Scene Three The Road That Isn’t Safe
The sidewalk narrowed as Wren moved farther from the diner, the streetlamps spaced too far apart to be useful. The kind of stretch of road people pretended wasn’t dangerous because admitting it would mean avoiding it.
Kade’s bike stayed just ahead of her now, angled slightly toward the curb, engine humming low like it didn’t want to disturb the night. He still wasn’t looking at her. He was watching the dark like it was something alive.
Wren wrapped her arms around herself, not because she was cold, but because the air felt wrong. Heavy. Waiting.
A rustle came from the trees lining the edge of the sidewalk. Small. Quick. Not enough to be alarming — but enough to make her stop.
Kade’s head snapped toward the sound before she even registered it.
Not slow.
Not curious.
Immediate.
The bike shifted under him as he steadied it with one boot on the pavement, eyes locked on the tree line. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe in a way she could see.
Wren swallowed. “Probably just an animal.”
He didn’t answer.
The rustle came again — deeper this time, farther in, like something was moving through the brush instead of across it.
Kade’s jaw tightened.
He didn’t look at her.
He didn’t reassure her.
He didn’t pretend it was nothing.
He just said, quietly, “Stay behind me.”
She didn’t argue.
She didn’t ask why.
She didn’t pretend she wasn’t scared.
She stepped closer, the gravel crunching under her shoes. Kade didn’t turn to check if she listened — he already knew she had.
Another sound — not rustling this time.
A thud. Soft, but wrong.
Kade’s hand slid off the handlebar, fingers curling slightly like he was ready to react but didn’t want to escalate anything that didn’t need escalating.
The dark between the trees shifted.
Wren’s breath caught.
Kade finally spoke, voice low, steady, controlled.
“Don’t run.”
She hadn’t planned to. But hearing him say it made her heart slam against her ribs.
The shadows moved again — and this time, whatever was in them wasn’t small.
Kade stepped forward, just enough to put himself between her and the dark, the bike angled like a barrier he didn’t need but used anyway.
He didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t posture.
He didn’t pretend he wasn’t afraid.
He just watched the dark like he’d been doing it his whole life.
And Wren realized something she shouldn’t have:
He wasn’t scared of what was out there.
He was scared of what he’d have to do if it came closer.