I kept running and running, lungs burning with each ragged breath. I needed to stop—to catch my breath, to think—but I also needed to keep running.

Stones and sticks stabbed at my bare feet, leaving trails of fire in their wake, but I barely registered the pain. The moonlight filtered through the canopy above, casting shadows across the forest floor and illuminating only twisted branches overhead.

Then, without a warning, he stopped.

The man stood frozen in the middle of the moonlight, his silhouette sharp against the darkness. Slowly, deliberately, he turned his head. Just enough. Just his shoulder, his profile cutting though the silver light like a blade.

His eyes found mine.

My hand moved on instinct, fingers tightening around the leather-wrapped hilt at my side. My heart hammered against my ribs. My mind spiraled, grasping at fragments of memory that didn’t quite fit together.

Why was I holding a knife?

The question hung in the air, and through my mind.

The pitiful look on the man's face and he screams in agony.

That’s right.

Because I’m the killer.