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Chapter 7: Flight into the Wilderness

We move like shadows through the night, slipping between trees and underbrush, our steps muffled by the layers of decaying leaves beneath us. The air is thick with the damp, earthy scent of the forest, and every breath feels heavy. The alien—the one who saved me—leads the way, his movements fluid and purposeful. I follow, my heart pounding in my ears, my eyes scanning for any sign of danger.

The terrain is treacherous, filled with roots and uneven ground, broken branches and hidden pitfalls. I stumble more than once, catching myself on the rough bark of a nearby tree, but he doesn’t slow down. He doesn’t look back to see if I’m keeping up. He just moves, silent and swift, like he knows exactly where to go.

It feels like we’ve been running for hours, my legs burning with the effort, my throat raw from the cold air. I don't know how far we’ve come or how far we still have to go. All I know is that we can’t stop, not until we’re far enough away from the hissers to be safe. If we’re ever safe.

The moonlight filters through the dense canopy above, casting broken patterns of silver on the forest floor. I glance at the alien in front of me—his broad shoulders, the silver armor that seems to blend into the night. He moves like he’s a part of the shadows, like he belongs here in a way I never could.

There’s a divide between us—a chasm that feels impossible to cross. He is one of them, one of the creatures that have hunted us, that have slaughtered everything I knew. And yet here I am, following him, relying on him to survive. The thought makes my stomach twist, and I have to force myself to keep moving, to keep following. I don’t have a choice.

We slip through the forest, the sounds of distant hissing fading with every step we take. I don’t let myself relax, though. I know better than to think we’re safe just because we’re out of earshot. I know better than to think we’re ever safe. The forest seems endless, the trees stretching up into the sky, their branches tangling together to form a dark, impenetrable wall. There’s something almost comforting about it, the way the world closes in around us, hiding us from everything out there.

The soldier finally slows down, his head tilting slightly as if listening to something I can’t hear. He stops in a small clearing, the ground covered in a layer of soft moss. I stop a few steps behind him, my legs aching, my chest heaving with every breath. I don’t know why he’s stopped, if it’s safe to stop, but my body can’t take much more. I lean against a tree, my fingers pressing into the rough bark, trying to steady myself.

He turns to me, his visor reflecting the moonlight, and I realize that I still haven’t seen his face. I’ve been following this stranger through the darkness, putting my life in his hands, and I don’t even know what he looks like. It makes my skin prickle with unease. He could be anything under that helmet—something monstrous, something inhuman. I don’t know if it matters.

“We will rest here,” he says, his voice low and even. His accent is strange, almost melodic, but there’s a coldness to it that makes me shiver. He looks at me, his head tilting slightly. “You need warmth.”

I blink, confused, until he starts gathering branches, piling them in the center of the clearing. He’s making a fire. I watch him, my mind still struggling to catch up with everything that’s happened. The idea of a fire feels so… ordinary. It’s almost laughable. We’re being hunted, and he’s making a fire.

But then I realize that he’s right. I am cold. The chill has seeped into my bones, making me feel numb and sluggish. I need warmth. I need something to remind me that I’m still alive.

He lights the fire with a small device from his armor, the flames flickering to life, casting long shadows across the clearing. I move closer, my hands outstretched toward the heat, the warmth seeping into my skin. It feels like I haven’t been warm in years. The fire crackles, filling the silence between us, and I can’t help but glance at him, at the way he watches the flames.

“Why did you save me?” I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper. The question has been gnawing at me since he killed his own comrades to protect me. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing about this makes sense.

He doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at me, the dark visor of his helmet hiding his expression. Then, slowly, he reaches up, his fingers finding the edges of the helmet. There’s a soft click, and he pulls it off, revealing his face.

My breath catches in my throat. He’s… not what I expected. He’s not the monstrous creature I imagined. His features are sharp, his skin lightly tanned with dark green markings that look almost like tattoos. His eyes are glowing, a greenish-gold with slitted pupils, like a snake’s. His hair is dark green, cut short in an undercut that makes him look almost human. Almost. He’s handsome—in a cold, cruel way, his beauty almost inhuman, like something carved from stone. There’s no warmth in his gaze, no softness. Just sharp edges and deadly intent.

He looks at me, his expression unreadable, and I feel a shiver run down my spine. He presses a part of his armor, and it seems to shift, the metal crawling across his skin, becoming something else—silver scales that flex and move, highlighting the muscles beneath. It’s like watching a creature shedding its skin, something both beautiful and unsettling.

I realize I’m staring, and I force myself to look away, my heart pounding. He notices, of course. He tilts his head, his cold, predatory eyes studying me, assessing me. There’s a curiosity there, something that makes me feel exposed, vulnerable. I have to remind myself that he might look human, but he’s not. He’s still one of them. He’s still a hisser, one of the monsters that slaughtered my parents, that killed Marcus and Claire.

The thought of Marcus and Claire makes my chest tighten, the grief hitting me like a punch to the gut. I swallow hard, trying to push it down, but it’s too much. The weight of it all, everything I’ve lost, everything I’ve seen—it crashes over me like a wave, and I have to turn away, hiding my face from him. I don’t want him to see me cry. I don’t want him to see my weakness.

He doesn’t say anything. He just watches me, his eyes cold and emotionless. “You should sleep,” he says finally, his voice flat. “We need to move again tomorrow.”

I nod, unable to speak, the tears blurring my vision. I lie down on the mossy ground, curling up on my side, my back to the fire, my back to him. The warmth of the flames is a small comfort, but it doesn’t reach the cold that’s settled in my chest.

I close my eyes, the tears slipping down my cheeks, and I let myself cry—quiet, muffled sobs that I try to keep from him. I cry for Marcus, for Claire, for my parents. I cry for the world we lost, for the life I’ll never have. And I cry because I’m terrified—terrified of what’s happening, of what’s to come, of this alien soldier who saved my life and who I still don’t understand.

The fire crackles softly behind me, the only sound in the stillness of the night. And slowly, exhaustion pulls me under, the weight of everything too much to bear. I fall asleep with the taste of salt on my lips, the warmth of the fire at my back, and the cold, unfeeling eyes of the alien watching me.

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