Chapter 17 Don't Look Up
(Adelaide)
Adelaide shoved off the tree trunk and sprinted deeper into the woods. Her legs protested, muscles burning with fresh ache, but she forced them into a brutal rhythm, using the residual terror to fuel each push off the ground.
The trees grew denser. The ground was knotted with roots and tangled vines that clawed at her ankles. Every step sent jabs of pain up her legs. Burrs clung to her shins, thorns scratched against her calves, the forest trying to keep her as much as he was trying to corner her.
Her foot snagged on a root, and she crashed to the ground, catching herself with her palms. Dirt filled her mouth and nose. Her scraped skin burned.
She pushed herself up, fury spiking bright and hot.
I am not going to die in the dirt like prey. Not on my face. Not in the mud. If he killed her, he would at least have to look her in the eyes when he did it.
She staggered forward again. The moon broke through the tree line for a heartbeat, illuminating the forest floor in pale silver. She spotted a fallen branch—thick, long, pointed at one end.
A weapon.
Without thinking, she snatched it up. The weight of it steadied something inside her. Not hope—she wasn’t that foolish—but purpose. The rough wood bit into her torn palms, but the solid heft in her grip made her feel less like a fleeing girl and more like a soldier who’d just remembered she had hands.
Her thoughts came in flashes:
If I wedge it between two rocks, sharpen the end—
If I find a cliff, lure him there—
If I make noise somewhere else and double back—
If I can hide until dawn—
In the forest shook behind her; leaves exploded upward, and birds shrieked as something massive barrelled through the underbrush.
He was close again.
Adelaide swung behind a boulder, crouching low. Her body trembled violently. Her lungs felt like they were bursting. She forced a breath. Then another. The stone at her back was slick with moss and cold as bone, leeching heat from her spine as she tried to make herself smaller, quieter, less alive.
A monstrous shape crashed into the clearing she’d just sprinted through. The Devil’s beast slammed his claws into the earth, ripping up soil and rock as easily as tearing parchment.
His glowing eyes swept the darkness. Slow and methodical. Deadly. They passed within inches of her hiding spot, bright slashes of molten colour cutting through the gloom, and she felt each pass like a hot blade brushing the surface of her skin.
The forest held its breath.
Adelaide’s fingers gripped the branch so tightly her knuckles whitened. Sweat slicked her palms.
The beast sniffed the air, and his head jerked left—toward her hiding place.
Her breath seized in her throat.
He stepped forward once, clawed toes gouging lines into the ground.
Then another girl screamed somewhere deeper in the forest. The beast turned sharply, snarling, and bolted toward the sound—crashing through trees like a living avalanche. Branches snapped like bones, trunks shuddering in his wake, the echoes chasing after him until they dissolved into distant chaos.
Adelaide exhaled so sharply she almost collapsed. She waited a full ten seconds before pushing off from the boulder, her legs shaking. Then she ran again—toward the deeper forest, where the trees choked out even the moonlight. Her foot caught on a bramble bush, thorns ripping into her calf. Warm blood trickled down her leg, but she didn’t slow. The line of fire the thorns left behind became another point to focus on—another reminder that she was still here, still bleeding, still moving.
She found another branch—sharper, smaller, cleaner—and grabbed it too. A makeshift dagger. Two points of wood. Two chances. It wasn’t enough, but it was something that belonged to her and not to his rules.
Her mind flashed with frantic possibilities:
I can lure him into a narrow ravine —
I can find a river to mask my scent—
If I set a trap with vines—
If I found a cave—
If I climbed—
She spotted a tree with low branches.
Yes.
Height was safety. Height was leverage. From higher ground, she wouldn’t just be running. She’d be choosing where to put her fear. Where to aim it.
She leapt, catching the lowest branch with both hands. Her scraped palms screamed in agony, but she hauled herself upward, gritting her teeth. Bark bit into her skin. Splinters embedded into her fingers.
She climbed higher, breath ragged, until she found a branch thick enough to hold her weight. She straddled it, pressing her back against the rough trunk, letting her legs dangle. Her thighs burned, her arms trembled, but from up here, the chaos on the forest floor became shapes and movement instead of suffocating closeness.
Her breathing slowed. Her heart steadied. Her mind sharpened. From this height, she could see more of the forest—dark shapes darting through the trees, more screams echoing far away.
He was hunting all of them. He was toying with them.
He was… waiting. Waiting for what?
A chill crawled down her spine. Waiting for her. It pressed between her shoulder blades like a finger, insistent and cold, pointing her out even when she tried to vanish into bark and shadow.
The tree shuddered beneath her. A low rumble echoed through the roots, vibrating through her bones. He was close again.
Adelaide clamped a hand over her mouth, forcing her breath silent.
A shape emerged below her—massive and dark, moving with a predator’s patience. The Devil’s beast circled the base of her tree. Once. Twice. His claws carved spiralling grooves into the bark with each pass. The tree groaned under the abuse, its protest a low, wounded creak that she felt echo against her spine.
Adelaide’s lungs burned from holding her breath. Sweat slid down her spine, cold and trembling.
Don’t look up. Don’t look up. Don’t look—
He did.