Ameera drew in a steady breath and nodded slowly, though bile rose in her throat. “If that’s what it takes,” she whispered, “then Mariam.”
Abu’s eyes lit up, fever-bright. “I knew you’d understand.”
He grabbed one of the lanterns from the table, its weak flame flickering shadows across the moldy walls. “She’s close. I’ve kept her hidden—safe, for now. But the forest is watching. Waiting. Tonight we decide.”
He pushed open the cabin door, motioning her to follow. The night air spilled in, sharp with damp earth and the smell of pine sap.
Ameera stepped outside, every muscle taut. The knife pressed hot against her wrist now, the weight of Mariam’s life — and her own — heavy in her palm.
The masked figure was gone, the trees once again empty and still. But Ameera knew it hadn’t left. It was watching, circling, waiting for her choice.
Abu led the way along a narrow path, his lantern bobbing ahead like a dying star. His voice carried back to her, low and eager.
“You’ll see. Once Mariam’s gone, it’ll be clear. The forest will let us walk free. And if it doesn’t… then we’ll make it.”
Ameera’s jaw tightened. No, Abu, she thought. You won’t make it.
But she stayed silent, her mask unbroken, until the trees opened to reveal a crude shelter made of branches and tarp. Inside, faint and shivering in the lantern light, was Mariam. Alive.
Her eyes widened when she saw Ameera. “You…” she rasped. “Please. Don’t let him—”
Abu raised a hand, silencing her. Then he turned to Ameera with a grin that chilled her blood. “It’s time.”Ameera kept her face composed, but her eyes flicked toward Mariam. Just a fraction. Enough to let her see.
Her fingers twitched against her thigh in the dim light — once, twice. A simple rhythm they’d used before on long nights when silence was safer than speech. Wait. Trust me.
Mariam’s gaze sharpened, recognition sparking through her fear. She didn’t move, didn’t speak, but her trembling stilled.
Abu hadn’t noticed. He crouched in front of the tarp shelter, lantern glow painting his face in fevered gold. “The journals say intent matters,” he muttered. “The forest needs us to choose, to accept. If we hesitate, it devours us all. But if we act—” He glanced back at Ameera, eyes burning. “—then we live.”
He reached into his coat and pulled out a jagged shard of glass, edges bound in cloth to make a crude handle. He pressed it into Ameera’s hand.
“Do it,” he said softly. “Be the one to set us free.”
The shard bit into her palm, heavy with meaning. Behind him, Mariam’s wide eyes locked onto hers, desperate but steady, silently begging her not to give in.
The knife in Ameera’s sleeve weighed heavier than ever. One blade to kill for Abu’s madness. Another to fight against it.
Ameera tightened her grip on the shard of glass, forcing her expression into something cold, almost resigned. She stepped closer to Mariam, who shrank back instinctively.
Abu’s grin spread, eyes wide with triumph. “Yes. That’s it. Don’t think — just act. Show the forest you understand.”
Ameera knelt, the lantern’s light casting long, trembling shadows across Mariam’s face. Mariam’s breath came shallow, quick, but she held Ameera’s gaze. Wait. Trust me.
Ameera raised the shard. The edge gleamed faintly.
Abu leaned in, hungry, watching every twitch of her muscles. “Do it,” he whispered. “Then we’re free.”
Ameera’s pulse thundered in her ears. Her sleeve pressed tight against her wrist — where the hidden knife waited. She could feel Mariam trembling beneath her, yet trusting.
She lowered the shard just enough for its tip to brush Mariam’s arm. To Abu, it looked like hesitation. To Mariam, it was the signal. Not you. Him.
Abu’s breath caught, his smile stretching wider. “Yes,” he hissed. “Finish it.”
And in that heartbeat, with his eyes locked on the wrong blade, Ameera prepared to strike with the right one.
Ameera’s hand trembled just enough to sell the illusion. The shard hovered above Mariam’s skin, Abu’s ragged breathing filling the cramped shelter.
Then — in one fluid motion — she dropped the shard, slipped the hidden knife from her sleeve, and drove it upward.
The blade slid clean beneath Abu’s ribs before he could gasp. His grin froze, disbelief flaring in his hollow eyes. He staggered back, clutching the wound, his lantern tumbling and rolling against the dirt floor.
Ameera caught him, lowering him silently to the ground so his body made no sound. His lips parted, a wet choke rattling his throat. “You… betrayed… the forest,” he rasped.
Ameera leaned close, her whisper like steel. “No. I betrayed you.”
Abu’s eyes went glassy. His body stilled.
The forest outside seemed to listen — the silence deeper, heavier, as if it had witnessed the act.
Ameera pulled the knife free, her hands shaking, her chest heaving with the effort of holding herself together. She turned to Mariam, who was staring wide-eyed, tears tracking through the dirt on her face.
“You’re safe,” Ameera murmured, cutting through the ropes that bound her. “But we need to move. Now.”
For the first time in days, Mariam’s voice was steady. “It won’t let us go. Not yet.”
And as if to prove her right, a low whistle drifted through the trees outside — the masked figure calling again.
Ameera helped Mariam to her feet, both of them breathing hard, Abu’s body already cooling on the dirt floor. The whistle came again — low, deliberate, beckoning.
Mariam’s hand tightened around Ameera’s wrist. “That sound… it’s been circling the camp since the beginning.”
“I know,” Ameera whispered. “But whoever it is… they’ve been helping me. They gave me this.” She showed the knife, slick with Abu’s blood.
Mariam’s eyes widened but she didn’t argue. Instead, she nodded once. “Then we follow.”
They slipped out of the cabin, the forest air cool against their sweat. Lantern light flickered weakly from the shelter, but the trees beyond were ink-black, swallowing sound and sight alike.
The whistle guided them, faint but steady. Not random. Leading.
Branches scratched their arms as they moved, the forest shifting around them like a labyrinth. Yet the sound never wavered. Step by step, it drew them toward a clearing lit by the pale wash of moonlight.
And there, waiting in the center, stood the masked figure.
It didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just raised one hand and pointed — not at them, but at something beyond the trees.
A faint metallic glint caught the moonlight. A fence.
Mariam’s breath hitched. “The edge. A way out.”
But Ameera’s chest tightened. If it’s real, why show it now?
The masked figure lowered its hand, head tilting, as though daring them to decide.
Aksara