RUBY JUNE.
“Shh,” the voice hissed, the cold blade digging deeper into my skin. “I wouldn’t want to spill your blood… yet.”
“What do you want?” My voice cracked, and my heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my throat. The knife pressed harder, its edge biting into my skin as if daring me to move.
For a long, terrifying moment, the figure said nothing. The silence stretched thin until I thought I might shatter from the tension. Then, out of nowhere, he laughed. The sound was wrong—harsh and wild—sending a fresh wave of terror crawling over my skin. My knees buckled as his grip loosened, but I could not move. I stood frozen, rooted to the ground by fear, every instinct screaming at me to run, but my body refused to listen.
He kept laughing. The sound echoed in the woods around us, and my stom……
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