He hadn't found shelter yet—not that it ranked high on his priorities.
Sliding a hand into his pocket, Asli pulled out an old, scuffed iPod and flicked it on. Volume set to mid. One earbud in. A soft melody filled his ear—smooth, rhythmic. He nodded along, his steps falling in time with the beat.
What he really needed was a team. Preferably someone strong. Reliable. Someone who could handle the heavy lifting while he sat back, threw out the occasional clever quip, and maybe offered a life-saving idea or two when the moment called for it.
Rowan seemed like a safe bet.
And Silas? Well… it never hurt to keep something beautiful close. Probably why the nickname Birdie had stuck. Asli had always been drawn to pretty, delicate things—things that moved like poetry. And Silas? He fit that category a little too well.
Ahead of him, his shadow slithered forward, a liquid ripple of ink gliding over roots and rocks. His vision blurred—his sight slipping into the eyes of that shadow, the forest ahead unfolding in crisp, ghostly clarity. Dense, quiet, pulsing with distant life.
Overhead, a mechanical bird drifted lazily through the treetops, metal wings ticking in slow, elegant rhythm. It tracked his movement like a second conscience.
Asli vaulted a fallen log, landing light-footed. His hoodie flared behind him, breath steady, gaze sharp.
He wondered how the others were faring. Especially with rules like these.
Everything allowed—except killing.
Messy. Chaotic. And for someone like Asli, who preferred soft words and sharp exits to open conflict, far from ideal.
Suddenly, his shadow halted.
He paused mid-step. The music cut off with a quick tap. Silence sharpened.
There—just ahead. Buried in ivy and gnarled bark. A structure, hunched and crooked, slouched to one side like it had been forgotten by the world.
An abandoned shack.
His shadow slithered back like smoke, curling around his ankles before vanishing into him.
Then—he vanished too.
Asli melted into the darkness beneath the trees, a ripple of ink gliding through shade. Unseen. Unheard.
Just the way he liked it.
He reappeared beside the window, peering through the grime-smeared glass. Stillness. Dust. No signs of movement.
With a flicker, he phased inside.
The air was stale and heavy with rot. Damp wood sagged under its own weight, the scent of moss and mold curling through every crack. A broken bed lay at the center, a rocking chair beside it creaking faintly in the breeze.
Against the far wall: a half-sunken chest, swallowed by the floorboards beneath a cracked, dust-veiled mirror.
Asli smiled faintly.
He moved forward, kneeling beside the chest. Fingers brushed the latch.
Click.
He opened it.
The lid groaned as it swung back on rusted hinges.
Empty.
He blinked, brow creasing. Just as the disappointment settled—
He caught a flicker.
Not in the room.
In the mirror.
His tracker beeped.
Once.
Twice.
Then it shrieked to life.
He didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Just stared.
Expression blank.
"…Fuck."