Barrett didn’t sleep that night.

  Every creak of wood or whisper of wind through his new log wall made his pulse tick upward. His base was supposed to be safe. A fortress. A sanctuary.

  Now it felt like a coffin.

  The message still burned in his mind.

  Those red, dripping words smeared across his cave walls.

  DEATH. KILL.

  And the shadow watching him from the trees.

  Barrett’s jaw clenched with frustration. He was supposed to be the predatory, not prey.

  The wind howled through the canyon mouth like a wounded animal.

  Inside the cave, Barrett shifted his bedroll farther back, deeper into the dark. The stone floor was cold and damp beneath his sleeping mat. Every exhale misted in the air before fading into the black.

  He hadn’t lit a fire. Didn’t want the smoke to kill him or draw extra attention.

  Grim huddled against his chest, feathers puffed and trembling.

  “Just what I need,” Barrett muttered. “Some psycho prowling around in the dark.”

  Chirp.

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” Barrett yawned. “Just annoying.”

  Chirp.

  Barrett smirked. “Don’t you worry, little fella. Old Daddy Donovan’s got a plan for this clown.”

  He stayed awake, half-sitting against the wall, machete across his lap. The cave stretched ahead like a black throat swallowing sound. Only the faint drip of condensation broke the silence.

  Hours crawled by.

  Then came the sound he’d been expecting.

  The soft, careful, and deliberate sound of gravel crunching under boots.

  A sinister grin spread slowly across Barrett’s face.

  Right on time.

  The steps crept closer, slow as a heartbeat. A faint shadow appeared at the cave mouth. Tall, lean, wearing something dark and heavy. The way it moved wasn’t like a monster’s shuffle. This was human.

  Barrett waited, still as stone, until the figure reached the fake “sleeping Barrett”. A diversion Barrett had created using a pile of rocks with his jacket draped over them.

  Barrett flicked open his lighter.

  A small flame hissed to life, reflected in his eyes like twin golden sparks.

  “You’re a little late,” he said, voice low and dry. “Dinner’s already cold.”

  The figure froze, then tilted its head slightly toward him. Light caught just enough to reveal the glint of black hair under a hood, the shape of a tall, wiry frame wrapped in a dark gray puffer jacket.

  The man didn’t flinch. He just smirked faintly, eyes sharp and unimpressed.

  “You’re doing the villain thing,” he said. “The licking-the-blade move?”

  Barrett’s tongue was halfway up the machete’s edge. He stopped mid-motion. “Yeah?”

  “It’s gross, man,” the guy said flatly. “You look like a weirdo, and your tongue isn’t even long enough to do it. Are you tongue-tied?”

  Barrett blinked. “…The hell?”

  “I’m just letting you know,” the man went on, matter-of-factly. “It’s not nearly as cool in real life as it is in anime.”

  Barrett stared at him, then broke into a bark of laughter. “You serious?”

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  The stranger nodded once, expression unchanging.

  “Yeah, well, the cryptic message thing wasn’t as scary as it is in movies, either. I knew it was some cornball behind it immediately.”

  “What? No way, you were scared, I saw you!” the man replied.

  “Hell no, I wasn’t scared! I clocked you right away, hence why I staged a fake sleeping Barrett to lure you in.” Barrett pointed to the pile of rocks with his jacket on it.

  “I knew a cornball like you couldn’t resist messing with me while I slept,” Barrett said.

  The man stepped into the faint circle of light. He was younger, early twenties, maybe, tall and broad-shouldered, with sharp cheekbones and dark eyes that never seemed to blink. His jacket was patched with bite marks and burn holes. A broken spear shaft was strapped to his back, held together with rope and tape.

  “Name’s Maku,” he said.

  Barrett’s eyes widened. “Wait, Max? The loner kid from the camp? Thought you dipped out day one.”

  “It’s Maku.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “And yeah, I did dip, those people were useless.”

  Barrett grinned. “Can’t argue with that, though some of them were pretty cool.”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  “Well,” Barrett said, leaning back against the wall, “you sure picked one hell of a way to drop by. What’s the goblin head for, party favor?”

  Maku crouched and dropped something heavy at Barrett’s feet. The decapitated goblin rolled once before stopping, its glassy eyes staring up at them.

  “I was gonna leave that by your face,” Max said calmly. “Thought it’d be funny.”

  Barrett looked from the head to Max. Then he started laughing. Hard. “Okay, that’s actually hilarious.”

  “Right?” Max said, deadpan. “You’d wake up, and this goblin head would be staring right at you.”

  “Totally.” Barrett wiped a tear from his eye. “Man, that’s commitment. You actually lugged this thing all the way here just for a bit?”

  “Yeah,” Max said. “Was bored.”

  Barrett shook his head, still chuckling. “You’re insane.”

  “Probably.”

  The cave went quiet again except for the faint whistle of wind outside. The two men just looked at each other — one smiling, one unreadable — until Barrett finally broke the silence.

  “So, you sneak all the way in here just to prank me, or you got something real to say?”

  “I tracked something bigger,” Max said. “A goblin captain. Armor, weapons, nasty-looking fella.”

  Barrett’s grin widened. “Captain level?”

  Max nodded. “Yeah.”

  Barrett’s eyes lit up. “Now we’re talkin’. You’re saying you want a partner?”

  Max made a face like he’d just smelled something bad. “Don’t say it like that.”

  “Fine. ‘Teammate,’ then.”

  “I don’t do teams.”

  “Yeah, well,” Barrett said, already leaning back and folding his arms, “sounds like you need the help of a real man.”

  Max sighed. “He’s almost double our level, so yeah.”

  Barrett yawned. "Well, leave a map of his location and let me sleep. Big day tomorrow, gotta murder your captain or whatever.”

  Max stared at him. “Okay, we’ll meet up at noon.”

  “Consider him already dead.”

  Max shook his head, pulled out a scrap of leather, and sketched a rough map with a piece of charcoal. He set it beside Barrett’s boot and stood.

  “You’re unbelievable,” Max muttered.

  “Appreciate that.” Barrett’s voice was already groggy. “See you at noon, partner.”

  “I’m not your—”

  But Barrett was already snoring.

  Grim chirped softly, shifting under Barrett’s chin.

  Maku stared at the two of them, the absurdity of it all, then turned and walked out into the mist.

  The rain outside had grown heavier, falling in cold, steady sheets.

  He adjusted his jacket, eyes narrowing toward the treeline. “Unbelievable,” he muttered again. “The guy’s actually crazier than he looks.”

  Then, with a slight grin, almost a laugh, Maku disappeared into the night.

  —

  Morning came slow and golden. The forest steamed under the twin suns, mist curling up from the moss like ghost breath. Dew clung to the edges of ferns and glittered on the cobwebs strung between the trees.

  Barrett was already up, sleeves rolled, crouched beside the river. The water was cold enough to bite. He splashed it across his face and ran wet fingers through his hair, grimacing.

  “Nature’s version of a cold shower,” he muttered.

  Grim perched on a rock nearby, shaking droplets from his feathers. Barrett tossed him a worm from a tin cup. “Eat up, little man. We got work today.”

  He stood, rolled his shoulders, and walked back toward the barricade of sharpened logs he called home. His makeshift base creaked faintly as the wind moved through it, the smell of sap, damp dirt, and faint smoke lingering in the air from the night before.

  Barrett stepped outside, machete slung over one shoulder, pacing in the open clearing. His boots left dark prints in the mud as he walked tight circles, muttering to himself.

  “Okay,” he said under his breath. “Right when he’s about to get dusted, I roll in like—”

  He turned, lowering his voice to a mock-heroic growl. “‘Need a hand?’”

  He mimed walking in slow motion, machete dragging through the dirt.

  Chirp.

  He paused, rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “Too basic, huh? Yeah, I thought so.”

  He took a deep breath, then tried again, voice low and cinematic. “As he’s on his last leg, I come in dragging the machete—schhhh—across the ground, sparks flying. Then I swing it up in one smooth arc—”

  He mimed the motion, slicing the air with an invisible flourish. “‘Looks like the party started without me.’”

  Chirp.

  Barrett groaned. “Yeah, yeah, that’s corny as hell. I know.”

  He dropped onto a fallen log, elbows on his knees, staring out into the woods. The morning chorus of birds and buzzing insects was starting to rise. Sunlight flashed through the canopy, cutting stripes across his arms and gear.

  He squinted. “What about… ‘Sorry I’m late—traffic was hell.’”

  Chirp.

  Barrett smirked. “You really thought I’d let you have all the fun?”

  Chirp-chirp.

  Barrett nodded, satisfied. “Alright, that one’s got potential.”

  He stood cracking his neck, feeling the tightness of old bruises stretch across his shoulders. The air smelled faintly of wet bark and iron. The same scent that came out before a storm.

  He froze, eyes lifting toward the treetops. The twin suns had climbed high, burning the fog away and casting the entire forest in sharp, hot light.

  “Ah, hell,” he muttered. “We’re late!”

  Grim fluttered up to his shoulder as Barrett grabbed his gear and slung the machete across his back. He took one last look at the rough wooden wall of his crude little fortress and grinned.

  “Let’s go make an entrance.”

  He broke into a jog, boots thudding over the roots, sunlight flashing off the blade as he vanished into the forest.