Trying To Make It Out Alive

The Night Hunter shadowed face was just out of focus, hidden by the dim lighting, but his voice dripped with familiarity.

Ginevra and I froze in our tracks, the air between us taut with tension.

“Blake,” my mother said, her voice strained, each word forced through gritted teeth. “What are you doing here?”

“I came for you,” I replied, my tone softer, more desperate than I intended.

“Shut up!” the Night Hunter snapped, his voice cracking like a whip. His hand tightened on the syringe, the murky liquid inside swirling ominously. He let out a low, humorless laugh. “Little Blake. All grown up. I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

I narrowed my eyes, trying to place his voice. “Who are you?”

He chuckled, the sound cold and unsettling. “I am the witness.”

“Let her go,” Ginevra growled, stepping forward.

“Ah, the bloodthirsty prince,” the Night Hunter sneered. “Still hungry, or have you had your fill of innocents?”