The night pressed hard against the forest, heavy and unyielding. A thin mist curled between the trees, muffling footsteps and swallowing sound. Every snapping twig or shifting branch echoed like a signal, though no one dared move too freely. The shadows seemed alive, shifting with the flicker of distant flames, and the forest itself held its breath, waiting.
Ayoub stood before a row of prisoners lashed to pine trunks, their faces pale and gaunt in the glow of burning torches. Sweat streaked dirt across their skin, and the bruises darkened their cheeks like warped tattoos. His men watched silently, their eyes lowered, as Ayoub paced with slow, deliberate precision, the firelight carving his shadow across the captives in jagged, monstrous angles.
"You are alive because I allow it," Ayoub said, his voice smooth, almost disturbingly kind. "And you will remain alive only if you serve as warnings."
He gestured, and one of his men shoved a prisoner forward, forcing the man to his knees. Ayoub crouched in front of him, meeting his trembling eyes. For a moment, the forest seemed to pause—the wind itself stilled, the animals hidden in their burrows sensing the human terror below.
"Run," Ayoub whispered, almost coaxing, the faintest trace of a smile cutting across his face.
The prisoner blinked, confusion and fear colliding in his eyes, then bolted into the darkness. The forest swallowed him for a breath, but it was brief. A gunshot cracked through the trees, sharp and final, and he collapsed face-first into the dirt. Silence followed, suffocating and complete, broken only by the crackle of the torches.
Ayoub rose slowly, tall and broad, the edges of his shadow stretching across the captives. His smile was sharp as glass, glinting with cold calculation. "Mercy is a lie," he said. "Fear keeps order." His gaze swept across the line of captives, resting on each for a heartbeat longer than necessary. "And tomorrow, fear will spread farther than these woods."
Far from the fire's glow, Soufiane's group huddled in the shelter of a half-collapsed hunter's blind. The faint echo of the gunshot rolled through the forest like distant thunder, shaking the very air around them.
Meriem clutched her knees, eyes wide, voice trembling. "That was close."
"It wasn't for us," Abderrazak muttered, but his hand tightened around the crowbar in his grip, knuckles white. His gaze darted nervously toward the distant orange glow of the camp, calculating distances, imagining paths and ambush points.
Amal sat against the rough planks, pale but steadier than before. She glanced at Soufiane, whose jaw was clenched tight, knife resting across his lap. "That wasn't random," she said, voice low but firm. "They're making a show of it."
"They're hunters," Soufiane replied, his voice low, almost a growl, his eyes narrowing. "And we're the prey they want."
No one argued. The truth weighed heavily, pressing down like the damp air around them. Each of them felt it, a cold certainty that fear was being measured, tested, and sharpened like a blade.
From their vantage point, faint orange light flickered through the trees to the east—the fire of Ayoub's camp. Too close for comfort. The smell of smoke carried on the breeze, curling into their lungs like the memory of violence.
"We can't stay here," Abderrazak whispered, voice hoarse, barely above the rustle of the mist. "They'll sweep the forest until they find us. And when they do… they won't hesitate."
Soufiane's eyes never left the flames in the distance. His thoughts were already turning sharper, faster, slicing through options, strategies, and contingencies as he always did when death pressed close. He had no illusions: Ayoub wasn't just chasing them. He was teaching his men obedience through fear. He was shaping the forest into a weapon against anyone foolish enough to defy him.
Meriem's voice cracked the silence, almost a lifeline. "Then what do we do?"
Soufiane turned, the firelight glinting faintly in his eyes even from this distance. "We stop running," he said, voice low and precise, every word deliberate. "We find out who he is—and then we end him before he ends us."
The others froze, the weight of his words sinking deep into their bones. Amal met his gaze, and though her body still carried the weakness of recovery, her voice was steady. "If we're going after him, we'd better know exactly what kind of monster we're walking into."
Soufiane nodded once, expression unreadable, the shadow of resolve carved across his face. Beyond the trees, Ayoub's laughter carried faintly through the night, a low, jagged sound that sent shivers along their spines. It was not joy—it was a statement, a promise of reckoning.
The clash between hunter and hunted was no longer a question of if—only of when. The forest itself seemed to tighten around them, holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable collision. And in that waiting, Soufiane felt the familiar rush of adrenaline, the cold certainty that the moment they had feared, prepared for, and yet could never fully anticipate, was coming faster than they could imagine.