The voice was urgent—low but insistent, like its owner wasn't sure I was still alive.
"Hey. Hey, can you hear me?"
I flinched, my back slamming into rough bark as I scrambled to sit up. Pain exploded in my shoulder, and my vision blurred with it. I blinked hard, forcing the world into focus.
A man crouched a few feet away, hands raised, eyes wide with concern. He looked… normal. Not one of them. Mid-thirties, clean-shaven, a too-thin jacket clinging to a lean frame, and a frantic sort of energy rolling off him.
"It's okay," he said—his breath uneven. "What the hell happened out here? Who were those men?"
I couldn't speak. My throat locked tight with fear. My fingers curled into the dirt.
"Were they after you?" he pressed. "I saw them. Three of them, armed. I stayed hidden until they were gone, then I found you. You're bleeding—bad."
My eyes filled. The woods spun slowly around me.
He took a slow breath, crouching lower. "I'm not here to hurt you, I swear. You're not safe here. We need to go before someone circles back."
"They might," I rasped. "They could still be watching."
He looked over his shoulder, jaw clenched. "Maybe. But if we stay, you'll die out here. I have a truck hidden off a service trail, but we need to move now."
I didn't answer. My head lolled slightly, the pain growing heavier, like a thick blanket soaked in blood.
"What's your name?" he asked, more softly this time.
I looked at him—really looked. His eyes held a kind of panic smothered in purpose, but there was something else there too. A steadiness that made my walls waver.
"Mercy," I lied.
"Okay, Mercy." He nodded like he believed it. "I'm Eli. Can you walk?"
I nodded weakly.
He reached out slowly, his palm up, waiting for me to meet him halfway. When I did, our fingers touched—warm, real. Grounding.
He slid his other arm around my back, lifting me with care.
"You're freezing," he muttered. "Let's get you out of here."
Each step was agony. My shoulder throbbed with each sway. The cold nipped my face, the earth slipping beneath our feet. Eli supported me, his body firm against mine, and despite everything, there was a strange comfort in the closeness.
The forest thinned after what felt like forever. Trees gave way to tall grass and rusted fencing. A narrow dirt path opened ahead, overgrown and barely passable. A battered pickup truck sat camouflaged behind brambles, its paint faded and windshield dusty.
Eli helped me in slowly, careful not to jar my shoulder. He wrapped a flannel blanket around me—worn, but soft—and lingered just a second longer than he needed to. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from my cheek.
"You'll be okay," he said quietly.
I didn't believe him.
But I wanted to.
He jogged to the other side and slid into the driver's seat. The engine growled, stubborn at first, then caught. We rolled forward, the tires crunching against loose gravel. The road was a winding mess—narrow, flanked by leaning trees and overgrowth that slapped at the windows. The headlights barely pierced the fog creeping in.
For a long while, neither of us spoke. I stared at the road, dizzy and cold, my fingers knotted in the blanket.
Then Eli reached over, his hand brushing mine. He didn't say anything, but his grip was gentle, firm. A silent promise.
"I can't…" I whispered. "I can't go back to that place."
"You won't," he said. "Not if I can help it."
The woods gave way to dim streetlights. Civilization crept in slowly—paved roads, the flash of a passing car, the glow of a distant billboard. Then, finally, the unmistakable brightness of the hospital.
Eli pulled into the emergency bay, the truck groaning as it halted. Before I could say anything, he was out, shouting for help.
"She's been shot—twice, I think!"
Nurses rushed toward us, voices sharp and overlapping. A pair of arms eased me from the truck as Eli hovered nearby.
"What's her name?" someone asked.
My lips barely moved. "Mercy."
"She said her name's Mercy," Eli echoed, nodding.
I couldn't hold his gaze. The stretcher'
s wheels rattled beneath me as the world blurred.
I let the lie carry me.