The Hunter

I looked at the cable. I looked at the knife.

It was an impossible choice.

If I cut the cable, I opened the cage. The mag-locks would disengage, and Thorne's men would swarm the house. They would find Sarah. They would find me.

But if I didn't... I was trapped with Julian. Forever.

"Elena!" Julian screamed, lunging for me. "Don't!"

I didn't think. I reacted.

I slammed the knife down onto the thick, insulated cable.

*Spark.*

Blue electricity arced, blinding in the darkness. The knife handle vibrated in my hand, hot and angry.

I sawed. One strand. Two.

"No!"

Julian tackled me.

We hit the gravel hard. The knife skittered away, sliding across the wet roof.

He was on top of me instantly, pinning my arms. His face was twisted, not with the charming mask he wore for the cameras, but with raw, unadulterated rage.

"You stupid, stupid girl," he hissed, his hands finding my throat. "I gave you everything. I gave you a fortress."

"You gave me a prison," I choked out.

His grip tightened. Black spots danced in my vision. The rain was cold on my face, mixing with the hot tears of frustration.

I couldn't breathe.

But I could move my legs.

I brought my knee up. Hard.

It connected with his ribs.

*Crunch.*

He grunted, his grip loosening just enough.

I bucked my hips, throwing him off balance. I rolled away, scrambling across the gravel, searching for the knife.

Where was it?

The spotlight from the helicopter swept over the roof, a blinding eye in the sky.

There.

Glittering near the chimney.

I lunged for it.

My fingers brushed the handle.

Then, a boot slammed down on my wrist.

I screamed.

Julian stood over me, panting, clutching his side. He kicked the knife away, sending it clattering over the edge of the roof.

"It's over, Elena," he said. "The script is done."

He reached down and grabbed my hair, yanking me to my feet.

"We're leaving. Now."

He dragged me toward the ladder.

The helicopter was hovering low, the rotor wash whipping our clothes. The man in the doorway—the tactical guy—was gesturing frantically.

"Go!" he yelled over the noise. "They've breached the gate!"

I looked down.

headlights were flooding the driveway. Black SUVs. Thorne's private army.

They were swarming the grounds.

If I stayed, Thorne would kill me. If I went with Julian... I was dead anyway. Just slower.

"Climb!" Julian shoved me toward the ladder.

I grabbed the rungs. They were slick with rain.

I climbed. One step. Two.

I looked down.

Julian was right behind me.

I looked up.

The tactical guy reached out a hand.

I took it.

He pulled me into the cabin.

I tumbled onto the metal floor, gasping for air.

Julian climbed in after me. The door slid shut with a heavy *thud*.

The helicopter banked sharply, rising into the storm.

We were safe.

Or so he thought.

I sat up, pushing my wet hair out of my face. The cabin was small, utilitarian. No luxury leather seats here. Just metal benches and cargo netting.

Julian was slumped against the wall, holding his ribs. He looked at me, a strange mix of anger and relief on his face.

"You almost ruined everything," he said.

"I tried," I said.

He laughed. A short, breathless sound. "You have spirit, El. I'll give you that. It's good for the data."

"Where are we going?"

"The cabin," he said. "Plan B."

"Big Sur?"

"No," he said. "That was a lie. We're going north. Canada. I have a safe house in the Yukon. Off the grid. No one will find us."

I looked out the window. The lights of Seattle were a blur below us.

We were leaving. And I was leaving Sarah behind.

Trapped in the sub-basement.

With Thorne's men closing in.

"She'll die," I whispered.

"She's a loose end," Julian said, closing his eyes. "Loose ends get cut."

I looked at him. At his arrogant, peaceful face.

He thought he had won. He thought he was the Director.

But he forgot one thing.

I was the Architect.

And I knew every inch of my designs.

Including the helicopter.

It was a Bell 429. I recognized it. Thorne used them for site surveys.

And I knew where the emergency fuel shutoff was.

It wasn't in the cockpit.

It was in the cabin. Behind a panel near the door.

I looked at the tactical guy. He was busy watching the instruments, talking to the pilot on the headset.

"We're clear," he said. " airspace is open."

Julian was still resting his eyes.

I shifted my weight. Slowly.

I moved toward the door.

"Sit down," the tactical guy barked, not looking up.

"I'm going to be sick," I said, clutching my stomach. "Motion sickness."

He glanced at me. Saw my pale face.

"Use the bag," he said, pointing to a pouch on the wall.

I reached for the pouch.

But my hand went past it.

To the panel marked *EMERGENCY FUEL CUTOFF*.

I ripped the cover off.

A red lever.

I grabbed it.

Julian's eyes snapped open.

"Elena, no!"

He lunged.

I pulled the lever.

*Clunk.*

The engine noise changed instantly. The high-pitched whine of the turbines faltered. Sputtered.

Then died.

Silence.

Except for the wind.

And the screaming of the stall warning.

*Beep. Beep. Beep.*

"Mayday!" the pilot shouted. "Engine failure! We're going down!"

The helicopter pitched forward.

Gravity took over.

We were falling.

"You crazy bitch!" Julian screamed, clawing at his seatbelt.

The tactical guy was wrestling with the controls, trying to autorotate. Trying to use the spinning blades to slow our descent.

I grabbed the cargo netting. I braced myself.

"This wasn't in the script," I whispered.

We hit the trees first.

*Crunch. Snap. Tear.*

Branches whipped against the windows. Metal screamed as the rotors sheared off.

The world spun. Darkness. Light. Darkness.

Then... impact.

*BOOM.*

We slammed into the earth. The cabin crumpled. I was thrown against the wall.

Pain.

Blackness.

...

...

I woke up to the smell of jet fuel and wet pine.

I was hanging upside down. The seatbelt cut into my chest.

"Elena?"

A groan. From below me.

I looked down.

Julian was lying on the ceiling of the overturned helicopter. His leg was twisted at an impossible angle. Blood covered his face.

The tactical guy was gone. Thrown clear, or crushed.

I fumbled with the buckle. My fingers were numb.

*Click.*

I dropped. I landed on Julian's chest.

He screamed.

I rolled off him. I scrambled toward the jagged hole where the door used to be.

"Elena," he gasped. "Help me."

I stopped.

I looked back.

He was pinned. Wreckage trapped his legs. He couldn't move.

Fuel was dripping onto him.

"Please," he whispered. "Don't leave me."

I looked at him. The man who had haunted me. Who had broken me.

I could save him. I could drag him out.

And then what?

He would heal. He would hunt me. He would rewrite the ending.

I stood up.

My arm was throbbing. My head was spinning. But I was alive.

"I can't save you, Julian," I said.

"Why not?"

"Because," I said, stepping through the broken fuselage into the rainy night. "I'm not the hero."

I walked away.

I walked into the woods.

Behind me, I heard him screaming my name.

Then, a *whoosh*.

Heat on my back.

I turned.

The wreckage was engulfed in flames. A bonfire in the rain.

I watched it burn.

And for the first time in three years...

I wasn't cold.

I started walking. I didn't know where I was. Somewhere in the Cascades, probably.

I had to find a road. I had to find Sarah.

I checked my pockets.

My burner phone.

It was cracked. The screen was shattered.

But the light was blinking.

One new message.

From Unknown Number.

*Nice landing.*

I stared at the screen.

*Who is this?* I typed, my fingers trembling.

Three dots.

*Turn around.*

I spun around.

The woods were dark. Empty.

"Hello?" I called out.

Nothing.

Then... a sound.

A whistle.

*Hush, little baby...*

It wasn't coming from the phone.

It was coming from the trees.

A figure stepped out of the shadows.

He was wearing a black hoodie.

He was limping.

I froze.

"Leo?" I whispered.

He pulled back the hood.

It wasn't Leo.

It was a man I had never seen before. Older. Scarred. Hard eyes.

He smiled.

"Leo was a temp," he said. "I'm the full-time employee."

He held up a phone.

It was displaying a live feed.

Of the sub-basement.

Sarah was still in the chair.

But the water was rising. It was up to her chest.

"You have a choice, Elena," the man said.

He tossed a set of keys to me.

"My car is on the road. A mile north."

I caught the keys.

"What choice?"

"You can go to the police," he said. "You can tell them everything. About Julian. About Thorne. About me."

He pointed to the phone.

"Or you can go back to the house."

"Why?"

"Because," he said, "the water is rising fast. And only one person knows the override code for the floodgates."

He tapped his temple.

"You."

I looked at the phone. At Sarah's terrified face.

"Who do you work for?" I asked.

"I work for the Director," he said.

"Julian is dead."

"Julian was the *Casting* Director," he said. "The real Director... prefers to remain anonymous."

He turned and walked away into the woods.

Disappearing like a ghost.

I looked at the keys in my hand.

I looked at the burning wreckage of the helicopter.

I looked at the phone.

Sarah was drowning. In my house. In my trap.

I could run. I could disappear. I could be free.

Or I could go back.

I gripped the keys until they cut into my palm.

I turned north.

I started to run.

Toward the car.

Toward the house.

Toward the sequel.