, sideswiping another vehicle and forcing it toward the guardrail. The impact rattled my bones, the sound of tearing metal filling the air.
The other car slammed against the barrier, skidded, and then tipped—vanishing over the cliff in a sickening silence before the distant roar of the ocean swallowed it whole.
My breath caught in my throat.
The road curved sharply ahead, hugging the mountainside in a long, dangerous bend. My father drove like he knew it intimately, navigating the turns with ruthless precision.
He accelerated just enough to widen the gap, then braked suddenly, forcing the pursuing car to overcorrect and slam into the rock wall in a shower of sparks.
But they kept coming.
Gunfire erupted again, bullets ripping through the car as it jolted violently. My mother fired in controlled bursts, her movements smooth and deliberate, her face unreadable as she focused solely on keeping them back.
Another car surged forward and rammed us from behind. The impact sent us spinning sideways, my head slamming painfully into the door as stars burst across my vision. Pain exploded through my skull, hot and disorienting.
Through the ringing in my ears, I heard engines screaming.
The last remaining car pulled up beside us.
The driver turned sharply and rammed us head-on.
Metal crushed inward with a screech that felt like it tore straight through me. Glass shattered everywhere, the force of the collision slamming my body violently forward before snapping me back again.
The car spun, skidded, and finally slammed to a stop near the edge of the road, the ocean roaring far below like it was waiting.
Smoke filled the air, thick and choking.
My ears rang so loudly I could barely hear anything else. Blood coated my tongue, metallic and warm. I tried to move, but my body refused to respond.
Then I heard my mother shouting my name.
Not screaming—commanding.
Her voice cut through the ringing in my ears like a blade, sharp and absolute, and it was the only thing that kept me conscious.
Smoke hung low over the road, thick and bitter, burning my throat with every breath. The twisted metal of the wreck pressed in on me from all sides, jagged edges biting into my skin and clothes as I tried to move. My fingers were slick with blood—mine, I didn't know whose—and everything hurt in a way that felt too big to belong to one body.
Hands grabbed me, firm and urgent, hauling me out of the crushed frame.
My vision swam as I was pulled free, the world tilting and blurring. The moment my feet touched the ground, my legs folded beneath me. Pain exploded through every nerve, white and blinding, and I would have collapsed if those hands hadn't caught me again.
"Stay with me," my mother said, her grip iron-strong around my arms.
She dragged me a few steps away from the wreckage, far enough that the heat and smoke didn't choke me anymore.
Her face was streaked with soot and blood, a cut running along her cheekbone, but her eyes were clear. Too clear. Focused.
She turned me sharply toward the dark wall of trees lining the road.
"Run."
Her hands slid to my shoulders, grounding me, forcing me to look at her. The forest loomed behind me, dense and black, swallowing the little light left by the burning wreck.
"Don't look back," she said.
"But—" My throat closed. I couldn't make the words come out.
My chest felt hollow, like something inside me had already broken.
She shoved something into my hand—cold metal biting into my palm. Keys, I realized dimly.
The weight of them felt absurd, meaningless, against the chaos unfolding around us.
Then she pressed her forehead to mine.
It was brief, almost nothing. But in that second, everything slowed.
I felt her breath, smelled the smoke in her hair, felt the tremor she refused to show in her hands. Her expression was fierce, unyielding, carved from resolve so solid it scared me.
"Run," she said again, quieter this time. "No matter what you hear."
A crack split the air behind her—gunfire.
I flinched.
Behind her, my father was already moving, limping but determined, drawing the remaining attackers' attention away from us. His jacket was torn, his arm hanging at an unnatural angle, but he didn't slow. He never slowed. He fired as he moved, forcing them to scatter, to follow him instead of me.
My mother turned back toward the road.
She raised her weapon and fired again—controlled, precise. Each shot drove the attackers back a step, buying seconds. Only seconds, but seconds were everything.
"Go!" she shouted, the word tearing out of her with a force that knocked the air from my lungs.
I staggered, my body resisting even as my mind screamed no, every instinct clawing to stay rooted where I was, to grab her, to refuse the command outright. Everything in me rebelled against the idea of leaving her behind, against the sheer wrongness of turning away when she was still there, still standing between me and whatever was coming.
But then her eyes met mine for the last time.
And in them, I saw something I had never seen before—no hesitation, no fear for herself, no space left for argument. Only finality. Clean. Absolute. A decision already made and sealed beyond my reach.
So I turned.
I ran like an animal set on fire, driven by nothing but terror and momentum.
Branches clawed at my arms and face as I tore through the trees, their sharp ends biting into my skin, snagging my clothes, ripping at my hair.
The forest was a blur of dark shapes and whipping shadows, trunks rushing past me like ghosts. I couldn't tell where I was going. I didn't know what direction was right. I only knew that stopping meant dying.
My lungs burned.
Every breath scraped down my throat, shallow and uneven, my chest tightening as if it was slowly being crushed from the inside.
The lingering effects of the gas twisted through me, making the world tilt, making my vision warp and tunnel.
My feet barely seemed to touch the ground. Sometimes I stumbled over roots I never saw coming, my body pitching forward as the earth rose up to meet me without permission. Sometimes my ankle twisted violently beneath me, sending a bolt of white-hot pain up my leg that nearly dropped me to my knees. Sometimes I couldn't tell if I was even running straight at all; it felt as though I was moving sideways, as though gravity itself had grown bored and decided not to participate.
Gunshots cracked behind me.
Sharp. Violent. Too close.
Each one felt like it punched straight through my spine.
I flinched with every sound, my body jerking reflexively, my heart hammering so wildly it felt like it might rupture.
I thought of my mother's face.
The way she had pressed her forehead to mine.
Run. No matter what you hear.
I ran harder.
My lungs screamed. My chest seized painfully, forcing out a broken, choking sound I barely recognized as my own voice. I tasted blood—metallic, thick, warm—coating my tongue.
I didn't know if it was from my mouth, my nose, or somewhere deeper.
I didn't care.
Another collision thundered behind me.
The sound was monstrous—metal folding, glass exploding, something heavy smashing into something else with unstoppable force. The noise echoed through the forest, bouncing off the mountainside like a scream.
I sobbed as I ran.
It tore out of me, raw and animal, my body breaking down in ways I couldn't control anymore.
My legs finally gave out.
One moment I was upright, the next I was crashing forward, my knees slamming into the ground, my palms scraping against dirt and stone. Pain shot through me, sharp and white-hot, but I barely felt it.
I tried to stand but my body refused.
My limbs trembled violently, uncoordinated, my muscles no longer listening to my brain. The world tilted sideways again, spinning, folding in on itself.
So I crawled.
I dragged myself through dirt and leaves, my fingers digging into the earth, pulling myself forward inch by inch. Rocks cut into my palms. Thorns snagged my sleeves. Wet soil smeared my skin.
My vision blurred completely now, the world reduced to streaks of dark green and gray.
I didn't know where I was going. I only knew I had to keep moving.
My breathing became shallow, stuttering, like my lungs were forgetting how to work. Every inhale felt too small. Every exhale felt like it might be my last.
Stay awake.
I told myself that over and over.
Stay awake. Stay awake. Stay awake.
I reached the slope without realizing it.
The ground tilted downward sharply, the earth looser, unstable. I slid, rolling halfway before slamming into a patch of rocks, the impact knocking the air from my lungs.
I screamed.
Or maybe I only thought I did.
By the time I reached the roadside, I was barely conscious.
My body collapsed against the asphalt, heavy, useless, every nerve screaming at once. My chest rose and fell in weak, uneven gasps. I couldn't feel my fingers anymore. Or my toes.
And somewhere, deep inside, a terrifying thought surfaced:
I don't think I can run anymore.
My body lay useless against the asphalt, every breath shallow and painful. Somewhere in the distance, an engine approached, its sound growing louder, closer.
Headlights cut through the darkness, blurring into streaks of white as the car slowed.
Through the haze of blood and fading consciousness, I saw the back window lower.
A man's face appeared.
Sharp. Focused. Unmoving.
His gaze locked onto mine with an intensity that cut through the chaos, as though he had found something he hadn't expected—something that did not belong here.
Even as the world dimmed and the pain pulled me under, one thought surfaced with strange clarity.
He saw me.
And then everything went black.