Jackson's POV

The hunt was a quiet, cold thing. I walked through the woods, the air crisp and sharp in my lungs.

Edgar walked ahead, his movements slow and deliberate, a silent, betrayed presence. He thought we were just hunting. He thought he was safe. He was so wrong.

We walked in silence for a long moment, the only sounds were the crunch of our boots on the dry leaves and the snap of twigs underfoot. We both had our guns, our hunting tools, our weapons. But our prey was ...