Through Thorns And Shadows

Evelyn didn't sleep much anymore.

She couldn't remember how long she'd been locked up—days, a week, maybe more—but sleep had become a luxury her body refused to indulge in. The small, cement room she'd been thrown into offered little comfort. It was always cold. The walls were bare, save for hairline cracks she traced with her fingers to pass the time. The mattress was thin, and the silence was constant.

Sometimes she thought that silence was worse than any screaming.

She lay curled on the bed, her back against the wall, one arm cradled under her head as a makeshift pillow. Her eyes were dry from staring too long at nothing. She didn't know what time it was, but something felt different today—off-balance, like the air was charged with a tension she couldn't explain.

Her stomach was empty. No tray had arrived today.

She shifted slightly, blinking toward the door. It was shut as always. Heavy. Wooden. Locked. She'd banged on it the first few days, screamed until her throat gave out, begged for answers, pleaded for someone—anyone—to tell her why she was here.

No one ever replied. Not even the man.

The man. He was tall, broad-shouldered, silent. He came and went without speaking, sometimes only to check her bindings, sometimes just to look at her. His eyes were dark and unreadable, like he was staring through her. She hated him more than she feared him. Maybe both in equal measure.

The door opened.

She didn't even have time to sit up before he was there.

No tray. No water. Just him.

She braced herself, heart lurching. "What do you want?"

He said nothing, but she saw something flicker in his expression. Urgency. This wasn't his usual calm, robotic demeanor. He moved toward her with purpose.

Evelyn backed away across the mattress, fists clenched. "Don't touch me—!"

It was no use.

In a flash, he was on her, faster than she could react. A thick strip of fabric wrapped around her eyes, plunging her into darkness. She thrashed, elbowed him in the ribs, kicked—but he caught her wrist with inhuman ease.

He wasn't just fast.

He was strong.

Too strong.

"Let me go!" she screamed. "Let me go, you freak!"

He said nothing.

She felt herself being lifted—no, hoisted—off the mattress. Her stomach flipped as he tossed her effortlessly over his shoulder. The world tilted. Her breath hitched.

And then he ran.

But it wasn't like any running Evelyn had ever experienced. She heard wind rushing past, branches whipping through the air, leaves cracking beneath powerful strides. The cold bit into her arms as they cut through the forest at a pace no human should be capable of.

She was blindfolded, but she knew they were outside now—deep in the woods. The smells changed. Pine, damp moss, the scent of wild things. The forest was alive around them, humming with sounds she couldn't place.

He wasn't panting. He didn't even seem tired. He moved like a creature built for this—effortless, unrelenting.

Her mind reeled.

No one can run this fast. No one can carry someone like this.

Who—or what—was he?

She dug her fingers into his shirt, trying to steady herself as nausea and fear churned in her gut. Her body jolted with every leap he took, every turn around unseen obstacles.

The blindfold scratched her skin. She tried to scream again, but the wind swallowed her voice. For a moment, she thought she heard something behind them—a distant howl?—but it was gone just as fast.

Then the air changed again.

They were inside. She felt it immediately: warmth, stillness, the absence of rustling leaves. Her hearing strained for clues. A door creaked open. Wood underfoot. Footsteps. A second door. Carpet. Then stillness.

He lowered her carefully this time. Set her down like she was fragile. The ropes weren't on her wrists anymore. Her legs trembled, and she nearly fell.

The blindfold came off.

She blinked rapidly, eyes burning from the sudden exposure to soft yellow light.

It took a moment for the room to come into focus.

It was… different.

Not the cement cell she'd grown used to. Not harsh and cold. This room was clean. Quiet. Warm. The floor was carpeted, beige and spotless. A wooden bed with a proper mattress, freshly made with pale gray blankets. A small table in the corner. A closet. A chair by the wall.

And a woman.

She stood near the closet, folding towels with deliberate care. Mid-fifties, maybe older. Hair pulled into a neat bun streaked with silver. Her eyes met Evelyn's for only a second.

Evelyn blinked again, stunned.

This felt like a dream. No—a trap.

"Where…?" Her throat was raw. "Where am I?"

The woman didn't respond. She placed another folded towel on a shelf in the closet.

Evelyn's confusion cracked, giving way to a surge of anger. "What is this? Why are you doing this? Who are you people?"

Still nothing. Not even a glance.

Evelyn took a shaky step forward. "Do you work for him? The man who—" Her voice broke. "He isn't normal. He ran through the woods like he was flying."

The woman paused for a fraction of a second. Her hand hovered mid-fold.

Then she resumed like nothing had happened.

Evelyn's heart pounded. "I'm not stupid. I know what I saw—or what I felt. He's not human, is he?"

No answer. No sound but the quiet rustle of cloth.

"I don't know what kind of freaky cult you people are in," Evelyn snapped, her voice rising, "but someone's going to come looking for me. You can't just keep me here forever."

Silence.

She looked around. There were no windows. Only one door.

One way in, one way out.

Her panic returned in a rush. She rubbed her arms, suddenly cold again despite the warmth of the room. "Please. Please just tell me why. What do you want from me?"

The woman gave her a small look—just a flick of the eyes, like she wanted to say something. But whatever emotion was there disappeared behind a wall of practiced neutrality. She set the final towel down and turned toward the door.

"Wait." Evelyn stepped closer. "Please don't go. Please."

But the woman didn't stop. She walked out quietly, shutting the door behind her with a soft click that echoed louder than any slam.

Evelyn stood in the middle of the room, fists clenched, breathing hard.

She was free of the ropes, but not free at all. She was in a prettier prison, but a prison nonetheless. She had no idea where she was. No idea who had taken her, or why. But the man's speed—the way he'd run with her on his shoulder like she weighed nothing—that haunted her most.

He's not human. He can't be.

She sat down on the bed slowly, her body still trembling. Her fingers drifted to the bracelet on her wrist. A simple leather band. Josh had given it to her not long before all this. The memory hit her like a punch to the stomach.

"Just so you don't forget me," he'd said, brushing his knuckles against her cheek. "Even if we're apart."

They'd been in the kitchen. She'd laughed, teased him about being sentimental. He kissed her, then kissed her again. Longer. Deeper.

She wanted to believe he was looking for her. That someone was.

Her dad? Clara?

Clara had always been gentle. Soft-spoken. But sharp too—she noticed things. Clara would notice Evelyn hadn't come home. Wouldn't she?

She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, trying not to cry. She'd done enough of that already. It hadn't helped.

Time passed slowly. She didn't know how long she sat there. Minutes? Hours?

She got up at one point to try the door. Locked, of course. The closet had clothes—her size. Which only unsettled her more.

They planned this. This wasn't random.

She looked up at the ceiling. There was no camera. No vent. Nothing but still, quiet air and the heavy pressure of the unknown.

Eventually, she returned to the bed and curled up, tucking the blanket around herself. She stared at the door, wide-eyed.

She didn't sleep. She barely blinked.

In the back of her mind, the forest still rushed past her. Her body remembered the feeling of moving too fast, of air being stolen from her lungs. That wasn't natural. That wasn't normal.

She closed her eyes.

What are you? she thought.

What do you want with me?

No one answered.

Not yet.