The forest blurred around him.
Jason moved with a speed that barely seemed human, every stride eating the ground beneath him. His boots hammered against the dirt in a fast, powerful rhythm, but his breathing stayed calm and steady. It was controlled, as if this sprint was just a warm-up.
The grounders had ridden out at full speed earlier…
But Jason was gaining on them.
Hoofbeats trembled through the trees ahead.
Jason ducked beneath a low branch, rolled over a fallen tree without losing momentum, then stopped dead silent in the shadow of a huge oak.
He crouched and waited as the torchlight flickered through the underbrush.
"Huh," he murmured under his breath as he narrowed his eyes.
They were slowing down.
The riders' torches bobbed in a tighter formation than before. Their voices were low. The horses weren't running anymore, now they were being paced.
Either they were close to a destination…
Or something up ahead required caution.
Jason didn't like either option.
He slid silently along the trunk, keeping his silhouette broken by roots and branches and shifted into the deeper shadows. When he moved, he was practically a ghost.
His fingers tightened around the stolen sword.
'Three horses…'
He adjusted to a different angle.
'No. Four.'
One rider each.
And behind them were three bodies tied to the rear saddles, slumped forward, barely hanging on. Jason's jaw twitched when he saw the shapes of John and David.
Ryan too…
Barely conscious.
Jason swallowed the flare of anger that rose and kept his breathing steady. There would be time for emotion later. Not now.
'They're moving toward the river path,' he noted silently. 'East. Which means they're getting close to wherever Anya said she'd meet Tristan.'
He weighed his options in the span of a heartbeat.
He could strike now.
Kill the riders.
Free the three captives.
He could do it.
He knew he could.
But Tristan or Anya might be close.
Maybe very close.
If he attacked now and Tristan or Anya heard the fight…
He'd be facing a force he wasn't prepared for.
Jason clenched his teeth.
'Do I free them now? Or trail these bastards until I have Tristan's exact position?'
No fear guided his decision.
Jason didn't really fear Tristan.
He feared losing the advantage.
The small memories that flickered through his mind, the scenes from the show he half-remembered showed how Tristan teared through their makeshift defenses. The dead bodies and broken barricades.
Tristan ruthless, efficient and trusted with missions most warriors wouldn't survive.
Jason remembered that much.
The Grounders wouldn't have sent a random thug to handle the Sky People.
They sent Tristan because he delivered results.
Jason wouldn't lie to himself.
He hadn't "seen worse."
He hadn't seen much of anything compared to the world he was dropped into.
But the thing that bothered him right now wasn't Tristan.
It was the obvious trap.
Jason didn't need a second glance to know it.
The rhythm of the riders, the way they slowed and the deliberate gaps in their formation.
Bait.
'Of course it was bait.'
'They're baiting anyone who tries to rescue them. And they know we'd come.'
He crouched behind a large boulder, the rough moss brushing his knuckles as he leaned in. The riders were thirty meters ahead now, torches dipping low as one Grounder raised a hand to halt the group.
Jason's breathing stayed slow.
His heartbeat was steady enough to count seconds between beats.
One of the riders muttered, low enough that most ears would miss it.
"We meet the commander by first light."
Jason frowned.
'First light? So Tristan isn't here yet?'
That was… interesting.
And dangerous.
And useful.
'Better for me. Worse for them.'
He dropped flat to the dirt, moving like liquid shadow. He slid between roots, belly brushing soil, until he had a perfect angle on the riders.
John hung off one of the saddles like a corpse, face swollen and purple, lips cracked and bleeding.
David wasn't far behind, his eyes were barely open.
Ryan…
Ryan was tied across a saddle like he was cargo. Half-conscious and breathing shallow.
Jason's jaw tightened, muscles clenching hard enough to ache.
Shit.
'Extracting them now?'
He saw the opening, the clean angle where he could strike and free all three.
And it was perfect, too perfect infact.
'They want me to take that shot, once they reach Tristan? It'll be damn near impossible to free them.'
He scanned the treeline, calculating.
If he is to take out the riders now, he needed to do it fast.
Very fast.
But if they had backup near. Well, Jason wasn't stupid enough to dive blind into a trap built by experienced warriors.
So he waited.
He stalked them from a steady distance of twenty meters, using every trunk, every shadow, every dip in the forest floor to stay concealed. The riders descended toward a narrow gully with steep walls on both sides.
A perfect killing ground.
'That's the spot. That's where I take them.'
And then finally after nearly an hour of circling around to search for any possible backup they might have hidden somewhere, he found them.
Seven to be exact.
Seven Grounders moving quietly behind the main party, hidden across a staggered spread. Watching for anyone who tried following the prisoners.
Jason almost laughed.
'Of course it wasn't going to be that easy.'
How those seven hadn't noticed him was a miracle.
He melted into the treetops, fingers gripping a thick branch as he waited for the last of the seven to cross beneath him.
The first target stepped under the tree and that was his target. Jason dropped silently.
His arm wrapped around the man's throat, the other hand quivering covering his mouth as the sword slid between ribs. No sound. Not even a grunt. He lowered the body gently into a bush.
One down.
The second patrol member never saw the blade slip into his kidneys. Jason twisted once in a quick, harsh manner and the man collapsed like he'd been unplugged from life itself.
Two.
The third turned at the wrong second.
Jason grabbed him from behind and snapped his neck so violently it echoed.
Three.
When he reached the fourth, it got ugly.
This one heard something from his position, just a whisper of movement and spun with his spear raised. Jason lunged forward at him, but the man's horse reared in panic as Jason cut across its flank. The animal screamed, high-pitched and bucked violently.
The Grounder was thrown like a ragdoll straight into a tree with a crack so sharp Jason knew instantly:
His spine was broken but that wasn't enough as Jason quickly moved in and impaled the man through his neck.
Four.
The chaos drew attention of the remaining men. Two more rushed in, but they were too slow.
The fifth grounder sprinted with a blade raised and Jason threw a stone at him that landed on his thigh with enough force that he stumbled. That half-second was all Jason needed.
The man ran straight into Jason's sword.
The blade pushed through his mouth and out the back.
His head toppled off a breath later.
Five.
The sixth tried to be clever, swinging wide with a long spear. Jason twisted, caught the shaft mid-strike, yanked it forward, and spun.
The spear reversed direction and buried itself deep in the Grounder's chest.
Six.
The seventh was the smart one, it was an archer.
He didn't rush in like the rest of them and instead drew an arrow.
Jason moved before the string tightened.
The archer loosed an arrow and Jason caught the arrow in midair.
The man froze, eyes wide in disbelief as the man he shot at suddenly got into his personal space.
Jason slammed the arrow into the archer's knee, pinning him to the ground before the man could scream. The archer clawed at the dirt with his breath shaking.
Jason silenced him with a quick stroke to the neck.
Seven.
Silence reclaimed the forest around him once more.
Jason wiped the blood from his sword across the dead archer's tunic, exhaled once, and lifted his gaze toward the gully where the riders were headed.
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