Author POV

The night had fallen heavy and thick, stars hidden behind a ceiling of bruised clouds. Within moments, the rain descended in sheets, slashing sideways across the fields, drumming against rooftops with the fury of a thousand fists.
It wasn't just rain — it was a flood falling from the heavens, relentless and furious. The flash of lightning that followed seared the landscape white for a heartbeat, illuminating the trees as they thrashed wildly in the wind like dancers in a storm-fueled frenzy.

And then—

Splash... splash... splash...

Through the blur of the downpour — she emerged.

She moved through the storm like a ghost of grace — drenched, breathless, but impossibly striking. Even under the sheets of rain, her beauty glowed softly, like moonlight trapped in human form. Her hair clung to her face, strands stuck to her lips, and yet there was something serene about her — like the calm at the heart of a hurricane.

Her dress, once flowing, now hung heavy and torn, plastered to her trembling legs. Mud splashed up her calves with every frantic step, but she didn't dare stop — not even to breathe.

She ran through the night, the rain soaking her to the skin, clinging to her like a second, colder skin.

Her chest ached.
Her heart pounded like it was trying to escape.
And still, she ran.

Tears mixed with the rain on her cheeks, indistinguishable, but she could feel them. Hot. Helpless. Her bare feet slipped on the slick ground, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Fear held her tighter than the storm ever could.

She felt exposed, fragile, like glass in a world of stone. Every crack of thunder made her flinch, every shadow looked like a hand reaching out to pull her back.

They were behind her. She could feel them — close, hungry, relentless.

And she was just one terrified girl in the middle of a furious night, running on nothing but fear and the desperate hope that somehow, she'd make it out alive.

She could hear faint rhythm behind her.

Slap... slap... splash...
Then faster.
Splash—slap—splash—slap—

Pounding harder. Closer. Like a second heartbeat chasing her own.

SLAP-SPLASH—SLAP-SPLASH—SLAP-SPLASH.

They were running now.
Not walking.
Not searching.
Hunting.

Her breath caught. She pushed herself harder, feet slipping, lungs on fire, but the sound kept growing — a storm within the storm.

And she knew — if they caught her, the rain would be the least of her fears.
But it was the mud — clinging to her ankles, sloshing between her toes — that made her legs feel like lead. She tried to push forward, but the wet ground betrayed her, the slick, sodden earth pulling her back.

She stumbled, her foot sinking deep into the muck. Panic surged through her.
She couldn't stop. Not now. Not when they were so close.

Rain hammered the fields like fists. Mud squelched under heavy boots. Flashlights threw frantic cones of light through the trees, cutting the rain into silver slashes.

.

"Where the fuck did that bitch go?" one of them snarled, voice gone raw with anger. He spat into the mud. 

The other circled, flashlight sweeping; his breath fogged in the cold air. He answered in a slow, hateful drawl, "She couldn't have gone far. Not in that condition of hers. Keep looking. We'll find her. Don't let her slip away." The words weren't pity — they were cruelty wrapped in satisfaction.

They moved like wolves, boots thudding, voices low and dangerous. Between the thunder and the static hiss of rain, their threats felt carved out of the night itself. Every shout bounced off the trees; every curse landed heavy.

She broke from the shadows, stumbling into the open, her feet slipping in the mud as she ran once more. The storm tore at her like wild hands—rain stinging her skin, wind screaming in her ears—but none of it compared to the scream rising from her soul.

"Please, God..." she cried out, her voice breaking as it vanished into the roar of thunder. "Please... don't let them catch me... please don't let them take us..."

She pushed forward through the trees, barely able to see, tears mixing with the rain, her breath coming in ragged sobs. Every step was a fight. Every second, a prayer. Her hands clutched her belly—round, full, seven months carrying the only thing she had left in this world.

"Please... my baby... my baby," she begged aloud, her voice raw with desperation. "I don't care about me, but not my child—don't let them hurt my baby. Please... there's no one else..."

Lightning split the sky, casting her in sudden, blinding light. For that moment, she was frozen in the storm—her drenched dress clinging to her body, her swollen belly unmistakable beneath the fabric, trembling hands shielding the life inside her.

She fell to her knees in the mud, the weight of everything crushing her at once. Her body, aching and exhausted. Her soul, torn and trembling. Her child—still, warm, and growing inside her—was the only heartbeat that kept her going.

"I have nothing left," she whispered, voice breaking beneath the rain, eyes lifting to the soaked canopy above.

Her hands pressed to her belly, fingers trembling as if holding the only thing that still belonged to her. "You've taken everything else from me," she sobbed, the words ripped out of her like fresh wounds.

"but... pl.. please.. don't be this cruel. Please... save me. save my baby."

The rain erased her tears, but not the pleading. Her words hung in the thunder, a single fragile prayer into a violent night.

She whispered, her voice breaking as she looked up through the rain-soaked canopy. 

Please don't let it end here... please don't let them take this too..."

Thunder boomed above her like an answer, or maybe a test.

She staggered to her feet again, holding her belly, shielding it as best she could. Her breath shook. Her legs burned. But she moved.

Not for herself.

But for the child she carried. The only piece of hope she had left in a world that had taken everything else.

.

Somewhere behind her, 

through the chaos of the storm, one of the men phone rang.

Pulling the phone from the soaked jacket, he saw the name displayed on the screen. 

The goon swallowed, water beading on his cheek. He fumbled the phone closer to his ear, voice ragged from the storm

"We haven't got her yet," he said, breath heavy.

“But we’ll get her soon. She’s—she’s slowing down. She’s pregnant. She can’t keep this pace forever.”

There was a pause on the other end — a long, empty silence that felt worse than any answer. When the voice returned it was low, smooth, almost casual. That calm made it worse.

“So?” the voice asked, as if enquiring about the weather. “What’s taking you so long?”

The goon stammered. Rain thundered against the receiver.

“Bring her to me fast,” the voice said, each word measured. “I want her. Do whatever you have to. But don’t fail me.”

“You hear me?”  the voice soft now, frighteningly intimate. “Make sure she comes. Make sure she realizes where she belongs to.”

The goon’s grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles blanched. “ We’ll get her.”

“You better get her.. or you know the consequences,”

 the voice said, and the line clicked dead. For a second the only sound was the rain — and the echo of that final, hungry calm.

The call cut off.

The goon shoved the phone back into his pocket, jaw tight. He turned to the others, motioning forward.

"She's close. Let's end this."

and then...

a movement, through the trees.

"There!"

♡

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