Phantom Touch | Minho |

Chapter three

Turn after turn, lungs burning and legs sore, I ran like my life depended on it. I could feel him behind me like a shadow that I couldn't shake. He wasn't just insanely fast, but agile, barely slowing when I tried to lose him with abrupt turns. Smart too, anticipating every move I made like he could see it in my head. The string of curses that left his mouth nearly made me laugh, the chase almost starting to feel like a game.

Aside from the ache in my legs, the burning in my throat was the most excruciating pain, like I was breathing in fire instead of air. A sharp pain formed in my side, just below my ribs. How long could I do this before I collapsed?

I realized quickly that trying to outrun him wasn't going to work out. But I had one move left.

Ducking around a final corner, I pressed my back against the cold, solid surface, plunging my hand back into my pocket. In a second, he flashed around the corner.

I felt the impact the blades of the pathetic weapon made on his skin as I slashed his forearm. He jumped back, clutching his arm with an incredulous look on his face.

"Was that a shucking fork-?"

"Listen, whatever you want, forget it, alright?" I panted, my head cloudy with fatigue. "I have to leave."

To my surprise, and annoyance, he laughed. "Get in line, Greenie." His eyes fell to the floor as he spoke, his tone and face suddenly looking much more mature than that of a boy. For a minute, we both just stood there, still trying to catch our breath.

"Y'know, you're pretty fast." He kept his gaze down, talking like he was making casual conversation as he examined his shallow wounds. "Did you outrun all the shanks back in the Glade to get out here?"

I considered my words before I spoke. "Is it supposed to be hard?"

A hint of a smile played at his lips as he straightened up, his hands resting on the harness across his chest. "So what's the plan now?"

His question threw me for a second. "Well, I'm sort of making this up as I go, if you couldn't tell."

"Right, but like, what's the next move?"

"Well, I guess I kick your ass, steal whatever's in your backpack thingy, and find a way out."

"...hmm."

"...that's all you have to say? Hmm?"

"Well, I packed my favorite water bottle today, and I'd rather you didn't steal it."

I felt my eyes widen slightly at the mention of water, my throat feeling as coarse as sandpaper and my head pounding.

He tilted his head ever so slightly. "You thirsty?"

This is a trick. I didn't answer, wondering if he was taunting me.

Slowly he reached one hand behind his back, raising the other one like he was making sure I always had it in view. I tensed at the movement, but the way his eyes held mine steady relaxed the knot in my stomach slightly. "Considering you still got a hell of a journey ahead of you, you probably need this more than I do."

He pulled out a metal water bottle, crouching toward the ground to roll it towards me instead of stepping forward to hand it off. I was grateful for it, the distance was a comfort. The bottle clanged along the stone, bumping against my foot as it reached me.

I considered whether I'd rather die from dehydration or accept handouts.

"It's not poisoned, if that's what's stopping you." He studied my face. "Look, I've spent enough time doing this to know you can't last a day in here without drinking. Seriously, just take it."