Scott's heart thundered in his chest as he sprinted deeper into the woods, every snap of a twig or rustle of leaves behind him feeding his panic. The cold night air clawed at his lungs, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. He knew he was running blind, no clear path, no plan, just an instinctive drive to escape.
The shadows seemed to shift and close around him, the towering trees looming like silent spectators to his terror. Yet, no matter how fast he ran, there was a sinking feeling that he wasn't alone.
And then he heard it, a slow, deliberate crunch of footsteps behind him. Not hurried, not frantic. Leisurely. Mocking.
Scott glanced over his shoulder, and his blood turned to ice. The man was there, moving with an unsettling calm, his glowing eyes cutting through the darkness like twin beacons. He wasn't running. He didn't need to.
