Therley stirred.
Barely a twitch at first, but it was enough to chase away some of the dread coiled in your chest.
You sighed—relief flooding through you in quiet waves. You'd saved him. Maybe not fully, but enough to buy time.
A flicker of trust glowed inside you, soft and small. You didn't know why you felt it—maybe it was the simple fact that he was human too. That in this wild place, familiar was starting to feel sacred.
Then your stomach dropped.
Bradley.
You were supposed to follow him.
You scrambled out of the shed, slipping through branches and swaying ivy, your footsteps thudding softly against the dirt.
Inside the house, Bradley was hunched over the wooded table in the living room, inspecting a small spread of items with careful intensity.
Three things.
A walkie talkie—scratched and cracked, the antenna bent, casing splintered. It looked beyond saving.
A compass—old, dulled, and twitchy. Its arrow spun wildly, then froze abruptly before jittering again, pointing nowhere in particular.
And a box.
Small, matte, metal.
Wires of red, blue, green, and yellow curled from tiny ports on each side. Some frayed, some humming faintly.
It looked oddly familiar—like the kind of thing spies hold nervously in thrillers, just before everything explodes.
Bradley's voice suddenly cut through the subtle silence.
"Huh… Do you know what this is?" he asked without warning.
You jumped. "Oh… this? I'm not sure… I feel like I saw it before but I don't remember."
It wasn't a lie—not really. Just shaded truth. Surely it wouldn't get you killed…
But his posture changed.
Bradley leaned closer.
Step by step.
The air thickened.
You backed away slowly, only to hit a wall—solid and cool behind you.
"I don't like liars," Bradley growled.
Your heartbeat stuttered, then surged. His face was close—too close. Eyes flickering, scanning, piercing. Suddenly, the bomb-looking box didn't feel like the most dangerous thing in the room.
And somewhere in the back shed, Therley was waking up.
The wires on the table twitched again.