Addison's Arc

Chapter 5 of 6

The hunter stood at the mouth of the basin, where an old iron marker leaned in the moss. Its frosted hand pointed up at the sky. That narrow gap in the rocks was the only way out, and he had planted himself right in front of it. Addison's back was against the waterfall. The pool stretched between them, shallow and bright. He lifted his blade. It was a dark dagger with pale bone in the grip, etched all over with thin lines. He held it the way a man holds a tool he has used many times. He was not rushing. He did not need to. Addison's eyes moved past him, past the marker, and found what she had missed. Behind the waterfall, half hidden by the spray, a low arch opened in the rock. A shallow cave. Not an exit. A hole. But it was dark, and it was close, and he could not see into it from where he stood. She feinted left, toward the gap he guarded. He shifted to meet her, blade rising. She cut right instead and threw herself through the cold curtain of water. Stone scraped her wounded shoulder. She rolled into the dark of the hollow and pressed flat against the wet wall, breath locked in her teeth. Outside, his boots splashed into the pool. He had seen her go. Her hand found a loose stone in the dirt. Not a weapon. Not really. But she was inside now, and he would have to come through the narrow mouth one shoulder at a time. The chase was over. Whatever happened next would happen in the dark, on her terms. She closed her fist around the stone and waited for him to step into the arch.