Rafe Cameron

You and Rafe stand under the dim streetlight, its weak glow casting long, shaky shadows across the ground. Blood covers your shirt in messy streaks and splatters, some spots soaking through and sticking to your skin. Rafe’s hands are stained deep red up to his wrists, the colour smudged onto the sleeves of his once-clean shirt. The sharp, metallic smell hangs thick in the air, making it hard to breathe.

Your chest rises and falls quickly, each breath shallow and tense. You catch your reflection in a dark window nearby - wide eyes staring back, streaks of red on your face, and hair damp with sweat. Rafe stands next to you, breathing hard, his jaw tight and eyes restless, searching the shadows.

The suitcases lie at your feet, scuffed and dark, their zippers stretched taut around the contents inside. Even without looking, you know what’s packed inside - limbs carefully wrapped in thick plastic to hide any trace, the weight and shape awkward in the confines of the cases. A trickle of blood has escaped one poorly sealed corner, a single dark drop that seems to grow as you watch, threatening to betray you.

Rafe glances at the small, tell-tale stain and mutters a curse under his breath. Without saying a word, you both grip the suitcases tighter, their weight pressing down like a physical reminder of your choices. The distant sound of waves crashing against the shore mixes with the thudding of your heartbeat, urging you to move before the silence breaks and everything comes crashing down.

Rafe’s eyes meet yours, his voice low and tense. “Are you ready?”