The Connection

As I move further from them, my mind keeps drifting back to Adam. His face lingers in my thoughts, and I can feel the pull, the confusion. He's still there, still concerned about me, even though I ran away. Why does it matter so much? Why do I care so much? I keep asking myself who I am, what I am. The questions swirl in my mind like a storm, and I can't seem to find an answer.

From where I stand, I see Adam looking down at his feet, his expression tight. I focus on him, and then—there it is. The faint glimmer of blood beneath him, staining the ground. It's subtle, but I see it, and the instant I do, the hunger doesn't come rushing back. It's distant now, like an echo fading in the background. The blood doesn't hold the same pull as before. It's not what I crave. Then I realize: It was Adam who was bleeding. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. He must have hurt himself when he ran towards Ann, trying to stop me. I watch him kneel down, carefully removing a thorn that's embedded in his foot. Even from a distance, I can see the pain etched on his face. But it's more than that. Somehow, as if it's my own body, I feel the sting of the thorn as if it pierced me. Every ounce of his pain, the sharpness of it, pulses through me like a foreign current. It's like our pain is connected—his, mine. And it makes no sense. I shouldn't feel this way about him. I don't know him. Not really.

"You're hurt," Ann says, her voice full of concern. She kneels down beside Adam, her small hands reaching out as if to help, but Adam pulls away gently, a smile touching his lips, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes."Yes… don't worry about it. It's not that deep," Adam replies, his voice laced with the kind of stubbornness I can relate to. He pulls out the thorn with a grimace, but the pain doesn't seem to phase him. At least, not on the outside. But I know. I feel it. I can feel every bit of it as if it's happening to me.And then, as if the tension couldn't get any heavier, I hear it. A voice, deep and commanding, shattering the quiet."Adam!!!"The voice is male, rough, and somehow filled with authority. I look up just as a man, much older than Adam, emerges from the trees. His presence is like a shadow, looming over the scene. His eyes lock on Adam, and there's a flicker of something between them—concern, anger, maybe both.He strides forward, his gaze briefly flicking toward Ann and then straight to Adam's injured foot. It's clear he's seen what happened, and now there's something else in his expression. A warning. A demand.But I don't hear their words. I can't focus on them. My thoughts are spinning, tangled in the connection I'm beginning to feel for Adam. It's too much. Too confusing. I need to understand what's happening between us. Why does his pain feel like mine? Why does his concern, his presence, matter so much to me?I take another step back, but even as I do, I can't pull away completely. It's like I'm bound to him. To them. And it's suffocating.

"I told you to stand in the sun, especially now that it's out," the man says, his voice harsh, authoritative. His eyes flick over to Adam's foot, where the blood stains the ground, but his tone doesn't soften. He doesn't seem to care.

"Dad, he's hurt... and some girl saved me," Ann says, her voice trembling with a mix of confusion and concern. She's still kneeling by Adam, but there's a distance now—an invisible divide. The man doesn't seem to understand, or care for that matter.

"I don't care if he's hurt, injured, or damaged," the man snaps. "I was trained the same way—walked across a pile of red charcoal, through fire..."

I feel a sudden surge of anger rising within me. Adam's pain, Adam's frustration—it's all so raw, so real. But it's more than that. I can feel his rage, his need to stand up to this man. He's had enough. And for the first time, Adam doesn't back down. He stands tall—well, as tall as he can with his injury—and faces his father.

"We're hunting, killing monsters. We're not supposed to hurt ourselves," Adam says, his voice trembling but strong. "I stood out there for hours, hungry, thirsty, and you can't even see that I'm hurt? And now, you're going to tell me to stand in the sun, like I'm some kind of machine? If it weren't for the girl who saved Ann in time, she'd have broken her ankle by now."

Adam's words cut through the air like a knife, and I can feel the sting of them. His anger is thick, palpable. It hits me in a way that's hard to explain, like it's my own. His courage—his defiance—it sparks something in me. And as he limps away, his face flushed with a mix of pain and outrage, I can't help but watch him, the way he holds himself despite the injury, despite the torment.

His father's expression falters. For the first time, there's shock in his eyes. Adam has never spoken to him like that before. He's never stood up to him. And yet, there he is, limping away, leaving the man stunned.

The silence hangs heavy between them.

"Who was the girl who saved you?" the man asks finally, his curiosity piqued.

Ann looks up at him, her brow furrowed. "I don't know... she didn't say much, she just left in a hurry."

"In a hurry? Why?" The man's eyes narrow, and he shifts his gaze to the ground. That's when he notices the blood. It's faint, but it's there. His eyes flicker to the patch of dirt where the blood stains the earth, and something shifts in his expression.

"She seems disgusted, or... I don't know..." Ann trails off, her voice uncertain. "I even thanked her when she saved me, but she left as fast as her legs could get."

The man's gaze hardens as he looks back at Ann, and then—almost as if he's looking straight through the trees—he gazes deeper into the woods. His eyes narrow again, suspicion clouding his features.

"Mmm," he murmurs, the sound low and thoughtful. "Interesting..."

His eyes flicker again—this time, directly in my direction. It's like he's searching for something, looking for a sign, a trail, a hint that could explain everything. And in that moment, I can't help but feel the weight of his suspicion bearing down on me. He's close. He's almost onto something.

I hold my breath, praying he won't look my way again. But it's too late. Something has shifted. I can feel it. And I wonder, how much longer can I stay hidden before they find out who—or what—I really am?