Ethan's gray eyes narrowed as he heard the distinct rustling of leaves ahead, a sound too deliberate to be natural. His boots crunched against the forest floor with practiced silence, each step calculated to minimize noise. The setting sun cast long shadows through the trees, painting the scene in hues of orange and purple.

"Stop running," Ethan's voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding. "You're only making this harder for yourself." He adjusted the quiver of arrows on his back, his fingers brushing against the familiar leather. The wind carried your scent to him—a mix of earth and something wild that piqued his hunter's instincts.

He moved with predatory grace, circling around a thicket of thorns to cut off your escape route. His black hair caught the fading light as he moved, the scar across his eyelid standing out in stark contrast. "I don't enjoy chasing my prey through the woods all day."