the fight to survive

Quincy looked at Harper and smiled. It was the day he was leaving the field, but he couldn't hide the reluctance etched into every line of his face. Just a few months together, and yet, the attachment was real. It wasn't just about protection anymore—it was about comfort, about ease. Around Harper, he felt like himself again.

He's such a cool dude, Quincy thought, watching the sharp angles of Harper's face soften in the sunlight. It might sound stupid, but my heart's kind of moved by this little guy. But he couldn't bring himself to say he was in love. That would mean admitting something he wasn't ready for—something he still found cringeworthy. Still, Harper looked so damn cute and precious. A part of him just wanted to take him home.

Maybe leaving is for the better, he reasoned. If I really can't take it anymore, I'll offer Ross some good money and get him transferred to the Dylan business. At least then I'll get to see him again.

"I will miss you!" he blurted out.

Harper turned to look at him. No glare. No sharp comment. Just a stare—quiet and distant—but soft. That alone said enough.

"I'm gonna come back for you, Harper."

She didn't say a word. Her eyes held a kind of sadness that twisted his chest. Something was off, and it gnawed at her more than she let on.

I can't believe I'd like someone this easily, she thought bitterly. It's just a short time and it already feels like my world's breaking apart watching him go. Am I really going to let him die?

The car came to a sudden halt.

"We're getting down here, Quincy. We can't take the car farther than this."

"Alright." Quincy reached for the door, but Harper's hand shot out and pulled him back into a tight hug.

"I'm gonna miss you," he whispered.

Harper's body stiffened for a second. Then tears welled up and slid down her cheek. She wiped them away quickly, her face hardening again.

"We will be late," she muttered, gently pulling away and stepping out of the car.

Quincy followed, walking up beside her.

"Why are we the only ones here?"

"The other guards already turned back."

"How will you get back? This forest looks dangerous."

"I was trained in here. I'll be fine." She pulled a small gun from her pocket and started walking through the dense trees. Quincy trailed behind her.

"Where are we going?"

"I'm dropping you at the white tree closest to the outside. It's just a few minutes away."

"Okay. Be careful."

Her heart thudded against her ribs. The deeper they went, the quieter it became. Leaves rustled lightly. Distant birds cawed, but otherwise—silence. Heavy, watching silence.

Someone will definitely come for Quincy—but who? How? I'm not gonna get killed with him, am I? That's not possible. Ross wouldn't give me away… right? Her thoughts sped. Wait… Ross is a selfish bastard. He'll need someone to blame after Quincy dies. Me. He'll use me as a scapegoat—say his guard died too, and he knows nothing about it. That's how he works. That's how Ross does his things.

"Harper, what are you thinking about? Why did you stop here?"

Her blood ran cold.

"Run, Quincy!"

"What?"

"I said run!" she yelled, taking off into the trees.

Quincy didn't ask twice. He darted after her, leaves crunching beneath his feet. Their boots pounded against the forest floor. Her ears picked up the unmistakable sound of footsteps chasing behind them—fast, sure, practiced.

I was trained for this, she reminded herself, breathing hard, eyes darting through the dim-lit forest.

Quincy kept pace, surprisingly well, considering the situation. She was impressed—but there was no time to be.

The trees thinned suddenly and she tried to halt—too late.

Her foot slammed into a stone and she tumbled forward, skidding to a halt just before the edge.

It's a damn cliff—shit! she cursed mentally and turned to check on Quincy, who rushed to her side and grabbed her arm.

"You are such a fast runner, boy," a voice drawled behind them.

A tall man stepped from the shadows, dressed in black, a glint of metal at his side.

"Who are you?" Quincy asked, voice breathless.

"An assassin. And I need to kill that boy beside you. Probably you as well."

"You can't kill him," Harper growled, stepping in front of Quincy.

"I'm not asking for your permission, little boy."

"You need my permission to kill him," she said coldly, eyes blazing as she unsheathed the two swords strapped to her back.

"You do sword fight?"

"Isn't that why you brought your own? So you could slice him up in one go?"

"Exactly. One strike. A fatal blow. Sweet death."

"Come through me then."

Steel clanged against steel as he lunged. Harper blocked with both blades, arms jolting with the impact. Sparks flew as they exchanged furious blows. Quincy watched, wide-eyed, like it was some action movie. "Let's go Harper!" he yelled, trying to be encouraging.

Harper ducked and rolled beneath a strike, slashing low at the assassin's legs, but he jumped back just in time. The man grinned, clearly playing with her.

"He's not fighting seriously," she panted. "He's just mocking me."

The assassin feinted left, then darted toward Quincy.

"No!" she screamed, sprinting after him. She tackled him from behind, digging her knee into his spine and kicking him hard in the gut.

"Quincy!"

"Yes?!"

"He's way too strong—I can't beat him!"

"But you're fighting well!"

"He's toying with me!" she hissed. "He could kill us both in one strike!"

"What do we do now?"

"Jump down the cliffs."

"What did you say?!"

"If you don't wanna die, you need to jump, dude!"

"Better to get struck by a sword than jump to my death!" Quincy cried.

The assassin lunged again, blade whistling through the air. Harper shoved Quincy aside—the sword slashed across her back. A scream tore from her throat.

"Fucking jump!" she yelled, blood soaking through her shirt. With all her might, she pushed him off the cliff.

Quincy screamed as he disappeared over the edge.

The assassin smirked. "One down."

Harper narrowed her eyes, lips curling into a bloodied grin. "Not quite." She hurled a knife—it thudded into his leg. He howled in pain as she turned and jumped.

Wind screamed in her ears. She braced herself just before she hit the water—CRASH! The cold punched her lungs.

She surfaced with a gasp, pain searing her back. She spotted Quincy, limp and flailing in the water.

"Damn it!" she swam toward him, ignoring the sting of her wound.

She wrapped an arm around his chest, kicking hard as she dragged him to shore. With the last of her strength, she pulled him up and laid him down gently.

He wasn't breathing.

"No, no, no—don't do this," she muttered, pressing hard against his chest. "Come on, Quincy, breathe!"

Water gurgled up from his lips and he gasped violently, eyes wide.

"Oh my goodness—I thought I was gonna die!" he wheezed.

Then he passed out again.

"Quincy! Quincy, wake up! What the hell!" Harper shouted, shaking him, panic rising in her voice as her bloody hands gripped his shirt.

Harper's fingers trembled as she pressed against her lower back, and a sharp sting coursed through her spine. Her palm came away dark and sticky—she was bleeding, badly. Her clothes clung to her skin, cold and soaked, almost freezing in the chill of the waterfall mist. She stood up with effort, knees wobbling, but forced herself forward into the forest brush nearby.

Her eyes scanned the ground. She crouched, gritting her teeth as the pain in her back pulsed with every move, and gathered a few damp logs and dry stones. Her arms felt heavy, but she carried them back to the spot by the riverbank where Quincy lay unmoving, his lips pale, his clothes still soaked from their jump.

She knelt beside him and quickly got to work. Her hands struck the stones together again and again until, finally—a spark. The fire roared to life slowly, licking up into a gentle warmth. She stripped off her wet clothes, now heavy and freezing against her skin, and stood stark naked in front of the fire, steam curling off her body as it met the heat. Her skin was covered in bruises, scratches, and blood, but she ignored the sting. She needed to get warm before she passed out.

She laid her soaked clothes near the fire and then dragged Quincy's body closer to the heat, hoping it would draw the cold out of him. But still… he didn't wake.

The sky darkened above them. Night had come, the air dropping even lower in temperature with the roar of the waterfall in the distance. Harper glanced at the boy lying lifeless next to her. She felt her chest clench.

She reached for a strip of cloth, wrapping it tightly around her chest to bind herself again, and wound another around the open wound on her back. She hissed as it touched raw skin but pulled it tighter. Survival didn't allow softness.

Then she turned to Quincy again.

She knelt, slid her arms under him carefully, and pulled his limp body into her embrace. His skin was icy. Her arms wrapped around him tight, trying to give him what warmth she had left.

"You should be fine, Quincy. You should be fine…" she murmured.

She rocked slightly, holding him longer, forehead resting against his. Still, no response. Her fingers dug into his back slightly, willing him to move, to breathe.

Eventually, she slipped her top back on and lay down beside him on the ground, pulling his hand into hers. Her eyelids fluttered closed, her body exhausted. The fire crackled softly beside them, and the dark, heavy air filled with the distant roar of water. Sleep dragged her under like a tide.

Hours later…

Quincy stirred.

His eyes fluttered open to pitch blackness, lit only by faint embers glowing orange. His head throbbed—an awful, stabbing ache that made him wince. He groaned and sat up slowly, squinting as he looked around. The forest was quiet. The fire was low.

Beside him, Harper was curled up asleep.

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips despite the pain. She was still here. She'd stayed.

He stood up sluggishly, pressing a hand to his temple—and the rustling came.

Someone stepped out of the bush, their footsteps practiced and silent.

"Boss," the figure whispered.

Quincy straightened, instantly alert despite the pain.

"Let's go home now."

A second figure approached.

"How about the boy? Should we take him?"

Quincy's voice was quiet but firm. "No. Taking him might cause trouble for me. He is one of Ross's best men."

The guards shifted.

"Why did you allow him to face the assassin alone? We could have helped."

Quincy turned, his eyes steely. "Then Ross will find out that we knew something. Let's give them the satisfaction that Logan tried to kill me and was able to cover his tracks well enough."

"Yes, boss."

"We can come back for the boy later on."

"Alright, boss."

Quincy cast one last glance at Harper, still asleep, her arm tucked close to her wound. His jaw clenched as emotion flickered through him—then he turned away.

"Let's go now," he ordered, and disappeared into the darkness with his guards.

A little while later…

Harper's brow furrowed as consciousness began to creep in. Her head ached dully. She sat up slowly, her eyes scanning the clearing.

Quincy wasn't there.

Her heart stopped.

"Quincy!" she called, the name tearing out of her chest. She stood quickly, dizzy and confused, looking around frantically.

A twig snapped behind her.

Her instincts screamed—she grabbed her knife in a flash and turned, eyes sharp and ready to strike—

THWACK!

A heavy blow slammed into the side of her head. Her knees buckled. Her knife clattered to the ground. The world spun and dimmed around her.

Darkness swallowed her.

She was taken away.