“They’re tracking us,” Sophia whispered, her breath ragged beside me.

I gripped the laptop tightly against my chest.

In the distance, through the heavy downpour, the faint outline of a wooden cabin appeared.

It sat wedged between two jagged rock faces, almost invisible to the naked eye.

I reached for the rusty iron latch on the cabin door.

Just as my fingers touched the cold metal, a beam of light swept across the trees ten yards to our left.

I pulled Sophia into the shadow of the doorframe.

We held our breath as the light lingered on a thick pine branch, then moved away.

I turned the rusty latch.

The door creaked open, just wide enough for us to slip inside.

I shut it gently behind us and slid the heavy wooden bolt into place.

The cabin was pitch black.

It smelled of cedar, dry rot, and old paper.

Rain beat a relentless rhythm against the tin roof above.

“Are we clear?” Sophia whispered, her voice barely audible over the storm.

“For now,” I said.

I guided her toward the far corner, away from the dust-filmed window.