The forest leading toward the green beacon thinned out, the rocky ground making it difficult for trees to take root. Towering trunks gave way to low shrubs and scraggly undergrowth, the landscape growing harsher and more exposed with every step.

  Liam had never been the outdoorsy type; he was a city boy through and through. Hiking had never appealed to him, so being thrust into this rugged new world was a jarring leap far outside his comfort zone.

  Talking with Richter put the harsh realities of this world into perspective: actions that would have been condemned in the old world were now necessary for survival.

  There was something about Richter that Liam couldn't quite put his finger on. Maybe it was a spark of attraction—it certainly didn’t hurt that Richter was easy on the eyes, scar and all—but more than that, it was the way he carried the weight of this broken world, piecing himself back together one stubborn step at a time, the scar a quiet testament to everything he'd survived.

  Liam smiled to himself as he walked. He had always liked the nerdy types.

  A sharp crack of a branch made Liam whirl around, heart pounding. He wasn't alone. Had Richter followed him?

  "Yo, who's out there?" Liam called, smoothly pulling his bow free, the sleek weapon fitting naturally into his hand like an extension of himself.

  "Richter, that you?" he asked, scanning the trees. That primal instinct—the gut-deep sense of being watched—gnawed at him. He couldn't see anything yet, but he knew something was definitely out there.

  An ink arrow formed with practiced speed as Liam turned in a slow, tight circle, bow at the ready, trying to catch a glimpse of whoever—or whatever—was stalking him.

  A tall figure stepped out from between the trees, clad in robes strikingly similar to Richter's.

  Liam tensed for a moment, bow half-raised—then lowered it in surprise. It was Doc, the pharmacist from the settlement, his familiar face breaking through the forest gloom.

  "You scared the hell out of me, Doc. What are you doing way out here?" Liam let out a sigh of relief.

  Liam hadn’t known Doc for long. He had arrived at the settlement alone, claiming to have once worked as a pharmacy manager in a prison. He looked like someone you’d overlook in a crowd—average height, slim, with a thick mustache that gave him a vaguely paternal air. His greying hair clung stubbornly to the sides of his scalp while the crown was nearly bare, exposing pale skin to the sun. Small wire-framed glasses perched on his nose, and he wore them like a man who had never considered contacts.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  With his alchemy profession, Doc had been a godsend for the small settlement. His skills accelerated their progress, keeping them well-stocked with essential potions and salves. In a matter of days, he had woven himself into the fabric of their survival, becoming not just useful, but indispensable—a quiet pillar of the community that no one had thought to question.

  "Well, Liam, I was out replenishing my resources," Doc said in his quiet tone, squatting down to examine some yellow berries on a shrub. "You see, sometimes my experiments fail, but other times... my experiments are ended by careless individuals"

  As he spoke, Liam let his guard down too much. Two figures slipped out of the shadows behind him, their arms clamping around him, holding him tight as he struggled to break free.

  Liam fought, but it was a losing battle against the iron grip that pinned him in place.

  Doc approached with an unsettling smile, his glasses catching the sunlight and flashing ominously as he closed the distance.

  "What are you doing? It's me, Liam!" he protested, thrashing against their grip.

  He twisted his head to catch a glimpse of his captors, but their faces were obscured beneath the hoods of thick black cloaks. Both were tall, broad-shouldered men—brutes with the kind of strength that didn’t flinch at his resistance. Their hold was punishing, iron-firm and unapologetic, as if hurting him was just part of the job.

  "I know exactly who you are, Liam. I've been watching you for a while now," Doc said, his voice low and menacing.

  As he drew closer, he pulled a long metal barb from his pouch—a crude, primitive syringe glinting in the sunlight. "You made a mistake coming out here alone. That little trap of yours killed one of my men... and now, I need a replacement."

  At the mention of the trap and the killing, shock slammed into Liam, locking his thoughts in a haze of disbelief. A part of him still clung desperately to the idea that it hadn’t been his fault, that the death had been an accident. But how did Doc know about it? The realization twisted in his gut—this man, the one who had come to their camp alone and harmless, had been playing them all along, watching and waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

  "That thief was with you," Liam growled, still struggling, kicking out futilely as Doc grabbed him by the fringe and wrenched his head to the side. In defiance, Liam spat into the man's face.

  "Don't worry," Doc said with a cruel smirk, "we'll break that spirit of yours."

  The sharp sting of the syringe sank into the exposed skin of Liam’s neck, a cold, burning bite that sent a shudder through him.

  The two men holding him abruptly let go, and Liam staggered, legs buckling beneath him.

  "Wh-what... did you... do to me..." Liam slurred, the words tumbling out in fragments. His tongue felt thick, uncooperative, as if even speech was slipping through his fingers. Panic bloomed in his chest, but his body refused to respond, his limbs dull and leaden.

  His bow had fallen just within arm’s reach. Gritting his teeth, Liam forced every ounce of strength into extending his arm, his fingers twitching toward the familiar grip. He almost had it—his fingertips brushed the smooth shaft—when a boot came down, slow and deliberate, crushing his hand against the earth. Pain lanced up his arm, but his voice caught in his throat. His body wouldn't obey, his lungs refused to scream. His senses were intact, clear, cruelly so—he could feel everything. He just couldn’t fight back.

  Liam was dragged into the deep woods like discarded prey, limbs limp and body unresponsive. He couldn’t even close his eyes—paralyzed and powerless, forced to watch the canopy blur overhead. A single tear tracked down his cheek, born of fury, helplessness, and the creeping dread of what came next.