A dangerous trail

The morning air was crisp as Sabastin stepped outside their hidden cottage, his sharp eyes scanning the dense woods. The events of the previous day still lingered in his mind—Aleister, the fight, the gunfire. He knew he had made an enemy, and he welcomed it.

But now, there was a bigger problem. His family needed supplies, and the town of Blackwood was no longer safe for them.

Inside the cottage, Carolina paced anxiously, her hands wringing together as she watched Petrova prepare a meal. "I don't like this," she murmured. "It's too soon to go back."

Petrova, stirring a pot over the fire, glanced at her mother. "But we have no choice, Mother. We barely brought anything back yesterday."

Sabastin reentered the cottage and leaned against the doorframe. "I'll go alone this time," he said firmly. "It's too dangerous for you, Petrova."

His sister frowned but didn't argue. She knew the streets of Blackwood were no place for her after what had happened.

Sir Frederick, seated by the fire, watched his son carefully. He had heard every word. "You're walking into a trap, boy," he said, his voice deep and steady.

Sabastin met his father's gaze. "Then let them try to catch me."

A faint smirk touched Frederick's lips. "You remind me of myself." He stood, his old bones creaking as he walked over to a wooden chest in the corner of the room. He opened it and pulled out a small, well-worn revolver. "Take this," he said, tossing it to Sabastin. "It's lighter, faster. Don't hesitate to use it."

Sabastin inspected the weapon, nodding in approval. "I won't."

Frederick's expression hardened. "And if anything happens, you don't fight to win, you fight to survive."

Sabastin gave him a firm nod before grabbing his coat. He was ready.

The town of Blackwood was quieter than usual when Sabastin arrived. He pulled his hood lower over his face, blending into the scattered crowds moving through the market square. The town seemed the same—wooden carts lined with goods, merchants shouting for customers, the scent of roasted meat filling the air—but Sabastin could feel the tension. Eyes lingered on him longer than they should have.

They were watching. Waiting.

He ignored them and moved quickly. He gathered what supplies he could, stuffing them into a burlap sack. As he reached for a loaf of bread, he noticed a man standing at the far end of the street—a familiar figure in a dark coat.

Aleister.

The moment their eyes met, Sabastin knew he had been found.

Aleister smirked, his fingers resting on the pistol at his hip. "Leaving so soon?" he called out.

The chatter in the market ceased as people turned to watch. Sabastin stayed calm, tightening his grip on the sack of supplies. "Just passing through," he said coolly.

Aleister stepped forward. "I've been looking for you."

Sabastin's eyes flicked to the shadows—Aleister's men were positioned at every exit. They had planned this.

"Then you wasted your time," Sabastin

The sharp crack of Sabastin's gunshot shattered the tense silence of Blackwood's market square. People screamed and scattered, overturning carts and barrels in their rush to flee the chaos. Smoke curled in the air as Sabastin's bullet struck a wooden post just inches from Aleister's head, forcing him to flinch.

Before Aleister could react, Sabastin moved like lightning. With swift precision, he dropped to one knee, took aim, and fired again—two clean shots. The first bullet struck a man in the shoulder, spinning him backward, while the second found its mark in another's thigh, sending him crashing to the ground.

"Get him!" Aleister roared, his fury echoing through the streets.

Sabastin knew he couldn't take them all on. Not here. Not now. He had to get out.

With a quick spin, he leaped onto a merchant's cart, using the height to kick an oncoming attacker square in the jaw. The man toppled backward into a stack of crates, giving Sabastin the opening he needed.

He bolted.

Weaving through the narrow streets of Blackwood, Sabastin ran as bullets whizzed past him. He ducked behind wooden stalls, leaped over barrels, and used the town's layout to his advantage. Years of hunting in the dense forests had sharpened his reflexes—he knew how to move, how to disappear.

Behind him, Aleister and his men gave chase, their boots thundering against the cobblestone streets.

Sabastin sprinted through the twisting alleys of Blackwood, his heartbeat thudding in his ears. The town was a maze, but he had studied it well during his short visit. He turned sharply at a corner, knocking over a fruit stand behind him, sending apples and oranges rolling onto the cobblestone streets. The chaos bought him a few extra seconds, but Aleister's men were relentless.

"Don't let him escape!" Aleister barked from behind.

Sabastin's instincts kicked in. He had no time to fight—not yet. He needed to reach the woods.

As he neared the town's edge, he spotted an old bridge spanning a narrow river. Without hesitation, he dashed across, his boots thudding against the wooden planks. The moment he reached the other side, he turned and fired a shot at the rope securing the bridge. The bullet ripped through the frayed fiber, and with a loud snap, the bridge collapsed into the rushing water below.

Aleister skidded to a stop, cursing. "Damn him!"

Sabastin didn't waste time. He plunged into the thick woods, his breath coming fast but controlled. The dense trees provided cover, but he knew Aleister wouldn't give up.

Chapter 9: Into the Woods

Sabastin sprinted through the twisting alleys of Blackwood, his heartbeat thudding in his ears. The town was a maze, but he had studied it well during his short visit. He turned sharply at a corner, knocking over a fruit stand behind him, sending apples and oranges rolling onto the cobblestone streets. The chaos bought him a few extra seconds, but Aleister's men were relentless.

"Don't let him escape!" Aleister barked from behind.

Sabastin's instincts kicked in. He had no time to fight—not yet. He needed to reach the woods.

As he neared the town's edge, he spotted an old bridge spanning a narrow river. Without hesitation, he dashed across, his boots thudding against the wooden planks. The moment he reached the other side, he turned and fired a shot at the rope securing the bridge. The bullet ripped through the frayed fiber, and with a loud snap, the bridge collapsed into the rushing water below.

Aleister skidded to a stop, cursing. "Damn him!"

Sabastin didn't waste time. He plunged into the thick woods, his breath coming fast but controlled. The dense trees provided cover, but he knew Aleister wouldn't give up.

Aleister clenched his jaw, watching Sabastin disappear into the forest. His men shifted anxiously, waiting for orders.

"What now, sir?" one of them asked.

Aleister's lips curled into a smirk. "Let him run. He can't hide forever."

He turned to the youngest of his men—George, the same boy Sabastin had spared. "You said he's fast, but he's not invincible," Aleister muttered. "Tell me, where did he run to?"

George hesitated, sweat forming at his brow. "The woods, sir. He knows them well."

Aleister narrowed his eyes. "Then we follow."

He signaled for his men to spread out and take different paths. They wouldn't storm in recklessly. No, Sabastin was a hunter—he thrived in the wild. But Aleister was a predator of a different kind. He would wait, observe, and strike when Sabastin least expected it.

As the men disappeared into the trees, Aleister glanced back at the ruined bridge. He would find Sabastin. And when he did, he would make him regret ever crossing his path.