Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Friday, October 11th

The late afternoon air buzzed with crickets and frogs, filling the silence that lingered in the car. The temperature was dropping fast, and the crack in the windshield wasn’t helping. A cool draft slipped in, brushing over Alfred’s arms and raising goosebumps.

Still, the chill was the last thing on his mind. He was too caught up in being quietly pleased with himself—he’d managed to strike what he would optimistically call an alliance with Ivan. The other man, however, still looked uneasy, as if unsure whether acknowledging their fragile truce would make it real.

Alfred cleared his throat, hoping to draw Ivan back into the conversation. His heart was still thudding from the rush of words he’d just spilled. “So, uhh… sorry if that was a lot. It’s just theories, but… I don’t know. Since you’re willing to help now, I thought maybe we could, y’know, make some kind of plan.”

Ivan didn’t answer right away. He sat perfectly still, hands folded in his lap, eyes fixed on the floor as if the pattern in the carpet could give him something solid to hold on to. The silence stretched until Alfred began to regret saying anything at all.

Finally, Ivan exhaled through his nose, slow and tired. “I think I need…” He paused, rubbed the side of his temple. “I think I need some time.”

It wasn’t dismissive, but it wasn’t an invitation either. His tone carried that clipped edge Alfred was starting to recognize. Not anger, exactly, just a sort of restraint. Like Ivan was trying to keep too many thoughts from spilling out at once.

Alfred nodded, trying to play it off like it didn’t sting a little. “Yeah, sure. Time. Totally fair.” He let out a weak laugh that fell flat. “I mean, this is a lot, right? Lizard people, world domination, apocalypse. Kinda heavy for a road trip.”

Ivan’s mouth twitched at that, though whether it was amusement or something else entirely, Alfred couldn’t tell. The air between them felt thick, uneasy. Alfred thought he saw something flicker in Ivan’s expression—a look not of disbelief, but of someone who’d already seen too much to dismiss anything as impossible.

“Alright,” Alfred said softly, leaning back in his seat. “Take your time.”

Alfred really couldn’t blame him. If someone had just dropped the weight of the world in his lap, he’d be in shock too. Maybe Ivan just didn’t feel like talking. Whatever the reason, he eventually pushed open the door and strode toward the gas pumps without a word.

Alfred followed, stepping out into the cooling air and stretching his arms over his head. He then leaned against the car, watching Ivan struggle to figure out the old gas machine. The guy moved with a kind of heavy determination, like he could even will the beat-up car back to life just by glaring at it hard enough. Alfred still thought they should’ve left the wreck behind. It looked like something that had been spat out of a tornado. But clearly, Ivan wasn’t ready to let go.

The gas station itself wasn’t much to look at: a squat, two-pump affair with faded red siding and a flickering neon sign that buzzed louder than seemed normal. A single soda machine stood out front, the kind with sun-bleached stickers peeling off the sides, while the windows glowed faintly from the fluorescent lights inside. It was the kind of place you’d expect to find on a postcard that hadn’t been updated since 1985.

Behind them, the foothills rolled like waves turned to stone, fading east into the flat sprawl of the plains. But west—the mountains loomed. Dark shapes swallowed the horizon, jagged against the late afternoon light. It was beautiful, Alfred supposed, in that wild unknown sort of way. It also made him feel small. Trapped.

For the moment, though, he was almost in a good mood. Somehow, against all odds, he’d convinced Ivan not to abandon him for lizards to pick off like roadkill. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a win. He shouldn’t have been so relieved. Trusting a stranger this much was probably stupid, but the small crack in Ivan’s walls gave him something he hadn’t had all day. A flicker of safety.

Still, Alfred couldn’t shake the weight in his stomach. Ivan wasn’t exactly easy to read, and every time Alfred looked at him too long, he got that prickling sense that maybe he’d made a deal with a wolf instead of a partner.

Alfred looked up as Ivan made his way back toward the car. The Russian’s expression was unreadable, his shoulders heavy with that same stubborn determination Alfred was already starting to recognize.

“So what’s the holdup?” Alfred called, smirking. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how to work a gas pump. Pretty sure even lizards could figure that one out.”

Ivan didn’t rise to the bait. He stopped beside the hood, pale violet eyes flicking toward Alfred in the kind of glance that made his smirk falter. “It only takes change,” he said evenly, voice low and flat. “No card reader or bills.” He motioned vaguely toward the glowing box of a station. “It’s…very annoying.” He paused for a moment, thinking over a plan in his head, “Go and get some food and also find out where we are.”

Alfred opened his mouth to fire something back, but closed it again. The tone wasn’t sharp exactly, but it wasn’t friendly either. If anything, it sounded like Ivan still hadn’t decided if keeping him around was worth the trouble that was bound to come.

And that stung more than Alfred wanted to admit. He’d fought hard to convince Ivan not to ditch him earlier, but it was obvious the guy hadn’t fully bought into the idea. Every clipped order, every watchful glance, was a reminder that he was still a complete stranger.

“Yeah, sure. Guess I’m the errand boy now,” Alfred muttered, kicking off the car to head toward the station. He tried to keep the joke in his voice, but it came out thin.

The neon sign buzzed overhead as he pushed the door open, a dull electric hum that reminded him, uncomfortably, of the sound the lizards made when they breathed.

A bell chimed overhead as Alfred pushed open the door, the sound sharp in the quiet afternoon. The store was small, claustrophobic almost, with narrow aisles of canned goods and snack bags crowding the center. Old refrigerators lined the walls, their motors humming just loud enough to remind Alfred that silence here wasn’t really silence.

Behind the counter sat a man slouched in a swivel chair, the wall stacked high with cigarettes, cheap liquor, and disposable vapes framing him like a neon-stained halo. His eyes flicked up at Alfred, impassive and already disinterested, as though he’d seen a thousand weary travelers just like him.

Alfred hesitated, hand still on the door. He wasn’t sure why, but something about the stale air inside, mixed with the low buzz of the fridges, pressed down on him. Maybe it was just nerves. Or maybe it was the fact that Ivan had sent him in here like a disposable scout while he stood outside, still acting like Alfred was more of a liability than an ally.

Alfred shoved his hands into his sweatshirt’s pockets and stepped forward anyway, trying to shake the thought. “Great. Grocery shopping in the middle of nowhere. Exactly how I wanted to spend my day,” he muttered under his breath.

Alfred drifted down the narrow aisles, shoulders brushing against metal shelving that looked older than him. The overhead lights buzzed faintly, their pale glow washing everything in the same tired shade of beige. He scanned labels half-heartedly, realizing quickly that nothing here looked remotely appetizing. Rows of canned chili and soup gathered dust, and the bread on the endcap looked like it had been there since the Reagan administration.

In the end, all he managed to grab were bottles of water and an armful of chips: a bag of Cheetos, Lays, and a single can of Pringles that rattled like maracas when he shook it. The haul felt pitiful, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Ivan had sent him in here without a second thought. So if the guy wanted a five-star meal, he should’ve hauled himself inside.

Alfred stacked the junk food awkwardly against his chest and made for the counter. The man behind it hadn’t moved, hadn’t so much as blinked since Alfred walked in. His gaze tracked lazily as Alfred set the chips down with a soft crinkle of plastic.

For a second, Alfred thought about asking if they had anything better, something resembling real food, but he swallowed the words. Honestly, what was the worst that could happen? Ivan got mad about snacks? He could deal with that.

Alfred fished in his pocket for some bills, his voice breaking the stillness as he said, “Guess this is dinner.”

The man didn’t respond right away. Up close, Alfred noticed the lines etched deep into his face, the kind carved by years of wind and sun. Wisps of gray hair poked out beneath the rim of his faded NASCAR cap, thin and stubborn, like they refused to lie flat. He moved slowly as he rang up the food, the scanner beeping lazily with each item. His eyes never left Alfred’s, sharp in a way that made Alfred feel like he’d just been pinned under a microscope slide.

It wasn’t until the last can clunked against the counter that the man finally spoke. His voice was low, scratchy, like gravel dragged across pavement.                                                                “You don’t look like you’re from ‘round here. You a college kid?”

For a heartbeat, Alfred froze. His mind scrambled, already rehearsing what not to say. No way was he admitting the truth. Not when the lizards were probably still sniffing around. So he leaned in on the confidence he wore like a second skin. He smiled, easy, the kind of grin that came naturally even when it shouldn’t.

“On a break,” he said, casual. “History major. Research trip.”

The lie came out smooth, almost practiced. He’d been lying his way out of trouble since middle school—skipping class (always ELA), sneaking into movies, trying to talk his way out of speeding tickets. This wasn’t any different, right? Except this time it felt heavier. Like if he slipped, the whole world would come crashing down.

The man just shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching downward.
“Not much to research here. Cows, dirt, old mining shafts… that’s about it.”

Alfred chuckled lightly, though the man’s steady stare made it feel like laughing in church. He gathered up the plastic bag of chips and water, ready to bolt, when the man added, almost offhand:

“Be careful out there, kid. Strange things in the woods at night.”

Alfred paused, shifting the bag in his hand. “Coyotes?” he asked, aiming for lighthearted but coming off a little forced.

The man shrugged, eyes drifting past Alfred as though the answer was somewhere else entirely. “Coyotes. Kids screwin’ around from Boulder. Take your pick.”

But his tone didn’t match the words. He said it like someone repeating a story they didn’t believe but couldn’t shake either.

The old man leaned an elbow on the counter, his gaze narrowing in a way that made Alfred’s skin itch. “People ’round here don’t take too kindly to strangers. Saw you with your friend out there.” His lips curled, not quite a smile, not quite a sneer. “We’re passionate ’bout our beliefs here, and lately it feels like more and more folks are getting riled up. Just be wary, boy. That’s all I’m saying.”

Alfred blinked, trying to read him. There was a weight behind the man’s tone he couldn’t quite pin down, like the words were pointing somewhere else entirely. His first instinct was to laugh it off, but the stare that came with it made him shift the bag of chips higher in his arms.

“Uh, sure,” Alfred said finally, forcing a crooked grin. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He slipped a few bills onto the counter, grabbed his change a little too quickly, and headed for the door. His brain tried to puzzle it out, but the simplest answer was easier to swallow. Maybe the guy just didn’t like college kids hanging around his store. Nothing more to it.

Alfred stepped out into the cooling air, the bell clanging shut behind him. The whole exchange left a strange weight in his chest, but he shook it off with a quick exhale. Just some weird old guy, he told himself. People out here probably just didn’t want a bunch of kids partying and drinking. That was all.

“Yeah, odd dude,” he muttered under his breath, trying to summon up the same easy grin he’d used inside. It didn’t land quite right, but it was better than letting the words stick.

Adjusting the bags against his side, Alfred headed across the cracked pavement toward the car. The light was already dipping low, shadows from the mountains stretching long across the lot. For a second, the thought of what the man had said hovered there. About strangers, about beliefs, but he shoved it down. No point dwelling on it.

What mattered was getting back on the road. Hopefully Ivan had figured out the gas pump by now.

He picked up his pace, aiming for the car with a little forced brightness in his step, ready to dump the food and get moving before the weird conversation decided to claw back into his thoughts.

Ivan was already in the driver’s seat when Alfred got back, sitting stiffly with both hands on the wheel, eyes fixed eastward. Past the plains, past the fading orange line of the horizon—like if he stared hard enough, it might pull him toward something familiar. Family, maybe. Alfred didn’t blame him.

“I’m back! Got the gas?” Alfred called, pitching his voice lighter than he felt.

Ivan jolted, shoulders tensing like he’d been yanked out of someplace far away. His head turned slowly, expression unreadable. For a second Alfred wondered if he’d done something wrong.

“...Yes,” Ivan said finally. His voice was flat, clipped. Like the word was the bare minimum required to acknowledge Alfred existed.

Alfred forced a grin, bouncing the plastic bag of snacks in his hand. “Great. And hey, I didn’t even drain the chips aisle. Pretty impressive, right?”

Ivan blinked at him once, shrugged, then turned his eyes back to the half-missing windshield. Barely a reaction.

Alfred’s smile wavered for half a heartbeat before he set it firm again, circling around to the passenger side. Okay. So talking to Ivan without adrenaline and the threat of lizard monsters was like trying to strike up a conversation with a brick wall. A very tall, very intimidating brick wall. But hey, at least he was still here. At least Alfred hadn’t been left behind.

That had to count for something.

“Well, they didn’t exactly have anything appetizing in there, sooooo…” Alfred dragged the last syllable out, trying for cheerful as he slid into the passenger seat. He rattled the plastic bag for emphasis. “How do we feel about a thousand calories of snacks?”

Ivan glanced at the bag, frowning. “I was hoping for a real meal.”

Alfred chuckled, leaning back in the seat like he wasn’t fazed. “Yeah, well, you shouldn’t expect kale salads and grilled salmon at a gas station in the middle of nowhere. You gotta embrace the classics. Chips, sugar, and enough chemicals to outlive us both.”

Ivan’s brow furrowed, and he gave a small shrug. “I have eaten worse before. I only wanted dinner.”

The conversation clunked to a halt there, like a car stalling in the middle of the road. Alfred fiddled with the cap on a water bottle, trying not to let the silence feel as heavy as it was.

Only half an hour ago, when they were both running for their lives, words had come easier. Banter, sharp and reckless, slipped out because the danger demanded it. Talking then had been about survival. Quick, necessary, and almost automatic.

Now, with nothing chasing them but the quiet, Alfred felt the difference. Ivan wasn’t hostile, but he wasn’t meeting him halfway either. It was like trying to throw a ball at someone who never raised their hands to catch it.

Still, Alfred forced a grin, cracking open the Pringles. “This is all we’re eating then.”

Ivan said nothing. The sound of the can popping echoed far too loudly in the small space between them.

Alfred tapped his foot against the floorboard, restless energy humming under his skin. He wanted to say something, but every half-formed sentence died before it left his mouth. It was Ivan, surprisingly, who broke the quiet.

“Did you find out anything about the area?” His voice was steady, but his eyes stayed fixed on the windshield.

Alfred brightened a little. “Sort of. The cashier was kind of… odd. Said people around here ‘don’t take kindly to strangers.’ Then he gave me this look and said something about seeing us together and how, ‘Folks are all riled up these days. Best be careful, boy.’” Alfred shrugged, still half amused. “Probably just meant, you know, college kids are a nuisance. Thought I was here to party or something.”

That finally got Ivan to look at him. Not long, just a flick of pale violet eyes. Alfred felt a jolt of nerves but pushed on anyway, choosing his next words a bit more carefully.

“Guy also said there’s ‘strange things in the woods at night.’ Like he’d actually seen something. But then he waved it off. Coyotes, maybe kids from Boulder screwing around. Classic scary-small-town vibe, y’know?” 

Alfred paused, “Honestly, I think he just didn’t like me.” He laughed lightly, “Guess rural towns don’t always love outsiders.”

Ivan didn’t join in. His knuckles had gone pale around the steering wheel, his eyes fixed forward on the road. For a moment Alfred thought he’d said something wrong.

At last, Ivan muttered, “That man was… only one in a few. We are still close to the city.”

And just like that, the conversation clamped shut again.

Alfred tore open the bag of Cheetos, convincing himself the guy behind the counter had just been cranky, suspicious of anyone who didn’t look local. But he couldn’t shake how stiff Ivan had gone, like the words meant more than he let on.

Alfred crunched down on another Pringle, dusting crumbs from his fingers onto his sweat pants. “So… where’re we actually going?”

Ivan seemed to think for a moment. “I think… heading north, toward the National Park, would be best. At least for now.”

Alfred popped another chip into his mouth. “And why’s that?” He tried for casual, but the edge in his voice betrayed how much he was still testing the waters with Ivan.

Ivan let out a quiet sigh, hands gripping the wheel. “East takes us straight back to Boulder. Not an option. West… deeper into the mountains. South would get us near Breckenridge, which is fine, except it’s too tied to Denver. That’s exactly what we’re trying to avoid.”

Alfred nodded, chewing thoughtfully, though he couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Ivan’s stiff posture. Dangerous situations had made them talk easily before, but now, with the adrenaline fading, all the awkwardness between them was just… there.

“So, for now—before we come up with a real plan—we just need to get somewhere safe. North’s the best option,” Ivan said.

“A plan, huh? Thought you said you needed time.” Alfred tried for a light tone, a small grin tugging at his mouth. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was something. “I don’t have one, so I guess we’d better start making one soon.”

Ivan glanced over, his expression unreadable in the dim light. “Yeah,” he said after a pause. “We’ll find a place first. Then…” He trailed off for a moment, eyes flicking toward the windshield, voice dropping into that low, even tone that made Alfred stop fidgeting. “Then we’ll make one.”

Alfred nodded, satisfied enough with that answer for now. But before he could say anything else, Ivan added quietly, “And I want to see the video you took. Later.”

Something in the way he said it—not a demand, not quite a request—made Alfred’s grin a little wider. He wasn’t sure if Ivan was trying to verify his claims or if he was genuinely curious, but either way, it sounded like the man had finally decided to maybe trust him.

“Yeah,” Alfred said after a beat. “Yeah, sure. Later.”

Then nothing. Ivan’s eyes stayed locked on the road ahead, like Alfred wasn’t even sitting there. Maybe he was deep in thought. Or maybe he just didn’t feel like talking. Alfred hoped it was the first one, because the silence was already driving him nuts.

Ivan, as if he’d picked up on Alfred’s restless silence, asked, “Could you get your phone out and look for a good route?”

Alfred jolted a little, then fumbled for his phone. The screen lit up with a flood of missed calls and texts from his parents. His stomach dropped.

“Shit,” he muttered.

“What is it?” Ivan asked, his voice tight with concern.

“It’s… uh, I was supposed to be at my parents’ place today.” Alfred tried to laugh it off, though it came out thin. “Clearly that didn’t work out.”

He thumbed out the first excuse that came to mind, a quick text to Francis and Arthur: Flight delayed. Stupid storms right? Talk in a bit. His chest tightened as he hit send, but he forced a grin anyway.

“Do you need to—” Ivan started.

“It’s all good. All figured out!” Alfred cut him off, too quickly, and pulled up Google Maps. He zoomed in on their general area, skimming. A small town in a scrubby valley northwest caught his eye. He shoved the screen toward Ivan with a forced brightness. “How about here? It’s only a couple hours.”

Ivan frowned, not at the phone but at Alfred, before finally saying, “That route has us taking I-70.”

“And?” Alfred asked, eyebrows up.

Ivan sighed like the weight of the world had landed in his lap. He raked a hand through his pale hair, stalling for words. “I think…for now, backroads are better. We don’t know how close the lizards are. The more remote, the safer.”

“But that adds another two hours to the drive,” Alfred whined, already sensing the impending boredom. “We’re not even on I-70 for long.”

Ivan’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I’m the one driving,” he said flatly. “So it is my decision.”

The tone was firmer than Alfred expected, and he shrank back against the seat. For a beat, the air in the car felt too close. He bit the inside of his cheek, annoyance simmering under the surface, but forced a half-grin anyway.

“Guess I’ll just sit here and enjoy my chemical snacks while we crawl through the boonies,” he muttered, grabbing a chip bag and tossing the Pringles toward the floor.

Ivan didn’t respond, only turned the key in the ignition. The engine coughed before settling into a low rumble that filled the tight silence between them. The car lurched forward, gravel crunching under the tires as they pulled away.

Alfred slouched against the window, jaw tight. He hated being shut down like that—it made him feel like a kid being told off. Still, as the gas station lights shrank in the rearview mirror and the dark outline of the mountains rose higher ahead, he felt a quiet weight ease off his chest. Each mile carried them farther from Denver, farther from the chaos, farther from the man at the counter who had stared at him like he’d done something wrong just by existing.

Annoyed or not, Alfred was grateful for the distance.

•~ • ~ •

Alfred made it about an hour and a half before the boredom got to him. He’d tried—really tried—not to pester Ivan, figuring the guy clearly wanted space. But Alfred wasn’t built for quiet. His leg bounced against the floorboard without him noticing, fingers drumming a restless beat against his thigh.

The car’s steady hum carried them forward, the world outside washed in the warm, fading light of sunset. Long shadows stretched across the road, the foothills behind them bathed in gold while the looming mountains to the west darkened to deep blue. It was beautiful in that postcard kind of way, but Alfred could only stare at it for so long before his mind started clawing for something, anything, to do.

He checked his phone for the tenth time, glaring at the dead service bar like that would magically fix it. No dice. The glow of the screen felt almost rude against the dusky colors outside, like it was reminding him of how cut off they really were.

Meanwhile, Ivan looked perfectly at home in the stillness, hands steady on the wheel, gaze fixed forward like nothing else existed. Alfred shifted in his seat, restless, feeling like his brain was running laps and tripping over itself.

He tried folding his hands in his lap, the way he used to when he had to sit still in school, but it didn’t help much. The steady breeze rushing in through the broken fucking windshield made it impossible to ignore how trapped he felt, air slapping his face every few seconds like the world reminding him to squirm.

His eyes flicked to the radio, the only noise competing with the wind. Some generic pop song played low, the kind of repetitive chorus that sounded like it was designed to bore people to death. Alfred lasted all of thirty seconds before his fingers twitched and he reached over, fiddling with the dial just to do something.

It was inevitable that he was the one to break the stillness.

“This music sucks,” Alfred blurted, twisting the dial like he was trying to crack a safe. Static, country, a garbled Spanish commercial, more static. “Seriously? Does Denver not have any good classic rock? I don’t want to listen to—what even is this? Benson Boone?”

Ivan glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, face unreadable. It was the kind of look that felt like judgment, though he didn’t say a word.

“There’s no service, so I can’t even use my phone!” Alfred kept going, more out of habit than anything. His voice bounced off the cramped interior, filling the space that Ivan seemed so comfortable with.

Without a word, Ivan reached over, and turned the dial a few times. It was almost lazy how quick and precise he was. Then suddenly, there it was. A steady, clear station. Old rock. Something guitar-heavy and familiar, the kind of sound Alfred had been begging for.

Alfred’s ears burned. He huffed and flopped back into his seat, muttering, “This car just hates me.”

Ivan’s mouth twitched, the barest ghost of a smile. Alfred caught it, and for a second he didn’t know if it made him more annoyed…or weirdly relieved.

Alfred perked up almost immediately when the opening chords came through the speakers. He knew this one. The Kinks. Mindless Child of Motherhood. Arthur had played their records to death when Alfred was a kid, the kind of constant background noise you didn’t think you’d ever care about—until it stuck. Somewhere along the way, it had rubbed off on him.

The chorus drifted in, low and raw: “How long must I travel on, to be just where you are? How long must I travel on, to be just where you are?”

Alfred found himself mouthing the words before he even realized it, head tilting back against the seat. For the first time all day, something settled in his chest.

“You like this one,” Ivan said suddenly, his voice cutting through the guitar.

Alfred blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, yeah. My—” He paused, then shrugged. “My Dad, he's obsessed with The Kinks. Played ‘em all the time. Kind of drilled it into my head whether I wanted it or not.” He grinned faintly. “Guess it worked. They’re pretty good.”

Ivan just gave a small nod, eyes still on the road.

But Alfred, once started, didn’t stop. “It’s kind of funny, though. He’s all stiff and proper, right? Like…’I drink tea with my pinky up’ proper. But the guy loves a good guitar riff. One time, he tried to get me and my brother into some British punk band—uh, The Clash maybe?—and, I mean, he looked ridiculous, yelling about rebellion while ironing his dress shirt.”

No response. Alfred kept going anyway, talking felt better than silence. “I think it’s just…music, you know? Doesn’t matter if you’re uptight or not, it kind of leaks in. Gets to you. Reminds you of people.” His voice dipped as he added, “Guess I didn’t realize how much until now.”

He fell quiet for a moment, staring out at the endless stretch of road, until a sign broke through the monotony: Medicine Bow Curve – Scenic Viewpoint Ahead.

Alfred leaned forward, jabbing a finger at it. “Hey, can we stop there for a bit? Stretch our legs? Looks like it might be a cool view.”

Ivan glanced at him, eyes flicking from the sign back to the road. For a long second, he said nothing, the silence dragging just enough to make Alfred wonder if he’d been stupid to even ask.

Finally, Ivan sighed, the sound heavy, reluctant. “If you really want to. But make it fast.”

Alfred grinned, maybe a little too quick, covering for the sting of that flat delivery. “Yeah, sure. Five minutes. Promise.”

Ivan didn’t answer, just kept driving, hands tight on the wheel. Alfred leaned back into his seat, chewing the inside of his cheek. He couldn’t tell if Ivan actually minded the stop, or if this was just how the guy sounded all the time. Like everything was a burden he’d decided to carry alone. Either way, Alfred told himself not to care.

Still, he caught himself watching Ivan from the corner of his eye, half-expecting him to change his mind before they even got there.

The view had been gorgeous the whole drive—rolling hills stretching into the distance, snow-capped peaks flashing white under the fading sun, and endless forests of evergreens that seemed to swallow the road whole. But even that couldn’t compare to what spread out before them now.

Ivan guided the car down a narrow turnoff, gravel crunching beneath the tires as the road led into a small overlook lot. A low stone wall marked the edge, and a handful of tourists clustered there, phones raised, cameras clicking, voices low with awe.

The moment the car stopped, Alfred shoved his door open and nearly bounded out, his legs aching for movement. He swore he heard Ivan sigh behind him, that soft, world-weary kind of exhale, but Alfred didn’t care. For once, there wasn’t danger breathing down his neck. He just wanted to see.

And God, it was worth it.

The mountains rolled out in endless waves, layers upon layers fading into soft blue as they reached the horizon. The valley below was bathed in gold, the sunset pouring over it like molten light. Snow patches gleamed bright against the dark pines, catching fire where the rays touched. The sky itself was a painting—rich streaks of orange and crimson bleeding into violet at the edges, thin clouds glowing soft pink as if they’d been lit from within.

Alfred leaned forward on the wall, his grin wide, chest buzzing with something that felt dangerously close to joy. It had been a long day. A terrifying day. But right now? Right now, staring out at all this, it almost felt worth it.

Behind him, Alfred heard Ivan’s shoes crunch against the gravel, slow and deliberate, like the man was dragging himself forward against his will. When Alfred glanced back, he caught the stiff set of Ivan’s shoulders, the way his hands flexed at his sides before tucking firmly back into his coat pockets. He looked less like someone taking in the scenery and more like someone standing guard.

“Oh, c’mon,” Alfred said, rolling his eyes with a grin. “Don’t just stand back there looking like you’re about to be attacked or something.” He waved him closer, and when Ivan didn’t budge, Alfred reached out and—without thinking—grabbed his sleeve, tugging him toward the wall.

Ivan resisted at first, his weight heavy and unmoving, but Alfred was persistent. “Seriously, man, just look.”

Finally, Ivan let himself be pulled to the edge. He paused there, shoulders rigid, jaw tight. But when his gaze finally lifted out over the valley, something in his posture shifted. The tension didn’t vanish entirely, but it softened, like some unseen knot loosening just a little. His eyes lingered on the golden sweep of the sunset, the glow turning the snowfields into burning silver.

Alfred caught it, the way Ivan’s expression changed, just for a moment, and couldn’t help but grin wider. “See?” he said, smug but gentle. “Told you this would be worth it.”

Ivan’s cheeks colored faintly in the warm light. He ducked his head, burying half his face into the scarf wound tight around his neck, as if the wool might hide him.

Alfred pulled out his phone and started snapping photos, angling to catch the whole spread of the valley, the sky painted like fire above it. “I have to show Artie this later. He’ll lose his mind.”

Ivan lingered only a little longer, his gaze flicking from the horizon back to Alfred with something unreadable in his eyes. Then he shifted back, clearing his throat softly. “We should go,” he said, quiet but firm.

Alfred barely noticed until Ivan stepped in closer, herding him gently but insistently away from the wall. He threw one last longing look at the sunset, sighed, and slipped his phone back into his pocket.

“Fine, fine,” Alfred muttered, though there was still a little smile tugging at his lips.

Ivan didn’t answer, only guided him back toward the car with a nervous stiffness Alfred couldn’t quite place.

“Dude! Wasn’t that amazing?!” Alfred burst out as soon as he slid back into the car, still buzzing with leftover energy. Ivan was already backing them out of the parking spot, movements neat and deliberate.

Ivan gave a small nod. “Yes. It was… quite pretty.”

“Absolutely worth it,” Alfred said, leaning back in his seat, still grinning. “Man, I needed that after today.”

Ivan glanced at him briefly before turning back to the road. “How far are we from the town?”

Alfred blinked at the sudden shift in topic, then checked his phone. “Uh… about an hour, give or take.”

Ivan hummed lowly, hands steady on the wheel. “Then I’d like to reach it before dark.”

“Why?” Alfred asked, more curious than argumentative.

“Easier to defend ourselves if need be,” Ivan replied simply, like it was just common sense.

The words landed heavier than Alfred expected. His grin slipped, mood dropping like a stone. He’d been trying so hard not to think about the lizards. Monsters was the better word. Those things didn’t deserve to share a name with anything living. The memory of their grotesque forms surged up unbidden: mottled, leathery skin stretched too tight over bodies that moved in jerks and snaps, jaws filled with teeth meant for tearing, eyes that glittered with something too empty to be animal. Just the thought of being chased again made Alfred’s stomach knot and his skin prickle with cold, phantom sweat. He pulled his sweatshirt tighter around himself, trying to force down the shiver crawling up his spine.

Ivan didn’t seem to notice Alfred’s shift in mood, or if he did, he gave no sign. His eyes stayed locked on the road.

The car curved south, and the setting sun blazed directly through Alfred’s window, flooding his side of the car with harsh light. The cool wind from the broken windshield funneled in, prickling his skin until goosebumps rose along his legs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

He didn’t bother asking Ivan to turn on the heat. The guy looked perfectly fine wrapped in his scarf and coat, like the cold barely touched him. God, I wish I was somewhere warm.

Alfred turned toward the window, letting the glare wash over him. It wasn’t so bad once his eyes adjusted. The sky stretched wide and endless, painted in hazy pinks and deep oranges, the clouds piled high like spun sugar in every shade of cotton candy. They were winding down a mountain now, giving him a sweeping view of the valley below: rolling forests of evergreens that stretched for miles, broken here and there by pockets of grassland glowing gold in the last light.

But a gorgeous view could only do so much. As Alfred stared out over the sweeping mountains and valleys, all it did was remind him of what wasn’t there. He longed for the familiar. The patchwork of flat farmland, the tidewaters curling through the Chesapeake, the clusters of old deciduous trees that turned fire-red every fall.

Here, surrounded by all this vastness, he felt strangely small. Isolated. And maybe it was worse knowing he wasn’t alone—that someone was right there beside him, close enough to touch, yet still a complete stranger.

Alfred sighed, letting his forehead rest against the cool glass of the window. Moping wasn’t going to help. They’d reach the town soon enough, and with any luck, that’s where a real plan would finally come together.

•~ • ~ •

The hour dragged, every minute stretching longer than it had any right to. Alfred was no stranger to bad drives—he’d perfected the art of napping through Arthur and Francis’ endless bickering about the best way to avoid D.C. traffic—but sleep wasn’t happening this time. Not with Ivan silently navigating the endless mountain valleys, his eyes fixed on the road.

By now dusk had given way to night, and the world outside had dissolved into dark, yawning stretches of wilderness. The last smear of sunlight clung to the horizon, but it wasn’t enough to soften how empty everything felt. Civilization appeared only in flickers—an occasional cabin, a scattering of headlights that seared Alfred’s vision before vanishing again.

When they passed a wide lake ringed by glowing houses, Alfred caught the name off a roadside sign. Lake Granby.

 “Must be close,” he muttered, more to fill the silence than anything.

Ivan’s voice came unexpectedly, making Alfred jump a little. “We’ll find a place to sleep. Maybe food. It’s only seven, so places should still be open.”

Alfred blinked at him, surprised Ivan had bothered to respond at all. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

A small smile tugged at Alfred’s mouth. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

The town rose up almost suddenly, breaking out of the dry grassland as though it had been waiting for them all along. Granby looked small at first glance, its cluster of lights gathered where US-34 met US-40. But the sign for a county airport less than a mile east suggested it wasn’t quite as tiny as it seemed.

“I think the main town’s gonna be to the left,” Alfred said, peering at the glow ahead. “Or at least that’s what Google Maps thinks. Forty west looks like it heads straight into the mountains. East does too, but with, y’know, more town before you hit them.”

Ivan nodded once, hands steady on the wheel. “That seems right.” He didn’t elaborate, just guided the car smoothly onto 40, headlights sweeping over the asphalt.

Alfred frowned. Okay, screw this. I’m starting a conversation.

“I didn’t realize how fast the trees would thin out once we hit the valley,” he said, leaning forward a little. “It’s…pretty dry out here between the mountains.”

Ivan glanced over briefly, then shook his head in quiet agreement. “It’s very open.”

Alfred looked back out the window. With the trees gone, the sky stretched wide and endless — a deep black pool with stars scattered and caught in its depths.

“Can see more stars here than back home,” Alfred muttered, mostly to himself.

“Where’s that?” Ivan asked. His tone was careful, almost stiff, like he wasn’t sure if the question was worth asking.

Alfred perked up, turning toward him with a smile. He was actually talking to him — thank god. “Maryland. You ever heard of Annapolis? I live right outside there.”

Ivan gave a small nod. “I have. Supposed to be a nice area.”

Alfred’s grin widened at the mention of home, and because the conversation was actually happening. “Yeah, it’s great. Right near the Chesapeake, close to D.C. And Baltimore’s not far either, so I can catch Raven’s games all the time.”

Ivan’s mouth twitched downward, like he wasn’t sure how to respond. “I don’t follow much about football. Are the…Ravens your favorite team?”

“Hell yeah!” Alfred said, fist punching the air. “Lamar’s winning MVP this year, no doubt. And we’re taking the Superbowl. What about you? What team do you root for? Better not be the Steelers.”

Ivan just repeated flatly, “Like I said, I don’t follow it.”

“Come on, dude,” Alfred pressed, leaning forward in his seat. “You’ve gotta at least root for your local team.”

“I don’t think Sacramento has a team,” Ivan replied flatly.

Alfred blinked, then broke into a grin. “Wait—you live in Cali? That’s so cool! I’m at UCLA, so we were like…what, a couple hours away from each other?”

Ivan gave the smallest shrug. “I guess.”

Alfred could almost hear the conversation sputtering out. He drummed his fingers against his knee, unwilling to let it die completely. “Well, then you should at least cheer for the Niners. Come on, man, they’re pretty good.”

Ivan’s eyes stayed on the road. He muttered, almost to himself, “Football isn’t really…my thing.”

Alfred leaned back, deflating a little. “…Right. Guess not.”

Alfred went back to staring out the window. The night sky was acknowledging him more than Ivan was. Prick.

Okay, maybe that was a little harsh, but what else was he supposed to think? They weren’t exactly in the best scenario here. Alfred had figured some kind of kinship would’ve sprung up by now. Survival buddies, or something like that. Instead, it felt like he was dragging conversation through the mud.

A train passed in the distance, its horn cutting through the quiet with a ghostly wail. Alfred shivered, telling himself it was just the chill of the draft sneaking through the windshield. Not the time for creepy things.

Granby appeared almost without warning, tucked into the wide valley like it had been dropped there and left alone. It wasn’t much, just a thin strip of town running along the highway. A few squat buildings with glowing signs, a diner or two, a gas station, a hardware store, and a couple of motels that looked more tired than welcoming. Parking lots and neon lights pushed out what little grass had managed to cling on this far into the town.

There were side streets branching off into the rest of the town, hints of neighborhoods and maybe a few more shops further in. But this wasn’t the time to explore. All they needed was a bed and four walls to get them through the night.

Alfred let his eyes wander over the storefronts that lined the street. An Ace Hardware, an O’Reilly’s, a Dollar General. The kind of chain places you could find anywhere, nothing that screamed “stay here.”

With a sigh, he pulled out his phone, scrolling around until something popped up.

“How about the Trail Riders Motel?” he asked, glancing at Ivan.

Just as Alfred finished speaking, the motel sign appeared on the left. A cartoon cowboy reared back on a painted horse, the word MOTEL stamped bold beside him, with a smaller sign underneath promising Wi-Fi.

“I think it’ll do,” Ivan said, already easing into the turning lane. “Not like we’ve got many other options.”

The motel was small, its white paint dulled from sun and weather, the red trim around the windows and doors standing out like an old postcard trying to stay cheerful. Flower pots sat neatly along the porches outside each room, a little too carefully arranged, as if someone was trying hard to make the place feel welcoming. The parking lot was nearly empty; just an old pickup and a pair of SUVs parked off to the side.

Ivan pulled into a spot near the exit, leaving the car angled so nothing stood in the way if they needed to get back on the road fast.

Paranoid, Alfred thought. But the longer he sat with it, the more he found himself oddly relieved. At least Ivan was ready, in case things went south.

Alfred grabbed for the handle, eager to finally feel some kind of safety, but the door clicked uselessly under his hand. Locked.

“Dude, open the door. It’s freezing in here,” he complained, shooting Ivan a look.

Ivan shook his head. “I’ll go in. You wait here.”

Alfred blinked. “What? Why?”

Ivan hesitated, eyes still on the building instead of Alfred. “I should have thought of this sooner. The lizards likely know your face better than mine. It’s safer if you stay out of sight—at least until we’re past Colorado.”

Alfred sat back against the seat, frowning. “That’s a stretch, man. We’re in the middle of nowhere. What, you think they’ve got scouts hanging around an old motel?”

Ivan didn’t answer right away, just unbuckled his seat belt. “It’s better this way.”

“Dude, come on, what the hell—”

Alfred’s words were cut off by the sharp thunk of the driver’s side door slamming shut, maybe harder than it needed to be.

“Dude, come on, what the hell—”

Alfred’s protest was cut short by the car door slamming shut, harder than it needed to be. He immediately flipped Ivan off through the glass, because seriously, what the fuck? No reason to go full dramatic exit.

Ivan didn’t even glance back, just kept walking toward the motel.

Alfred sat fuming, fingers still twitching on the handle like he might just get out anyway. He wanted to storm in after him, make a point of not caring who saw. But as his irritation cooled, Ivan’s reasoning crept back in. Damn it, the guy wasn’t wrong. Not enough to justify being a total asshole about it, but still. A tiny part of Alfred could see where he was coming from.

Alfred slumped back in his seat, staring through the cracked windshield. He wished it wasn’t broken. The night air slipped in easily, threading cold fingers through his sweatshirt until the chill sank into his skin.

The quiet inside the car was suffocating. No hum of the engine, no radio, not even the soft tick of cooling metal. Just stillness, so thick it pressed on his ears.

He turned toward the passenger window. The parking lot stretched out dim and uneven, shadows pooling in the corners where the porch lights didn’t quite reach. A handful of bulbs flickered weakly above the rooms, but most of the motel seemed swallowed in darkness.

Alfred shifted in his seat, pulling his sweatshirt tighter around himself. The porch lights didn’t do much. Their glow seemed to stop just short of the parking lot, leaving the corners swallowed in dark. His eyes kept flicking there anyway, scanning for movement.

The longer he stared, the more the shadows seemed to shift. A crooked shape near the truck bed looked like it had too many limbs. A patch of darkness by the flower pots stretched and swayed as if something crouched low to the ground. His brain unhelpfully filled in the blanks. Scales glinting in the dark, slit-pupiled eyes catching the light, the faint scrape of claws against asphalt.

He rubbed at his arms, trying to shake it off. Just shadows. Just my stupid imagination. Ivan’ll be back any second.

But Ivan wasn’t back. And every second of silence outside made Alfred’s chest tighten a little more, like the night itself was waiting for him to let his guard down.

This is stupid. There’s nothing out there, Alfred thought to himself, dragging a hand down his face. He fumbled for his phone, thinking maybe scrolling would help, but the glow only made the dark around him seem thicker, pressing closer. The shadows looked darker when he set the screen down again.

His knee bounced restlessly. Sitting still was making it worse. If he just stepped outside, stretched his legs and walked a little, it’d be fine. Nobody was going to notice him in the dark. And honestly? Ivan probably wouldn’t even care.

Alfred reached for the door handle and hesitated, his fingers hovering just a second too long before he finally pulled it open. The night air rushed in sharp and cold, and he stepped out, half-expecting the usual relief that came after being cooped up in a car for hours. But it didn’t come. The unease clung stubbornly to his chest, heavy and crawling, like eyes were on him.

He drifted a little farther from the car, pacing the cracked asphalt of the lot. Each breath left in a pale fog that curled upward before vanishing into the dark. He rubbed his hands briskly along his arms, trying to chase the chill away, though he knew it wasn’t just the cold needling at him.

Alfred forced himself to focus on the motel instead. It looked decent enough—white paint, neat trim, flower pots under the porch lights. Nothing about it screamed moldy death-trap, and at this point, that was probably as good as it got.

He kept pacing, arms tucked close against the cold, debating if he should just crawl back into the car and wait. That was when a sharp noise cut through the stillness, something clattering against the pavement. Alfred jerked upright, heart leaping into his throat, eyes snapping toward the shadows where the sound had come from.

Next to the old truck, a man was crouched low, gathering something from the ground. Alfred blinked—he could’ve sworn no one had been there a second ago. The man straightened, a rifle clutched in one hand, and offered Alfred a smile that made his stomach twist.

“Sorry for the noise!” the stranger called, his voice a little too cheery, a little too sharp around the edges. He tapped the rifle’s stock with his palm. “This thing here just doesn’t like me.”

Alfred forced a nod, stretching his mouth into what he hoped passed for a polite smile. But it probably looked more like he was about to be sick. Something about the guy’s grin wasn’t right. The porch light caught his face just enough to show a mouth with gaps where teeth should’ve been. The ones left behind looked too long, too pointed, as if they didn’t belong in a human jaw at all.

You’re being paranoid. He’s probably just an old man.

“It’s fine,” Alfred managed to stammer, his voice thinner than he wanted. “Just startled me is all.”

“Fair.” The man grunted as he straightened up, the rifle balanced casually in his hand. “This thing here’s pretty old. Needs fixing more often than not. And, well… it can get a little messy.”

Alfred forced another nod. “Don’t know much about rifles, but… I bet it’s a pain.”

The man chuckled, a sound too low and drawn out, almost like he was savoring it. “Hah, you got that damn right. Been hunting with this one nigh on twenty years. Mean old thing’s been a pain since the day I brought it home.”

His words were harmless enough, but something in the way he smiled made Alfred’s skin crawl.

“Is it hunting season right now?” Alfred asked, aiming for friendly, though it came out stilted.

The man nodded, shifting the rifle in his grip. “Rifle season just started. Going for elk. Good meat, leaner than you’d think. Some buddies of mine are chasing moose and bear, though. Mostly for the antlers and pelts. Can’t blame ’em—good fur like that’ll keep you through a hard winter.”

He took a step closer, boots scraping against the gravel. His smile hadn’t left, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not like the cheap coats you find in the cities nowadays. All that fake stuff. Makes people soft. They forget where real food and warmth comes from.”

Alfred gave a small laugh that sounded wrong even to his own ears. “Guess so.”

The man nodded slowly, eyes fixed on him in a way that made Alfred feel like a deer in the crosshairs. “People don’t understand anymore. Don’t know what it’s like to take something from the land and have it keep you alive. They just… sit in their houses and expect things to come to them.”

He took another step, close enough now that Alfred could make out the yellowed edges of his teeth. Just the light, he told himself. Just the light.

“But you get it, don’t you?” the man said, voice almost too smooth. “Young man like you. You seem like the type who’d wanna hunt.”

Alfred forced a shrug, trying not to step back. “Not really my thing.”

“Oh, come on. It’s fun.” The man chuckled, though it sounded flat. He tilted his head, the porch light catching in his eyes, a faint red glint flashing there. Just the light, Alfred told himself again. “Tell you what. You join me and my buddies tomorrow. We’ll show you the ropes. I’m sure whoever you’re traveling with wouldn’t mind. Hell, bring him along. The more the merrier.”

Alfred shook his head quickly. “Nah, we’re… we’re busy. Got plans.”

The man’s smile thinned, but he didn’t step back. If anything, he leaned closer. “Plans.” He rolled the word around like it amused him. “Shame. A strong kid like you, you’d last longer than most.”

Alfred blinked, his stomach tightening. “Last…?”

“In the cold,” the man said smoothly, too smoothly. “Out there, it’s survival. Not everyone makes it. But you… I think you’d make it.”

The look in his eyes said he wasn’t talking about elk anymore.

“I… I don’t think we’re understanding each other here,” Alfred stammered, forcing a shaky laugh as he took a step back toward the car. His legs felt stiff, heavy, like moving through mud.

The man followed, his boots dragging against the gravel with a sound that seemed too drawn-out, too deliberate. “Oh, I think we understand each other just fine,” he said, his grin stretching just a little too wide, teeth catching the light in a way that made Alfred’s stomach churn. His eyes reflected the porch glow strangely, the faint red glint deepening, spreading like coals in ash.

Alfred swallowed hard. “Right. Well… good luck with your hunt.” He tried to sidestep, edging closer to the car door.

The man chuckled, a dry, rattling sound that scraped the air like dead leaves dragged across asphalt. “Who says I haven’t already found what I’m looking for?”

Alfred’s stomach dropped. His hand found the door handle, the metal shockingly cold, but the lock wouldn’t budge. His pulse roared in his ears. He tried to swallow, but his throat felt lined with sand.

The man stepped closer, too close, his breath sour with rot. In the faint porch light, his jaw seemed to twitch. Not a normal twitch, but something under the skin, something shifting, pressing against bone as though it wanted out. “You’d be quick,” he said, voice low and almost pleased. “Strong legs. Good lungs. You’d make it last. That’s what makes it fun.”

Alfred froze. His whole body was screaming to run, but his legs felt like anchors. He tugged on the car handle again, harder this time. Nothing. The sound of metal rattling in the quiet lot echoed far too loud, and the man’s smile only widened, teeth catching the light in a way that seemed wrong.

A beat of silence stretched. Alfred could hear his own breathing—short, ragged gasps, white puffs spilling into the air. The man tilted his head, slow as a predator, eyes catching a faint red gleam. Just the light. Had to be.

“Go on,” the man drawled, the corners of his mouth twitching upward, too wide. “See how far you get.”

Time stretched thin. Alfred could hear the rush of blood in his ears, each shallow breath pounding against his chest like a drum. The shadows around the truck pressed in too heavy, as if the dark itself carried weight. Every nerve screamed at him to run, but his legs quivered, locked in place, trembling under him and threatening to give way.

He forced down the rising panic, swallowing hard, and managed to bark out, “Listen, dickhead, I don’t know what the hell you’re saying. So how about we just cool it, ‘k?” His voice came out sharper than he meant, but it shook all the same.

The man’s grin widened, slow and deliberate, his teeth catching the yellow glow of the porch light in a way that made Alfred’s stomach lurch. “Oh, I think you know exactly what I am,” he said, drawing out the words like they were meant to sting. His gaze locked on Alfred, pupils rippling wrong—shifting, like something else was watching from inside. “Don’t you, Alfred?”

Alfred froze, his blood going ice-cold. The way the man stretched out his name—drawn, distorted, like it belonged to someone else’s mouth—twisted in his gut.

“How the fuck do you—” he started, voice cracking.

And then, the creak of hinges split the air. The rickety motel door opened behind him, the sudden sound slicing through the suffocating silence.

Alfred whipped his head toward the noise, his breath catching until relief came rushing in. Ivan stood framed in the doorway, phone in hand, brow furrowed as he scrolled. Completely unaware.

Alfred didn’t waste a second. He bolted forward, refusing to glance back at the man by the truck, terrified of what he might see if he did. His sneakers slapped the pavement, his chest heaving as he closed the distance and all but slammed into Ivan, shoving him hard back inside the motel.

Ivan stumbled, nearly dropping his phone, his expression snapping from bewilderment to irritation in an instant. “What are you—”

“Shut up!” Alfred hissed, grabbing his arm with both hands and dragging him further inside, past the entryway and behind the plaster wall that led to the string of guest rooms. His heart pounded so hard he thought it might break through his ribs.

Ivan bristled, yanking against Alfred’s grip, his voice low but sharp. “What is wrong with you?”

Alfred pressed his back against the wall, chest rising and falling in frantic bursts, eyes darting to the door as if at any moment the man might come striding through. “He—there was—” Alfred’s voice cracked, words tangling on his tongue. He tried again, but all he managed was a frantic shake of his head.

Ivan leaned toward the nearest window, pulling the curtain aside just enough to peer out. He didn’t look at Alfred when he spoke, his voice low and edged with restrained annoyance. “Did you see something? Was there someone out there?”

There was something under the flatness of his tone, just enough to betray a sliver of unease.

Alfred nodded so hard his head hurt. “Yeah. There’s someone out there. A man—he—he seemed fine at first. Kinda kooky, like, you know, weird in the head. Then he started saying things.” His words tumbled out, breathless. He could feel his pulse hammering in his throat.

Ivan tugged the curtain a little wider, his broad shoulder blocking most of the view. The motel light spilled across cracked asphalt, catching the dull shine of three parked cars. Ivan’s voice came out flat when he finally spoke: “I don’t see anyone.” But Alfred heard the careful edge in it. Not dismissive, more like someone forcing calm when they weren’t sure of the truth themselves.

“He was by the old truck, with a rifle. He—” Alfred swallowed hard, trying to pull himself together. “He knew my name. He kept saying it like it meant something. He…he looked at me like he knew who I was.”

Ivan’s jaw ticked, just once. Then he said, short and sharp, “Show me.”

Alfred didn’t hesitate. He shoved past the door, the cold night air biting his cheeks and hands. The quiet out here was worse, The buzzing motel lights, the stillness pressing down on him, the sky like a heavy black ceiling. Gravel crunched too loudly under his sneakers as he hurried across the lot.

Ivan followed slower, steady as always, but Alfred felt the weight of his presence behind him. He wanted Ivan to walk faster, to show even half the panic racing through his veins. Instead, Ivan’s quiet steps only made Alfred more conscious of his own shaking hands, his too-fast breath.

They reached the truck together, and Alfred’s stomach dropped.

It was wrong. The man had been standing here—he’d waved, for Christ’s sake—but now the truck looked like it had been rotting for years. Rust ate through the wheel wells, paint flaked off in long strips, and the windshield was so thick with dust it looked frosted. Spiderwebs clung to the grille. The tires sagged in on themselves. It was the kind of vehicle you saw abandoned out in fields, not in use. Not something that had just held a living, breathing man seconds ago.

“See?” Alfred’s voice cracked, his hand fumbling for the door handle. “He was—he was right there. He had his stuff right there.” His finger jabbed toward the empty ground beside the wheel. “Bags, a rifle. He was talking to me.”

Ivan crouched, brushing his hand across the tailgate. Alfred caught the faint scrape of nail on grit, then saw him peel something off—a smear that glinted oddly under the motel light.

Alfred’s stomach lurched. “What is that?”

Ivan didn’t answer right away. He held his fingers just long enough for Alfred to see the faint, greenish shine before wiping them against the asphalt. “Not rust,” he muttered, voice clipped. 

Ivan turned toward him, his expression shadowed under the weak porch light. “Are you sure someone was out here?”

The question landed like a drop of ice down Alfred’s spine. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected—I don’t see anything, maybe, or you’re tired, imagining things—but not that tone. Careful and controlled. Like Ivan already knew something was wrong.

“Of course I’m sure!” Alfred snapped, his voice cracking halfway through. His chest rose and fell too fast, and he pointed toward the truck, toward the empty patch of dirt beside it. “He—he knew my name. He said things. He was right fucking here!”

The words echoed sharper than he meant them to, bouncing off the motel walls and into the cold air. For a second, even Alfred hated how desperate he sounded. But the hush that followed—too still, too aware—made him almost wish Ivan would tell him he was imagining it.

Desperate to prove it, Alfred darted around to the cab. He cupped his hands against the dusty glass, squinting inside. Nothing. Just a cracked vinyl bench, a seat cover gnawed at by moths, and an old bottle crusted white with salt. The glovebox dangled open like a broken jaw, and a single dead moth clung stubbornly to the hinge.

“It’s like…like he was never here,” Alfred whispered, his voice small against the hum of the motel lights.

He turned back, searching Ivan’s face for something—anger, mockery, anything—but Ivan only stood there with that same unreadable stillness. Only his eyes betrayed him, faintly narrowed, scanning the ground and shadows like he was looking for something he couldn’t quite name. Alfred realized with a sick twist in his gut that Ivan was worried too. He was just better at burying it.

Alfred’s chest felt tight. He hated the way the night pressed in, hated the buzzing of the light, hated that truck with its hollow cab and empty bed. Every part of him screamed this was wrong. He dragged his eyes back to Ivan, who finally said, low enough that it was almost lost to the wind:

“We shouldn’t stay here.”

A sharp gust rattled the Motel sign above them. Gravely dust scraped against Alfred’s ankles. He wanted to argue, to crack a joke, anything to beat down the rising panic in his throat. But all that came out was a hoarse, “Okay.”

Ivan placed a hand on the rusted car door as if to steady it, steady himself, and the simple gesture pulled Alfred back just enough to move. His fingers curled into his own pockets, hiding the tremor, and he followed Ivan across the lot. Each step crunched on the gravel, too loud, like they were being listened to.

Behind them, the rusted truck sat in perfect stillness. No movement, no sound, just the heavy quiet of something holding its breath. The longer Alfred stared, the more it felt wrong, like the truck wasn’t abandoned at all but pretending. A carcass waiting for the right moment to remember it used to be alive.

Alfred tore his gaze away from the truck. The sooner they left, the better. Maybe then he could pretend this whole thing hadn’t happened. File it away as exhaustion, nerves, anything but what it really felt like.

The sharp click of the car unlocking broke him out of his thoughts, startling him more than it should have. Would’ve been nice a few minutes ago, he thought bitterly, a shaky laugh slipping out before he could stop it.

He climbed inside and shut the door fast, the sound echoing too loud in the stillness. His hand lingered on the handle, gripping it tight, like if he held it long enough, nothing outside could pull it open.

Ivan sat motionless in the driver’s seat, eyes fixed on his phone. The bluish glow lit his face in a way that made him look distant. It struck Alfred as strange; in the short time they’d known each other, Ivan had barely touched the thing.

Alfred, desperate to think about anything other than the empty lot behind them—and never great at reading the room anyway—leaned a little closer, craning his neck toward the screen. “Whatcha doin’?” he asked, trying for casual but landing somewhere closer to uneasy curiosity.

Ivan flinched slightly, as if he’d just remembered Alfred was there. His shoulders stiffened before he lowered the phone, thumb hovering over the screen for a second too long.

“Oh. I was just…” He cleared his throat, gaze dropping back to the dim glow of the display. “My sister messaged me. She wanted to know when I’ll arrive.”

Alfred nodded, watching him fumble with the phone. “Oh. Yeah? That’s nice of her, keeping tabs on you.”

Ivan hummed a vague agreement but didn’t look up. “I should call her soon,” he added, voice quieter, almost reluctant. “And I was… also looking for another town to stay in. Somewhere farther west.”

“Farther?” Alfred frowned, turning toward him. “How much you talking?”

Ivan kept his eyes on the road ahead, his tone even. “An hour. It’s only eight, so it won’t be too late when we get there.”

Alfred nodded slowly, though skepticism still pinched at his brow. “I mean, I’m all for leaving this freaky-ass town as much as you are. But, uh—where exactly are we headed?”

“Some town called Kremmling,” Ivan said simply.

Alfred blinked. “And…why there?”

Ivan finally shot him a look, one that said don’t start. “It’s close,” he replied. “One road the whole way. And we’re… out of better options.”

“Okay, okay! Chill, man,” Alfred said, raising his hands in mock surrender, though the edge in his voice betrayed his nerves. “Didn’t mean to step on your mysterious getaway plan or whatever.”

Ivan said nothing, just turned back toward the windshield and shifted the car into gear. The engine rumbled to life, the sound loud in the dark night.

Alfred watched as they turned out of the motel parking lot. His eyes lingered on the front office door, then the row of dimly lit rooms, and finally that rusted truck. Still sitting there like it had never moved, its headlights catching a dull reflection of the car’s taillights as they pulled away.

Ivan eased them back onto US-40, and for a moment, the town’s lights flared too bright—neon signs, a half-dead diner sign, the harsh glare of a gas station canopy. Then the glow receded behind them, swallowed by the dark.

The road climbed steadily west, winding through the valley. The buildings thinned, then vanished altogether, replaced by long stretches of highway hemmed in by the shadows of pines. The air outside turned colder, sharper, the kind of mountain chill that slipped through the car’s vents no matter how high the heat was turned up.

Every few miles, another roadside motel or truck stop sign would flash by. Pockets of yellow light in the sea of blue-black. Farther up, the stars began to break through the haze, pale and distant over the jagged outline of the Rockies.

Alfred leaned his head against the window, watching the reflection of passing headlights skate across the glass. His pulse had finally slowed, but the image of that empty truck still hovered behind his eyelids. He told himself it was fine now. They were gone. Whatever that had been—it stayed behind in that town.

Beside him, Ivan kept one hand on the wheel, eyes fixed on the dark stretch ahead. Neither of them spoke for a while, and the quiet felt almost peaceful for a change.

Alfred watched the last glow of the town vanish behind them, the faint orange lights swallowed by the dark curve of the valley. The hum of the tires and the soft, rhythmic turn of the road began to blur together, steady and hypnotic. His eyelids grew heavy, his thoughts drifting somewhere between the cold motel lot and the quiet hum of the car’s heater.

By the time the stars cleared fully above the ridge, Alfred’s head had tipped against the window, breath fogging the glass as he finally drifted into sleep.

•~ • ~ •

The jolt of the car hitting a rough patch in the road pulled Alfred half out of sleep, his head knocking lightly against the window. For a moment, he couldn’t tell if the vibration under him was real or part of a dream, his thoughts still heavy and slow as he blinked himself awake.

“We almost there?” Alfred mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

“You weren’t out for long,” Ivan said, eyes fixed on the dark ribbon of road ahead. “Still half an hour.”

Alfred groaned and let himself sink deeper into the seat, the window cold against his temple. “Dude, I just wanna crash already. Longest day ever.”

“You haven’t been driving,” Ivan murmured under his breath. It wasn’t meant to be heard, just something that slipped out, but the quiet hum of the car made even soft words travel.

Alfred cracked one eye open, catching the edge of Ivan’s reflection in the window. The guy’s expression was unreadable in the faint dashboard light. Focused, detached, like he was trying to think his way through the silence. Alfred couldn’t tell if it was nerves or just Ivan being… Ivan.

“Hey, you try running from lizard monsters and catching a flight from LAX,” Alfred said, half whining, half laughing. “I’m exhausted, man.”

Ivan didn’t react right away, his hands steady on the wheel. The headlights cut through the mountain dark in narrow, shifting beams, the edges of the road framed by the hilled valleys. Every few seconds, the car dipped with the uneven terrain, the suspension groaning under them.

“You talk in your sleep,” Ivan said, almost as if commenting on the weather.

Alfred blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in topic. He turned his head toward Ivan, brow furrowed. “That’s a first,” he said, leaning against the center console. “Never been told that before.”

There must’ve been something sharper in his tone than he meant, because Ivan immediately seemed to fold inward a little, his shoulders drawing tight. “I meant no offense…” he said quietly, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror instead of Alfred.

Alfred let out a quick laugh, the sound a touch too loud in the quiet car. “None taken, man! Seriously. Don’t be so tense.”

Ivan took his eyes off the road for a second, just long enough to glance at Alfred. The look wasn’t sharp or guarded—just uncertain, like he was still trying to decide whether Alfred was joking or actually irritated.

Alfred grinned at him, softening the edge. “Seriously, you’re fine. I probably just said something dumb anyway.”

That earned the faintest tug at the corner of Ivan’s mouth, gone almost as soon as it appeared. 

Not wanting the car to sink back into that heavy silence, Alfred leaned forward, a half-grin tugging at his mouth. “Well, come on, don’t leave me hanging! What’d I say? I’m kinda curious now.”

Ivan’s eyes stayed fixed on the road for a moment, his expression unreadable in the dim dashboard light. The pause stretched just long enough for Alfred to start second-guessing whether Ivan would even answer. Finally, Ivan exhaled through his nose.

“You mentioned someone named Kiku,” he said slowly, like he was double-checking his own memory. “Something about him not ending up homeless if he failed his exams.” Another pause—longer this time. “And that he should probably take a shower. Maybe do his laundry.”

Alfred blinked, trying to process that string of words. “...What?”

Ivan only shrugged, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming against the door. “You were very insistent about the laundry part.”

Alfred groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my god, I sound like my dad. Kiku’s my roommate—I guess I’m just subconsciously nagging him even in my sleep. Not that he’s innocent. He nags me right back, so we’re even.”

The corner of Ivan’s mouth twitched, like he was fighting back a smile. Alfred thought he was imagining it.

“Kinda wish I was back there right now,” Alfred admitted, his voice softer than usual—like he was almost embarrassed to say it. His breath fogged faintly against the window. “Exams beat monster encounters any day.”

Ivan gave a small nod, eyes never leaving the dark ribbon of road ahead. “Where do you go? You mentioned it before, but I missed it.”

The question shouldn’t have meant much, but it landed heavier than Alfred expected. Maybe because Ivan was still talking—actually talking—and not just shutting him down or sitting in silence like before. It felt like Ivan was offering something small, a distraction maybe. A thread to pull Alfred away from what had just happened at the motel.

He wasn’t sure if that made him grateful or annoyed. He didn’t want pity, but he also didn’t want to be alone in his head.

“UCLA,” Alfred said after a moment, the name coming out on a tired sigh. “I’d say ‘Go Bruins,’ but we suck right now.” He gave a half-hearted laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I kinda like UMD better anyway. That’s where my parents went. It’s…more home, y’know?”

Ivan hummed in acknowledgment. The headlights cut through another bend in the mountain road, the motion washing both of them in quick bursts of light and shadow. Alfred watched the flicker on Ivan’s face, wondering if he was thinking about home too—or if, for him, that word even meant anything anymore.

“Where’d you go to college?” The question slipped out before Alfred could stop it. His brain was still playing catch-up with his mouth. “Your sister’s in Boston, right? So, uh… somewhere East Coast?”

Ivan shook his head, his eyes fixed on the winding asphalt. “University of Washington.”

The answer came out quietly, but with a finality that made Alfred hesitate before replying. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected—something closer to home, maybe. Somewhere less far away and gray-sounding.

“Oh, that’s, uh—Seattle, right?” Alfred said, leaning an elbow against the window. The glass was cold against his sleeve. “Man, that’s far from Boston.”

Ivan gave a faint shrug, his shoulders moving with the rhythm of the car. “It’s not so bad. I was part time, so…” He trailed off, letting the rest of the thought fade into the hum of the tires.

Alfred nodded, chewing the inside of his cheek. He wanted to ask more—to keep the conversation alive before it slipped back into quiet—but something about Ivan’s tone made him pause. The guy wasn’t exactly talkative to begin with, and it felt like pushing too far would make him retreat again.

“University of Washington, huh? Man, I almost applied there.” Alfred smiled faintly. “Would’ve been weird if we ended up bumping into each other years ago instead of… you know, monster apocalypse edition.”

That earned him the faintest twitch of a smile from Ivan—small, fleeting, but real enough that Alfred noticed. For the first time in hours, the air in the car didn’t feel so heavy.

But Alfred noticed the faint smile waver almost as soon as it appeared. Ivan’s eyes had drifted off the road, fixed somewhere far ahead, the expression on his face tightening into thought.

“You alright? You look… I don’t know, unhappy,” Alfred asked carefully. He didn’t want to pry, but the sudden change unsettled him.

Ivan blinked, his focus snapping back to the asphalt ribbon unfolding under the headlights. “No, I’m fine. Just… a thought.”

“About what?”

A beat of quiet passed. The hum of the tires filled it.

“Maybe a plan,” Ivan said finally, his tone low, as if he wasn’t sure if he meant to say it out loud.

Alfred tilted his head but didn’t push. Whatever that thought was—it wasn’t meant for him yet. So he just leaned back in his seat again, watching the dark valleys roll by outside his window while Ivan kept driving, lost somewhere between the mountains and his own mind.

•~ • ~ •

There were almost no trees outside Kremmling, Colorado. The evergreens that had once lined the mountain roads had thinned to nothing, leaving behind a stretch of pale, open land that looked colorless under the headlights. The world outside the car seemed flat and wide, a desolate valley where the wind moved freely across the grass and the sky pressed low with clouds. Only the faint outline of the mountains in the far distance—dark silhouettes against a deeper dark—hinted that they were still there at all. It felt like they’d driven out of the world and into some forgotten pocket of it.

Ivan had been muttering under his breath for a good few minutes now, something about how he didn’t like the area. Alfred was curious as to why, but honestly, he was too tired to be worried. His thoughts were sluggish, weighed down by exhaustion and the hum of the tires on the uneven road. He just wanted food, a bed, and maybe five minutes where he didn’t have to think about anything else.

Alfred shifted in his seat, craning his neck to sneak a glance at Ivan’s phone. Maps was pulled up, a little blue line snaking toward some random inn on the edge of town. He couldn’t make out much else, but the name didn’t sound promising. Probably one of those highway motels where the vending machines don’t work and the sheets were stained and smelled faintly like bleach or someone else’s cigarettes. Still, it was somewhere to sleep, and at this point, that was enough.

The screen said five minutes to arrival, but looking out the window, Alfred couldn’t imagine there being a whole town anywhere nearby. The land outside was still flat and empty, the kind of nothingness that made it hard to tell where the ground ended and the sky began. A few faint lights blinked in the distance—streetlamps, maybe—but otherwise, Kremmling looked more like a rumor than a place.

He rested his head against the window, the cool glass numbing his forehead. Part of him wanted to start another conversation with Ivan; the last one hadn’t gone too badly, all things considered. But the guy looked locked in—focused in that quiet, brooding way that didn’t exactly invite debates revolving around Diet Coke.

Not that Alfred didn’t have a good argument ready. It’s got “Diet” right there in the name, it’s practically healthy. Matthew always said soda was his water, which Arthur didn’t find nearly as funny when it meant restocking the fridge every other day.

Still, Alfred had a feeling Ivan wouldn’t appreciate the bit. He kept his thoughts to himself and went back to watching the road instead, the stretch of blacktop unraveling ahead.

The main stretch of town was even smaller than Granby—and that hadn’t exactly been a booming metropolis either. Most of Kremmling looked asleep or abandoned, the kind of place that might not wake up again until spring. A few porch lights burned here and there, halos of weak yellow on cracked driveways. The rest was a scatter of dim storage offices, shuttered storefronts, and old gas stations with signs that hadn’t been lit in years. The streetlamps flickered unevenly, throwing narrow pools of light that only made the emptiness between them feel darker.

They drove on through the town, though there wasn’t much to look at. A few faded murals and river-themed signs hinted that the Colorado River ran somewhere nearby, but even those looked worn down by time and weather. It was the only thing remotely interesting about the place.

About a minute from their destination, a sign flickered into view, a small gas station called Kremmling Mercantile. The white letters buzzed faintly in the dark.

Alfred’s stomach growled at the sight. He doubted the inn would have much to offer this late, maybe a vending machine if they were lucky, so a gas station dinner suddenly didn’t sound so bad.

Alfred turned toward Ivan. “Hey, can we stop there real quick? Just wanna grab some food. Doubt the inn’s gonna have anything this late.”

Ivan’s hands stayed firm on the wheel, but his gaze lingered on the glowing storefront longer than it should have. The gas station lights bled harsh and sterile into the dark, turning the night beyond into a wall of black.

After a pause, he gave a small nod. “We need gas anyway.”

“Perfect,” Alfred said, already fishing for his wallet. Just the thought of food was enough to shake off some of the road haze clinging to him.

Ivan flicked the turn signal on, the soft ding… ding… cutting through the quiet of the car. He guided them down a narrow side road, tires crunching over gravel as the gas station came into view.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, painting everything in that washed-out, too-white glow that made the world feel empty. The air smelled faintly of gasoline and cold dust—sharp, metallic, like a storm brewing that never seems to arrive. Beyond the pumps stretched open dark: the faint red blink of a far-off road and, farther still, the thin black stretch of the Colorado River twisting through the valley like something alive.

As soon as Ivan parked, Alfred was already out of the car. No way in hell was he staying put this time—not after what had happened at the motel. Whatever Ivan’s logic about keeping a low profile was, it didn’t hold up against the thought of being alone out here with… something. Or worse, someone.

He shut the door behind him and turned, catching Ivan’s eye as the other man climbed out. Alfred gave him a look that said go ahead, try and stop me.

Ivan met his stare for half a second before his gaze dropped to the cracked pavement. His brow furrowed, lips pressed thin like he wanted to argue—but didn’t.

“You got a problem with me going in?” Alfred asked, folding his arms.

Ivan shook his head. “No. Do what you want.” His voice was even, but not unkind. “Can’t blame you for not wanting to wait out here.”

Alfred huffed out a small laugh, his tension easing a little. “Fair enough. You want me to grab you something?”

“I’ll meet you inside,” Ivan said after a pause, pulling his phone from his coat pocket. “I need to call my sister first. Tell her I can’t make it to Boston.”

Alfred tilted his head, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. “You sure? I could totally pick out your dinner for you. I’ve got great taste, promise.”

Ivan’s expression flickered—almost a smile, almost not. “That’s exactly why I’ll pick my own.”

For a second, Alfred wasn’t sure if he was being serious. Then he caught the faintest curl at the corner of Ivan’s mouth and grinned.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, smartass,” he said, laughing under his breath. “Hope you like some more chips, ‘cause that’s all I’m getting now.”

Ivan shook his head, feigning exasperation, but the small, reluctant smile didn’t leave his face as Alfred pushed open the convenience store door and stepped into the wash of warm light.

The store was bigger than the one back near Boulder—bright, clean, and humming with the faint buzz of too many fluorescent lights. It actually looked like a normal gas station this time, one of those chain convenience stores that tried too hard to look welcoming with their glossy coffee machines and overpriced trail mix. The shelves were lined with racks of beef jerky and souvenir mugs stamped with Rocky Mountain High and cartoon elk.

Alfred paused just inside the doorway, the smell of burnt coffee and floor cleaner settling over him. For a moment, his chest stayed tight, his brain braced for something else—the sound of boots behind him, the low, too-friendly voice of some guy who wasn’t really a guy.

He glanced toward the counter before he could stop himself. Relief hit him like a wave.

Instead of an old man with glassy eyes and a smile that didn’t reach them, there was a bored-looking woman slumped against the register, scrolling halfheartedly through her phone. Her eyelids drooped, her chin resting on her palm. The only thing remotely eerie about her was how close she seemed to falling asleep where she stood.

Alfred let out a shaky exhale and forced a laugh under his breath. It’s fine. It’s normal this time. Just a gas station. That’s all.

He shook the thoughts from his head. Being cautious was one thing, but if he kept jumping at shadows, he was going to lose his mind before the week was over. Nothing was wrong here. Just bad lighting and nerves that hadn’t caught up to reason yet.

With a sigh, Alfred shoved his hands into his sweat shirt pockets and tried to think about something else—like food. Something greasy, something normal. Maybe chips. Maybe jerky. Definitely a Diet Coke. God, he could really use a Diet Coke right now.

Alfred wandered the aisles without really seeing what was in front of him. The shelves blurred together—chips, protein bars, some sad-looking fruit cups—but his mind had drifted somewhere far from Kremmling, far from the mountains and the distant smell of pine.

It could’ve been the exhaustion, or the ache in his stomach that had gone from hunger to something heavier, but nostalgia crept in all the same. A wave of it, soft and strangely grounding. It was ridiculous, really—finding comfort in a gas station. But it wasn’t the place itself that did it. It was what it reminded him of.

He could almost see it now: he and Matthew piling out of the backseat of the family car, faces sticky with the heat of an east coast summer. Arthur would already be scowling before the door even closed, muttering about how they should’ve gone before they left. Francis—or Pa, as Alfred and Matthew called him—would be the one to sigh, pull out his wallet, and hand over a few bills. “Fine, but only one thing each,” he’d say in that weary way that always meant two.

They’d race down the aisles of some roadside station in Pennsylvania or upstate New York, arguing over which chips to get, Matthew always grabbing something boring like pretzels. The air always smelled faintly of gasoline and hot pavement, and for a moment Alfred could almost feel it again—the freedom of those road trips, the childish certainty that home was always waiting somewhere down the highway.

As Alfred stood there, under the harsh white glare of flickering lights, surrounded by humming refrigerators and aisles that smelled faintly of coffee—it hit him all at once.

He was alone.

Not the good kind of alone, the kind you got in an empty dorm room when everyone else went home for the holidays. This was different. He was in some no-name gas station, in a no-name town, tucked somewhere deep in the cold belly of Colorado. Miles from home. Miles from his brother. Miles from anything familiar.

The realization settled heavy in his chest, slow and suffocating. The hum of the coolers, the creaking of the heater, even the muted shuffle of the cashier half-asleep at the counter—all of it made the silence inside him louder.

He thought of home—Arthur’s voice calling him down for dinner, Matthew stealing fries off his plate, Francis pretending not to notice. The warmth of those moments felt like something from another lifetime.

Now it was just him, a few of his belongings, and the dark waiting outside. The kind of dark that held things that didn’t care how badly you wanted to go home.

He blinked, his thoughts flickering and fading like a dying lightbulb. The sound of footsteps behind him snapped him back to the present, a sharp jolt running through his chest.

When he turned, Ivan was already halfway down the aisle, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes fixed somewhere on the floor. His expression was unreadable—somewhere between irritated and distracted, maybe both. Whatever it was, it didn’t look good.

Alfred hesitated. He could ask what was wrong, but the tightness in Ivan’s jaw made him think twice. Instead, he tried to play it off with a grin. “You know,” he said, voice still a little shaky, “for a big guy, you move way too damn quietly. It’s kinda creepy, not gonna lie.”

Ivan looked up at him, or more accurately, down at him, Alfred realized. The guy really was stupidly tall.

“I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you,” Ivan said, his tone soft but carrying that faint edge of sincerity that made Alfred feel a little bad for teasing.

“Oh. Uh—yeah, I know. Just caught me off guard, I guess.” Alfred rubbed the back of his neck, trying to smooth it over.

Ivan’s lips quirked into a small, amused smile. “You speak before you think.”

Alfred huffed, crossing his arms with mock offense. “Yeah? Well, you don’t speak at all.”

That earned a quiet chuckle from Ivan; the kind that felt rare enough to be rewarding. He shrugged, pretending not to care, though the faintest bit of color had touched his cheeks.

“Well, anyway,” Alfred said, eager to keep the easy mood going, “how’d the call with your sister go?”

Ivan’s expression flickered, a small, almost imperceptible pause before he answered. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, eyes darting briefly to the floor.

“Fine,” he said finally. “She’s just… a little disappointed, I think.”

Alfred tilted his head, watching him carefully. There was something heavy in Ivan’s tone, something he wasn’t saying. For a second, Alfred thought about asking — but the tension in Ivan’s shoulders told him not to.

“Ah,” Alfred said instead, forcing a small smile. “Well, that’s…uh fair I guess.”

Ivan gave a faint hum of agreement, though his eyes stayed somewhere far away.

“Well I’m…gonna go grab what I want,” Alfred said pointing his fingers behind him, “Uh…meet back at the car?”

Ivan nodded, but didn’t say anything in response. He seemed to be thinking about something.

“Great, good talking,” Alfred muttered under his breath, turning toward the refrigerated section. He’d say the brick wall act was back, but this time, it didn’t feel like Ivan was shutting him out on purpose. He just looked… distracted.

As Alfred glanced back, he caught sight of Ivan’s expression, that furrow in his brow again. Only this time, it seemed directed at him.

“Must be whatever stupid plan he’s cooking up,” Alfred grumbled, grabbing a massive bottle of Diet Coke and shutting the fridge door a little harder than he needed to. The sound echoed off the tile.

His irritation wasn’t really fair, he knew that, but it was hard not to feel it. It felt as if Ivan kept him in the dark about everything, even though he was the one who’d actually seen more of the damn creatures—knew more. He had the video, the proof. Ivan hadn’t even watched it yet. For all his cryptic talk and quiet confidence, Alfred wasn’t sure if the guy really knew more than he did.

He stalked down the aisle, snatched a microwavable pack of burritos off the shelf, and decided that was good enough for dinner. Not like he had the patience to wander around looking for anything better.

By the time he paid and stepped outside, the cold air hit him like a slap—crisp, biting, full of the scent of evergreens and river wind. The station’s lights buzzed overhead as he crossed the lot back toward the car.

Ivan seemed to be finishing up with the gas, the click of the pump echoing faintly through the quiet lot. He replaced the nozzle and wiped his hands absently on his sweat shirt before circling back toward the car. Alfred had already slipped into the passenger seat, his breath fogging faintly against the window as he stared out toward the dark stretch of the valley.

A few seconds later, the driver’s door opened. Alfred glanced over, expecting silence—the same quiet that had filled most of their trip so far—but instead, Ivan reached into a small plastic bag and placed something in Alfred’s lap.

Alfred blinked. A bag of Cool Ranch Doritos.

He looked up at Ivan, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Seriously? You got me these?”

Ivan didn’t meet his eyes; he just started the engine, the hum of it filling the air. “I thought you might like them,” he said simply, almost under his breath.

Alfred laughed softly, the sound breaking through the quiet. “Damn right I do. Haven’t had this kind in for-fucking-ever.” He tore the bag open and leaned back, the scent of the chips instantly lifting his mood.

For a while, neither of them said anything. The dashboard lights painted the inside of the car in faint gold and blue, flickering with each turn of the headlights outside. Alfred caught himself smiling—mostly at the chips, but the gesture as well.

“Thanks, man,” he said finally, voice softer than he meant it to be.

Ivan gave a brief nod, eyes fixed on the road ahead, but Alfred swore he could see the faintest trace of pink at the tips of his ears.

Alfred ate the chips quietly as they drove, the crunch of each bite filling the space between them. The road wound past the edge of town, where the streetlights thinned into darkness and the mountains started to reappear, like faint ghosts against the stars. It wasn’t long before the glow of their destination appeared up ahead. A small, wood-built inn sitting just off the highway.

The building looked like something out of a postcard, or maybe a movie trying too hard to be one. A wide front porch stretched along the facade, its railing wrapped in a string of dull, yellow fairy lights that blinked unevenly. A carved wooden sign out front read Timberline Lodge in chipped white paint, flanked by two fake pine trees that leaned slightly from the wind.

The parking lot was fuller than the motels had been—that was a good sign, right? A couple of normal sedans sat near the front, their windshields fogged from the cold, but near the edge of the lot were two mud-caked trucks, their tires half-buried in slush. Alfred tried to ignore the uneasy twist in his stomach at the sight. It was probably nothing. Still, the air here felt colder, thinner, like even the mountains would struggle to breathe.

Alfred tilted his head, squinting at the building as Ivan pulled into the lot. “Huh,” He said, licking chip dust from his thumb. “Kinda cozy, actually. Like a grandma’s house… if your grandma was a huge fan of The Shining.”

Ivan let out a quiet sigh, the kind that sounded more like an attempt at patience than annoyance. “You have no clue when to be quiet, do you?”

Alfred smiled faintly. “Nope.”

As the car rolled to a stop, Alfred shoved the now half-empty chip bag aside and stretched. The inn’s front windows glowed a soft amber, shadows moving faintly inside—maybe a guest, or someone at the front desk. Whoever it was, people were a welcome change from the emptiness of the gas stations and roads they’d been passing through all night.

He reached for the door handle, then hesitated, glancing at Ivan. “You think they’ve got, like… real beds here? Not those cardboard motel ones?”

Ivan cut the engine and looked toward the building, his face unreadable in the faint light from the lot. “Anything is fine for the moment.”

There wasn’t judgment in his tone, just weariness. The kind that came from long nights without proper sleep. Alfred nodded, pretending to agree, though his mind was already half-dreaming of clean sheets and maybe a shower that didn’t smell like rust or mold.

He got out first, grabbing his backpack as the cold was biting at his face, and glanced back once to see Ivan still sitting in the driver’s seat, staring out the windshield like he wasn’t ready to move yet. Something about that made Alfred pause, just for a second, before shoving his hands in his pockets and heading for the door.

As Alfred stepped into the lobby, he was met with a blast of warmth. The steady clicking of the baseboard heaters filled the room, and he sighed inwardly with relief. No more cold wind coming in through the broken windshield. Alfred still wasn’t over that damn windshield. They really should’ve stolen another car.

An older lady sat behind the counter. She didn’t seem to notice Alfred at first, too absorbed in the crossword puzzle in front of her. She adjusted her green-rimmed glasses, and must have caught a glimpse of him, because her gaze lifted.

“Oh, hello there! Welcome to the Timberline Lodge. Are you hoping to stay with us tonight?”

Her smile was warm, and the crinkles around her pale blue eyes made Alfred relax a little. This place felt safe. It was warm. And the people seemed nice. This was fine. It would be fine.

Alfred nodded in response to her question, forcing an easy smile. “Yeah, just waiting for my friend.”

As if on cue, the door behind him opened with a low chime, and a rush of cold air followed Ivan into the lobby. The warmth Alfred had been enjoying instantly vanished under the draft, and he shivered. Ivan tugged at the scarf around his neck, looking a little windburned from the drive.

“Took you long enough,” Alfred said, his tone a little brighter than usual. He figured it was better to look like normal travelers—friends, even—just in case anyone got curious. The last thing they needed was attention. “Drive tire you out that much?” He shot Ivan a pointed look that clearly said, play along.

Ivan’s brow creased, confusion flickering across his face before understanding caught up. “Yes, you could say that,” he replied after a beat, voice dry. “Though you didn’t even offer to drive. A little rude, don’t you think?”

Alfred blinked. For a second, he couldn’t tell if Ivan was actually annoyed or just leaning into the act. Either way, asshole, he thought, though he kept the grin on his face.

The woman behind the counter let out a small, knowing laugh. “Alright, sounds like it’s been a long night for you two. Let’s get you boys settled. Would you like a double? We’ve got one with two queens open tonight.”

Alfred turned back to her, smile bright and practiced. “Oh, we’re just joshing each other, ma’am. The double sounds perfect.”

“Wonderful,” she said, clicking through her computer. “And how many nights will you be staying?”

“Just one,” Alfred replied.

“That’ll be seventy-three dollars, then.”

Not bad, Alfred thought. He was about to pull out his wallet—but then he remembered Ivan’s little jab. Maybe this was the perfect time for payback. With a quick, smug grin, he jabbed his elbow lightly into Ivan’s side.

“You got this one, right?” he said under his breath, his tone all innocence.

Ivan shot him a sharp look, the kind that said you’re pushing it, but didn’t say a word. For a moment, Alfred thought he might actually argue, but instead, Ivan just let out a low breath and stepped up to the counter to pay.

“Thanks, dude. Really owe you one,” Alfred called from behind, the grin in his voice impossible to miss.

Ivan froze for half a second. When he turned, there was that same glare, only this time, a faint pink had crept up his neck and across his cheeks. The guy looked like he wanted to throttle him or disappear, maybe both.

Alfred just flashed him a big, unbothered thumbs-up.

Ivan closed his eyes for a moment, muttering something under his breath that Alfred couldn’t quite catch, before finally handing over the card. He paid quickly, movements stiff with barely contained annoyance, or maybe embarrassment. Either way, Alfred was enjoying this way too much.

As soon as the payment was done, Ivan turned without a word, handed Alfred one of the key cards, and headed straight for the door. His steps were quick, deliberate.

“Hey, where you going?” Alfred called after him.

“Getting my bags. And the food,” Ivan muttered without looking back. “Just go up to the room.”

The door swung shut behind him, cutting off the burst of cold air that followed. Alfred stared after him, the key card cold in his hand.

Great. Now he felt like the jerk. He’d just been teasing, trying to lighten the mood, but maybe he’d pushed too far. Maybe Ivan wasn’t the type who liked being joked with. Or maybe he was just tired. Hell, they both were.

Still, guilt prickled in the back of Alfred’s mind as he turned toward the stairwell. He’d have to figure out a way to make it up to the guy later, assuming Ivan even wanted to talk to him by then.

Wait… bags.

Shit.

Alfred’s stomach dropped. His suitcase, his only suitcase, was still sitting back at the goddamn Denver airport. Probably right at the gate he’d never boarded from, waiting for a flight that had left without him.

No, no, no, no, no!

He ran a hand through his hair, heart thudding faster with each thought. All his clothes, his toothbrush, his chargers, his everything—gone. How the hell was he supposed to get through the night, let alone however long this nightmare road trip was going to last, without any of it?

And then it hit him.

The suitcase had a tag.

His name, his number… his home address.

If those things were smart enough to track, to hunt—if they found it—

Alfred pressed a hand to his face, forcing the thought down before it could finish forming. His chest felt tight, his pulse hammering against his ribs. He couldn’t afford to lose it. Not here. Not yet.

He continued down the hall, the key card slick in his palm and 77 stamped in neat gold lettering across it. The carpet beneath his boots was that patterned, forest-green kind every mountain lodge seemed to have—pine needles and shapes of elk woven into it like an afterthought. His backpack strap dug into his shoulder as he gripped it tighter, clutching it like a lifeline. It was all he had left that was really his.

When he reached the door, the card reader blinked red once, then green with a soft click. Alfred pushed it open.

Warm air hit him first—dry, faintly scented with cedar and something floral from the air freshener plugged into the wall. The lights flicked on automatically, spilling soft gold across a surprisingly nice room. It was bigger than he’d expected for a roadside inn. Two queen beds sat side by side beneath a log-beam headboard, the quilts a deep maroon with geometric stitching. A pair of lamps rested on nightstands made from polished pine, and a flat-screen TV hung above a stone fireplace that was—thankfully—electric, humming faintly in the background.

There was a little sitting area near the window, too: two plaid armchairs and a coffee table stacked with outdated travel magazines and a vase of fake wildflowers. The curtains were thick, patterned with tiny mountain ranges, but a sliver of night pressed through where they didn’t quite meet, showing only darkness and the faint orange glow of the parking lot lights below.

Alfred dropped his bag onto the nearest bed, the mattress dipping under the weight. He stared at it for a second, breathing out a long sigh. After everything—the motel, the gas stations, the cold roads and whatever the hell that thing had been earlier—the room felt almost unreal. Safe, in that temporary, fragile way safety could feel.

He ran a hand down his face and muttered, “Guess this’ll do,” before collapsing backward onto the bed. The springs creaked under him, the quilt scratchy but warm.

Alfred lay there for a while, waiting for the relief of finally settling down to wash over him, but it didn’t. His chest still felt tight, his thoughts restless. Maybe it was because his suitcase was God-knows-where, possibly in the hands of the same monsters trying to kill him, or maybe it was the nagging guilt of having annoyed the only person he had left to rely on.

With a groan, he sat up and dragged a hand down his face. He should probably go help Ivan with his stuff. From what he’d seen in the car, the guy had a ton packed in that trunk. Besides, maybe lending a hand would get him back into Ivan’s good graces, or at least back to neutral ground.

Pushing himself off the bed, Alfred grabbed his key card from the nightstand. His backpack could stay where it was. He’d been locked out of too many hotel rooms before to make that mistake again.

He made his way back down to the lobby fairly quickly and was met with the sight of Ivan half-wrestling a suitcase across the floor while trying to keep a backpack balanced on one shoulder and two plastic gas station bags hooked awkwardly around his wrist.

A small smile tugged at Alfred’s mouth before he even realized it. Ivan seemed like someone who’d spent a long time getting by on his own—quiet, self-sufficient, and maybe a little too stubborn for his own good. It was… oddly endearing, but also lonely in a sort of way.

“Dude, you need any help with that?” Alfred called out, already heading over before Ivan could answer.

Ivan glanced up, slightly breathless. “I thought you went up to the room.”

“I did,” Alfred said, waving a hand toward the pile of luggage. “But you were taking a minute, so I figured I’d come down and check. And, uh…” He gestured at the chaotic balancing act Ivan had going. “Guess I was right to.”

Ivan frowned slightly, he seemed to do that a lot. Or at least, that was something Alfred was starting to notice.

“You can take the food,” Ivan said flatly.

“Sure thing,” Alfred replied, grabbing the plastic bags before Ivan could change his mind. The chips and a couple of bottled drinks rattled inside, brushing against the handle of a small paper bag. Ivan had packed everything neatly, of course.

They started back toward the stairs, Alfred trailing a step behind. He was staring at the floor, lost in thought about how the hell he was supposed to get by without his clothes, toothbrush, or, God forbid, his phone charger, when he almost collided with someone coming around the corner.

“Whoa, sorry, man!” Alfred blurted, stepping back just in time.

The guy laughed, holding up a hand. “You’re good, dude, my bad. Should’ve been watching where I was going.”

He looked to be in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, wearing a dark hoodie and a black Ravens cap pulled low over brown hair. That caught Alfred’s attention immediately.

“Hey, no way—you’re a Ravens fan?” Alfred grinned, instantly forgetting about nearly plowing into him.

The guy’s face lit up. “Hell yeah, man. Grew up just outside of Frederick. You?”

“Annapolis area, but yeah. Kinda been a fan since I could walk.”

The guy chuckled, clearly pleased to find a fellow fan this far from home. “Small world. Didn’t expect to find another Marylander out here in the middle of nowhere.”

A woman about his age appeared beside him, holding a paper cup of coffee and smiling politely at Alfred and Ivan. 

“You still there?” Alfred asked curiously, smiling back at the woman.

“Virginia now,” the man added, resting a hand on her shoulder. “We’re out visiting family friends. The owners, actually. The lady at the desk and her son. We come up here every fall.”

“Oh, no kidding?” Alfred said, his grin widening. “That’s awesome. She seems nice.”

“She is. Her son as well. Both amazing people, and are basically, family.” the woman said warmly. “This place is like their whole life. They’ve had it for decades.”

Ivan lingered a step behind Alfred, quiet but observant, eyes flicking between the couple and the staircase as if already calculating how much longer this detour would take.

“Well this place surely is nice. Wasn’t expecting a roadside inn to have such nice rooms.” Alfred said, looking at Ivan, trying to get him to talk as well.

“I have not seen it yet. The room that is…” Ivan said, his accent becoming a little more pronounced as he spoke. Maybe he was just tired.

The couple smiled at them, almost in sync. “It’ll be great,” they said together, sharing a small laugh.

“Oh—by the way,” the man said, offering his hand. “I’m James, and this is my wife, Hannah.”

“Alfred,” he said, shaking his hand, then gestured to Ivan. “And this is Ivan.”

Before any of them could say more, a voice rang from the end of the hallway, warm and familiar. “James! Hannah! Well, I’ll be—what are you two doing sneaking around my lobby without saying hello?”

The older woman from the front desk approached, smiling brightly as she shuffled toward them. Alfred noticed this time, the faint limp, the careful way she leaned on one foot before taking the next step.

“Oh, you two must be exhausted,” she said fondly, pulling both James and Hannah into hugs that were surprisingly strong for someone her size. “Long drive, huh? You were napping most of the day, weren’t you?”

Hannah smiled, her voice gentle. “Guilty. It’s a long trip from Virginia.”

Ivan shifted beside Alfred, giving him a small nudge. When Alfred turned, Ivan inclined his head toward the woman’s leg. A strip of white bandage peeked out beneath her skirt, wrapped snugly around her calf.

Alfred frowned, curiosity prickling, but before he could say anything, the woman caught them looking.

“Oh! Don’t you worry about me, boys,” she said with a laugh that was a touch too airy. She patted her leg like it was nothing. “Had a run-in with a coyote, or maybe some poor feral dog, a couple nights ago. Gave me a good nip before I could shoo it off.”

Alfred’s eyebrows shot up. “Jeez. You okay?”

“Perfectly fine now,” she said. “Got my rabies shot and everything. The sheriff thinks it’s long gone by now.”

James sighed, shaking his head. “We were so worried when Dad called us. Said you’d been bitten and that they hadn’t found the animal yet.”

“Oh, hush,” she said, chuckling. “You know me. I’m tougher than I look. Now, you two should get some rest. And these boys,” she added, glancing at Alfred and Ivan, “should do the same. I’ve got to get back to my crossword puzzle before I forget where I left off.”

She turned to leave, James moving to walk her back down the hall. Hannah lingered for just a second longer, her smile soft but distant, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“She hates crosswords,” she murmured, barely above a whisper.

Alfred blinked. “Huh?” But by the time he looked back, she’d already followed the others down the hall.

Ivan was already heading for the stairs.

“Hey! Wait up,” Alfred called, jogging to catch up, the sound of the old woman’s laughter echoing faintly behind them. The warmth of the lobby suddenly felt a little thinner, like a draft had slipped in through the walls.

Alfred quickened his pace, catching up to Ivan as they turned down the hallway. The carpet muffled their footsteps, and the distant hum of the baseboard heaters filled the quiet between them. For a moment, it almost felt normal, just two guys heading back to their room after a long day of traveling. At least, that’s what Alfred could pretend they were doing. Traveling, that is.

The feeling didn’t last long.

Up ahead, a man rounded the corner, heading toward the lobby. He was tall, maybe in his fifties, with the same pale blue eyes and sharp cheekbones as the old woman at the desk. His hair was silvering at the temples, and his flannel shirt looked neatly pressed, though there were faint smudges of something, maybe oil or dust, on his hands.

Alfred assumed that had to be her son. The resemblance was too close not to notice.

He gave a polite smile and raised a hand in greeting. “Hey, evening,” he said casually.

The man didn’t stop. Didn’t even nod. He passed them without a word, his gaze fixed straight ahead. There was something about his expression. It was blank, distant, like he was there but not quite seeing them. That made Alfred’s smile falter.

He let his hand drop, watching the man disappear around the corner. “Well, uh… guess he’s not the chatty type,” Alfred said, forcing out a laugh that came out thinner than he intended.

When Ivan didn’t respond, Alfred turned to him, and realized the other man had stopped walking entirely. Ivan’s eyes followed the man’s retreating figure, his face unreadable but his posture stiff.

“Ivan?” Alfred asked quietly.

Ivan didn’t answer right away. His jaw shifted slightly, like he was chewing on something he didn’t want to say. Finally, he blinked, tore his gaze from the hallway, and said in a low voice, “Come on. We should go.”

He started walking again, slower this time, his hand brushing the keycard in his sweatshirt pocket like he needed something solid to ground himself. Alfred followed, forcing himself to push the strange moment aside. There was no reason to be worried. Everything about this place felt… normal. The people were friendly, the inn didn’t smell like mildew or rot, and the warm air was a comfort after hours of cold road.

They were miles from Denver now. Whatever they were back there, the lizards, the man in the lot, they couldn’t have followed them this far. And if somehow something had… well, it would be alone out here. They could handle that.

Ivan reached the room first, swiping the keycard until the light blinked green with a soft click. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, flicking the lights on.

The room looked the same as before, but now with another person, Alfred felt some of the tightness in his chest ease. He crossed the room and dropped the plastic gas station bags onto the little kitchenette counter, their contents crinkling and sliding over one another.

Alfred closed the door behind them with a soft click, the sound stretching through the silence like it had nowhere else to go.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The hum of the heater filled the room, steady and low, while the fridge kicked on in the background. Alfred shifted his weight, his sneakers squeaking faintly against the tile before he stepped onto the carpet.

“So…” he started, dragging out the word as if it could fill the gap between them. “This is… nice.”

Ivan didn’t respond right away. He was busy adjusting his bag, making sure it sat perfectly beside his bed, as though arranging it was a distraction from deeper thought. Finally, he said, “It is… adequate.”

“Adequate,” Alfred repeated, eyebrows raising. “Wow, don’t get too excited, man. You’ll scare the neighbors.”

Ivan’s lips twitched, just barely. “I am… tired,” he said, his accent a little heavier now, vowels softened and stretched.

“Yeah, no kidding.” Alfred laughed once, the sound sharp and awkward in the quiet. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Long day, huh?”

Ivan hummed in agreement but didn’t elaborate. He was unzipping his coat with careful precision, like every motion had to be deliberate.

The silence stretched again. Alfred could practically hear it. Like the quiet itself was mocking him.

He looked at the two beds, then at Ivan, then back again. “So… uh. You’re taking that one?”

Ivan looked up, brow furrowing slightly. “Is that a problem?”

“No, no, totally fine.” Alfred raised his hands defensively. “I just—y’know—didn’t want to, like, pick the wrong one. Or whatever.”

Ivan gave a small nod. “Ok.”

Another silence. Longer this time.

Alfred sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Man, we really suck at small talk.”

Ivan looked at him, blinking once. “Then… perhaps we should not talk at all?”

That earned him a bark of laughter from Alfred, who flopped down on his bed with a soft thud. “Wow. Brutal. Okay, fine, Mr. Social,” his voice dripped with sarcasm, “no talking it is.”

Alfred decided to keep busy before his brain could start spiraling again. He grabbed his backpack from the foot of the bed and unzipped it, half-hoping he’d forgotten about some miracle stash of clean clothes. Maybe an old shirt. A pair of socks. Something.

He started pulling things out one by one. Laptop. Charger. Another charger, thank god. A crumpled hoodie. And… that was it. No jeans. No T-shirts. No toothbrush. No deodorant. No anything.

He stared down at the pile on the bed, stomach dropping. The realization settled over him like ice water. Everything else, all his stuff, his damn sense of normalcy, was still sitting somewhere in the Denver airport. Or worse.

He tried to laugh, but it came out cracked and hollow.

He’d run from billionaires turned lizard people, nearly died on a highway, got threatened by a creepy ass man in a motel parking lot, and now he was stuck in the middle of nowhere, with a stranger he barely knew, and no clue what was coming next. The thought of it all, the weight of everything, hit him in one long, breathless rush.

His throat tightened, and before he could stop it, tears were spilling over. He pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes, biting down on a sharp exhale. Jesus Christ, pull it together, he thought, but it was too late. The adrenaline had worn off. There was no pretending anymore. He was scared. He was tired. And all he wanted was to be home, with Matthew teasing him over breakfast, Arthur complaining about the noise, and Francis humming in the kitchen while he made Alfred and Matthew pancakes.

He heard a quiet rustle from the other side of the room, Ivan setting something down, maybe. Then the faintest pause.

When Alfred glanced up, Ivan was looking at him. Not in judgment. Just… looking. His expression unreadable, eyes soft in a way Alfred hadn’t seen before.

The moment stretched. Ivan shifted like he might say something, but then hesitated. His gaze flickered away as he turned back toward his suitcase, busying himself with the lock.

Alfred sniffed, dragging his sleeve across his face, trying to erase the evidence. “Sorry,” he mumbled, voice shaky. “Long day.”

Ivan didn’t answer right away, just gave a small nod without looking up. “It has been,” he said finally, his voice low. “You should rest.”

It wasn’t comfort. Not exactly. But somehow, it still was.

Alfred still felt like he should explain himself. Explain the tears. It was pathetic to cry over something like this—over lost clothes, a fucking toothbrush. But he knew it wasn’t really about that. Still, pretending it was made everything feel a little less heavy. So he talked.

“It’s just… shit, man,” Alfred sniffed, still rubbing at his eyes like he could physically push the tears back in. “I don’t… I don’t know what to do. I mean… they—the lizards.” He laughed weakly, a breath more than a sound. “I hate calling them that. Makes them sound small. They’re not. They’re fucking terrifying. I don’t know why it’s only hitting me now. Guess adrenaline’s one hell of a drug, huh…”

He took off his glasses and stared at the tiny fracture along one lens. The crack caught the lamplight like a vein of silver. He didn’t know why that detail stuck out so much. 

“I just…” He stopped himself before saying I miss my family. What was he expecting? Pity? Sympathy? Ivan probably missed his sisters just as much. And it wasn’t like Ivan could fix anything for him. They’d only known each other for a day. A long, violent, exhausting day. Partners by circumstance, not choice.

His throat burned, another wave of heat crawling up his neck. Shame, not just from crying, but from realizing how small he felt. “You should probably look at the video now. Password to my phone is 040702.” Alfred murmured instead, voice rough. “Might help you come up with a plan.”

Ivan frowned slightly, tilting his head. It was becoming a habit Alfred could read by now. Confusion, curiosity, something thoughtful behind his eyes. “You do not want to help?” he asked.

“I do,” Alfred said quickly, shaking his head. “I just…need to shower first. Calm down a bit. And get ready for bed.” His voice dropped as he glanced toward his bag, embarrassed. “Except I don’t have any of my crap.”

Ivan’s face was still twisted in that faint, uncertain confusion. He opened his mouth slightly, as if to say something, but no words came out.

Alfred sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I left almost all my stuff behind in Denver,” he said, the words coming out tired and flat. “Couldn’t exactly drag a suitcase when getting chased by lizard creatures, now could I?”

That earned a flicker of something in Ivan’s eyes. Sympathy, maybe, or guilt, but he didn’t say anything. His lips parted again, then pressed together, the moment slipping away. Alfred almost wished he would say something, even if it was awkward or stupid. Anything to fill the space. But Ivan just gave a slow nod and looked toward his suitcase instead.

“Right,” Alfred muttered, pushing up from the bed. “I’m gonna go shower now. Try to feel better, or something.”

Ivan gave another small nod, still silent.

Alfred grabbed a towel from the bathroom counter and shut the door behind him. The lock clicked, and for a moment the world outside felt like it didn’t exist.

The bathroom was small, clean in that over-bleached way that gave off the faint smell of pine and lemons. He turned on the water and waited for it to warm, steam curling up against the mirror until his reflection disappeared.

When he stepped under the spray, he didn’t think. He just stood there, letting the heat run down his back. The day replayed in flashes whether he wanted it to or not: the tunnels, the screeching things in the dark, the motel parking lot, that cold moment of not knowing if they’d survive the night.

He tried to push it all away, focusing instead on the small details. The smell of the soap. The hum of the pipes behind the walls. The rhythm of water hitting tile. Anything simple. Anything real.

He stood there long after the warmth had started to fade, eyes half-closed, hands braced against the wall. If he thought too long, he’d probably end up crying again. So he didn’t. He just breathed.

Alfred stepped out of the shower, the cool air of the room hitting his skin hard enough to raise goosebumps. The steam drifted out behind him, curling toward the ceiling as he grabbed a towel and scrubbed at his hair, then wrapped it around his waist. He realized, with a twinge of guilt, that he’d probably used most of the hot water in the building. The pipes had started groaning halfway through, no doubt some warning from the old system that it was done with him.

He pulled on his briefs before stepping into the outer part of the bathroom, where the light was softer. He’d left his clothes outside earlier so they wouldn’t get wet. For a moment, he froze. Sitting on the counter was a neatly folded T-shirt and a pair of drawstring shorts. Definitely not his. Beside them lay a toothbrush, still sealed in its packaging.

Alfred stood still. He looked back toward the beds. Ivan was sitting at the little wooden desk by the window, shoulders slightly hunched as he wrote something down on the inn’s notepad. Alfred’s phone sat next to his hand, the screen dim but unlocked. A computer sat unopened on the far edge of the desk.

For a second, Alfred thought about saying something. But words didn’t come right away. Instead, a flush crawled up his neck. Not from embarrassment exactly, but from that strange, unfamiliar warmth that came when someone did something quietly kind.

He looked back at the clothes, ran his thumb over the soft fabric of the shirt. It was too big, of course, but that made sense. Ivan was taller by half a head at least.

Finally, Alfred found his voice, though it came out smaller than usual. “Hey… uh. You didn’t have to do that.”

Ivan didn’t look up at first. “It is nothing,” he said, his accent thicker now that the room was quiet. “You did not have anything. It made sense.”

“Still,” Alfred said, tugging the shirt over his damp hair, “it’s nice. So… thanks.”

Ivan gave a short nod, eyes still on the paper. Alfred noticed the small movement of his hand, writing something fast.

“Whatcha doing?” Alfred asked, padding over a few steps, the wooden floor cool beneath his bare feet.

Ivan’s hand froze mid-word. Slowly, he looked up. His expression flickered with surprise, and Alfred suddenly became acutely aware that he was standing there barefoot, hair dripping, wearing Ivan’s shirt. His cheeks went pinker.

“I was—” Ivan cut himself off, turning back toward the notepad too quickly. His ears, Alfred noticed, had gone faintly red. “I was writing down ideas. For a plan.”

Alfred tilted his head, still a little confused at Ivan’s reaction, but smiling now. “Well, I guess I did give you permission to use my phone. Still surprised you remembered the password that quickly.”

“July fourth, 2002,” Ivan said simply, still not looking at him. “That’s what it stands for, right?”

“Yeah.” Alfred replied, shifting awkwardly, still standing beside the desk.

“Your birthday?” Ivan asked.

“Not exactly,” Alfred said after a beat. “But it’s when I celebrate. Long story.”

Ivan nodded once, a silent acknowledgment that the story could wait for another time.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The quiet that filled the room wasn’t the kind Alfred had grown used to, the kind that made his ears ring and his mind wander. This one felt charged, uncertain, like both of them wanted to say something but didn’t quite know how.

Ivan was the one to break it. “The video,” he said, reaching for his laptop. “It was dark. There was feedback, but…” He flipped it open, the glow from the screen casting a pale light over his face. “I was able to transfer it to my computer. It’s a little clearer now.”

Small talk had been a struggle between them so far, but when it came to the lizards, the thing that bound them together, they both seemed to find steadier footing.

“So… what’d you see?” Alfred asked, voice a little tighter than he meant it to be. “I haven’t rewatched it yet. Couldn’t really bring myself to.”

Ivan was quiet for a long moment, his eyes flicking across the screen. When he finally spoke, his tone was deliberate, careful. “You were right. Those men… as insane as it sounds. They are—”

“Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk?” Alfred finished for him, grimacing.

Ivan nodded. “Yes. I tried to study the people—lizards—around them. I didn’t recognize any faces. But I am not exactly familiar with American businessmen or politicians.”

Alfred let out a sharp exhale that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Lucky you.”

Ivan ignored the comment, continuing, “There was some audio. Most of it was static, but what I caught—” He paused, frowning at the screen. “They spoke about influence. About controlling politics. They mentioned a figurehead, someone under their control, but not who. And… they said they have people inside Congress.”

“Jesus Christ,” Alfred muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “So basically, we have nothing. That’s what you’re saying? We have nothing to go off of?”

Ivan didn’t answer right away. When he finally turned to look at Alfred, his expression had softened into something almost foreign—concern.

“Alfred,” he said quietly, “they are still going to come after this phone. Even if the video does not show much, it is enough to make you a target. They already tried once, and I do not believe they will stop now.”

Something in the weight of Ivan’s voice settled deep in Alfred’s stomach, cold and heavy. For all his joking and deflection, the reality of it hit hard—he wasn’t safe, not really. And the one person standing between him and a world of monsters was a man he barely knew, whose voice trembled with a faint Russian lilt whenever he was tired or afraid.

“There is… one thing, or question, that seems most important to me,” Ivan said quietly, his voice almost lost beneath the hum of the fridge.

“Oh?” Alfred prompted, leaning forward a bit. “What’s that?”

Ivan hesitated, his thumb brushing over the edge of his laptop in small, nervous motions. “The people in this video,” he said slowly. “Were they… people, originally? Because if they were, and I…”

He trailed off, his voice catching somewhere in his throat.

“You what?” Alfred asked, though the question came out softer than he intended.

Ivan swallowed hard. “When you were fixing the tire and I… led that group away,” he murmured. “I killed one of them. One of the lizards. I—”

Alfred cut him off before he could finish, his tone firm but not harsh. “No. We have to believe they were always monsters. We have no reason to think they were ever human, or…or that they had any past humanity left in them.”

Ivan didn’t respond. His shoulders drew in slightly, his whole frame seeming to shrink beneath the weight of what he’d said. He turned his gaze back to the laptop, the faint glow reflecting in his pale violet eyes, and for a long moment, the only sound was the soft whir of the heater.

“Do you… have a plan?” Alfred asked eventually, trying to fill the silence.

Ivan didn’t look up. “Not yet,” he admitted. “But I know someone. Someone who might be able to help us.” He closed the laptop with a soft click and finally looked at Alfred. “You should get some rest. I will make contact in the morning.”

“What about you?” Alfred asked, raising an eyebrow. “You gonna sleep too?”

“Yes. Soon.” Ivan said it too quickly, his accent deepening just slightly on the word soon.

Alfred stared at him for a moment, then sighed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, sure.”

He stepped forward, grabbed the back of the chair Ivan was sitting in, and dragged it, along with the startled Russian, away from the desk.

“Ivan, you need sleep too,” Alfred said, half laughing despite the exhaustion edging his voice. “You’ve been driving all day and dealing with just as much crazy crap as me. I’m not gonna be the only one knocked out here while you stay up writing conspiracy notes.”

Ivan blinked at him, caught somewhere between confusion and quiet protest. “I was not writing conspiracy notes,” he muttered, though the small flush that rose to his cheeks betrayed him.

“Sure,” Alfred said, smirking as he let go of the chair. “Bed. Now. Doctor’s orders.”

Ivan exhaled slowly through his nose, a faint ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he finally stood up. “You are not a doctor.”

“Yeah, well,” Alfred replied, flopping down onto his bed, “right now I’m the guy keeping you from turning into a zombie. So go to sleep before I start throwing pillows.”

Ivan didn’t argue after that. He just shook his head lightly, muttering something in Russian under his breath that Alfred couldn’t quite catch, before finally heading to his bed and sitting on the edge.

“You not showering?” Alfred asked, voice slightly muffled as he struggled trying to open the packaging of the toothbrush Ivan had given him.

Ivan, already tugging off his shoes, glanced up. “No,” he replied simply. “I showered this morning.”

“Uhhh, a morning showerer,” Alfred teased, flashing him a quick grin as he turned on the faucet. “Better not do that tomorrow. I’m calling dibs on the bathroom first thing.”

Ivan gave a soft huff of amusement, sitting on the edge of his bed as Alfred started brushing his teeth. He didn’t say anything, just quietly pulled off his scarf, then his sweatshirt, leaving behind the dark undershirt beneath. For a moment, Alfred assumed that was as far as it would go. But then, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, Ivan reached back, grabbed the hem of his shirt, and lifted it over his head.

Alfred nearly choked on toothpaste.

“Uh—dude,” he managed, after a few seconds of staring. “What…what are you doing?”

Ivan looked up, genuinely confused by the question. His pale hair was slightly mussed from pulling off his shirt, and his accent came through heavier now, slower, warmer somehow. “Sleeping,” he said simply, as though that explained everything. “I get hot easily when I sleep.”

“Oh.” Alfred blinked, suddenly very aware of the heat creeping up the back of his neck. “Right. Yeah. Totally normal. Cool. Great.” He turned abruptly back toward the mirror, focusing way too hard on brushing his teeth.

Ivan, seemingly unbothered, slid under the blankets, his movements slow and very much the sign of a tired man. The sound of the sheets rustling filled the space for a few seconds, soft and steady.

Once he was settled, Alfred spat out the toothpaste, rinsed his mouth, and grabbed his phone off the counter. He flicked off the lights, the room falling into a soft, golden darkness broken only by the glow from the heater vent.

Alfred flipped the covers back and propped up two pillows behind him, liking to sleep half-sitting rather than lying flat. He tucked the sheet and comforter tight around himself, cocooning against the chill that still seeped through the walls. Unlike Ivan, he always got cold at night, especially now, with the mountain air biting through every draft and seam.

He unlocked his phone, the screen lighting up his tired face in the dim room. No new messages from his parents. Great. They were probably panicking—or worse, furious. Alfred hesitated for a second, thumb hovering over the screen, before quickly typing:

Sorry couldn’t call today. Busy. Will explain tomorrow. Call around three your time? Don’t be mad…pls (:

He winced at his own message, then hit send before he could think about it too long. Arthur was probably pacing the living room, muttering curses every which way he went, while Francis was probably on the phone with every friend in Maryland claiming his son had been kidnapped. Hopefully, they could hold out until tomorrow.

When Alfred went back to his messages, he saw one he’d missed. A text from Matthew.

Where are you?

He swallowed hard, his chest tightening.

Colorado, he typed back.

The response came almost immediately, which surprised him, it had to be close to two in the morning on the East Coast.

Colorado??? Are you alright? What happened??

Alfred rubbed at his face, sighing softly. I’m fine. With a friend. Don’t worry. But… I won’t be able to make it to Maryland.

It took less than a minute for the three dots to appear again. You just didn’t want to deal with Arthur’s lectures, didn’t you? Leaving me to take the brunt of his “affection.”

Alfred huffed a quiet laugh through his nose. That may or may not be the reason.

You suck, Matthew replied, followed by, But I’m glad you’re okay. Kinda sad you couldn’t make it though.

We’ll plan another time, Alfred texted back. After your fancy medical tour in Europe. I’ll come visit or something. Promise!

Fine. You better keep your word.

Promise I will.

Okay. Goodnight Al.

Night Mattie.

Alfred set his phone on the nightstand, the glow of the screen fading out into darkness. For a moment, he just stared up at the ceiling, that heavy, aching feeling creeping back in. The same one that had hit him earlier when everything caught up to him. He wished his brother were here right now. They’d shared a bed often growing up, arguing over the blanket and elbowing each other for space until they fell asleep mid-bicker. It had always made him feel safe.

He turned on his side, trying to imagine that the soft, even rhythm of Ivan’s breathing across the room was Matthew’s instead, or maybe even Francis and Arthur’s, voices low and reassuring as they argued over something stupid downstairs. But it didn’t work. The air still felt too still. The dark space too wide.

That weight pressed down harder, cold and lonely and tired.

Eventually, Alfred’s eyes slipped shut. His sleep came, but it wasn’t deep. It was light, restless, flickering at the edges like the glow from a dying bulb.

•~ • ~ •

Alfred woke with a start to the sound of screaming. Or at least, that’s what he thought he heard.

He sat up too fast, his pulse thrumming in his ears. The room was pitch dark except for the faint orange glow from the parking lot seeping through the curtains. For a second, he wondered if he’d imagined it, some half-dream bleeding into wakefulness. But then it came again. Muffled, distant, and sharp enough to slice through the quiet.

Alfred froze. It wasn’t the kind of scream that came from a TV in another room. It was real. Panicked. Wet somehow, like it came from a throat half-clogged with something.

Across the room, Ivan shifted in his bed. The sheets rustled.

“You hear that?” Alfred whispered.

Ivan didn’t respond. Only the sound of the man shifting in his sleep drifted from the other bed.

“Guess he’s a heavy sleeper,” Alfred murmured, though it didn’t do anything to slow the pounding of his heart.

He sat there for a moment, trying to convince himself that it was nothing. Probably just someone arguing too loudly. But the silence that followed didn’t feel like nothing, it pressed in on him, thick and uneasy.

He glanced toward Ivan’s bed again. The man’s breathing was steady, slow, completely undisturbed. Alfred chewed his lip, debating. He could wake him up. Tell him something weird was going on. But what if it really was just nothing? Ivan would think he was jumpy, maybe even annoying.

“Okay,” Alfred whispered to himself, grabbing his phone and the keycard off the nightstand. “Just gonna check. Be right back. Totally fine.”

The floor was cold under his bare feet as he crept toward the door. Each soft step seemed louder than it should’ve been. He hesitated with his hand on the handle, glancing back one last time. Ivan hadn’t moved.

Alfred eased the door open and stepped into the hall.

The corridor stretched ahead of him, half-lit by dim wall lamps. Shadows clung to the corners, thick and restless. The patterned carpet muffled his footsteps, but the stillness around him made every sound, every creak, every sigh of the old building, feel amplified.

He told himself again that it was nothing. Maybe someone tripped, maybe an animal outside. “Coyotes. Kids screwin’ around from Boulder. Take your pick.” That’s what the old man at the gas station had said. That’s all it probably was. Coyotes.

Alfred took a deep breath and kept walking, his bare feet silent against the carpet. The lights above him hummed faintly, the glow uneven and tinted a sickly yellow. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, each identical door blending into the next, like a mirrored maze. He couldn’t shake the sense that the walls were just a little too close, the ceiling just a little too low.

It was quiet, but the sound of the building itself seemed to fill the silence. Pipes ticking, something groaning deep in the walls, wind pressing faintly against the windows. It felt alive in a way that made his skin crawl.

When he reached the end of the hall, the stairwell loomed to his right. The light above it flickered once, twice, then steadied into a dull glow. He hesitated, fingers tight around his phone.

He started down. The steps creaked under his weight, the kind of deep, old-wood groan that made it impossible to tell how close or far he really was from the ground floor. The lower he went, the colder the air became. It smelled faintly of pine cleaner and something else—faintly sour, faintly metallic.

The lobby came into view, dimly lit by a single lamp at the front desk. Shadows pooled in the corners, stretching long and shapeless across the floor. The ticking clock behind the counter was the only sound, steady and slow, like a heartbeat in a quiet room.

It was empty. Nobody was down here. The old lady had probably gone to bed. Her son was nowhere in sight.

Alfred’s hand tightened around his phone. He exhaled softly, the sound too loud in the stillness, and turned to head back upstairs—

Then he froze.

Something had just echoed down one of the side hallways to his left. A dull thump. Followed by something else. Soft. Muffled.

A sound like breathing.

He turned toward it, shining his phone in that direction, but the light barely cut through the dark. The entire wing was black, the overhead bulbs dead or switched off, leaving the carpet and walls swallowed in shadow.

Alfred hesitated. His pulse thudded in his ears, his legs wanting to move before his brain could tell them what direction to go. Every horror movie he’d ever seen screamed at him to go back upstairs. Lock the door. Wake Ivan.

Instead, he took a step forward.

The air felt thicker as he walked, each sound of his bare feet absorbed by the carpet. The smell changed too, less like pine cleaner, more like mold and faintly wet metal. The closer he got, the more he could make out two shapes standing at the far end of the hall.

For one horrible second, his stomach dropped. They were tall—too tall—and unmoving. He almost bolted right then, heart slamming so loud he thought they’d hear it.

But when he raised his phone light again, the beam caught on two familiar faces.

The old lady. And her son.

Alfred’s breath came out in a choked, nervous laugh, his chest still tight.

“Oh—sorry,” he started, voice shaky. “Didn’t mean to, uh, scare you guys. Thought I heard someone scream.”

The old lady turned her head slowly toward him. The motion was deliberate, heavy. Her face looked strangely pale under the weak glow of his phone, her eyes watery but sharp. Her son stood beside her, his expression blank, his gaze fixed somewhere just past Alfred’s shoulder.

“Screams?” she asked softly, her lips curling into something like confusion. “Oh, I hope not, dear.” Her voice was light, but there was a dry rasp under the words, the sound of someone who hadn’t had water in hours. “We were just helping James and Hannah with a little heating issue. Poor things, the room’s been freezing all day.”

James and Hannah.
The couple from before.

Alfred’s throat tightened. “Right. Sorry. I just…I swore I heard something. Guess I’m just on edge, huh?” He let out a shaky laugh that didn’t sound right even to him.

The old lady tilted her head, and the shadows shifted over her face, deepening the lines around her mouth, hollowing her eyes. “Maybe something outside,” she said. “It happens. Coyotes, maybe?”

“Coyotes?” Alfred echoed, his voice catching.

She smiled wider. “Could be.” Her tone changed slightly—warmer, yet wrong. Like she was remembering something fond. “Those things sure love to hunt and scavenge.”

Her eyes glinted under the faint light.

“They really love to hunt.”

The words hung in the air, sinking deep into the dark.

Behind her, her son shifted for the first time, his movement stiff and unnatural. The light caught the lower half of his face, his skin too pale, the corner of his mouth trembling faintly, like something beneath it was moving.

“Well… I think I should be going to bed now. Long day and all,” Alfred said, forcing a nervous laugh as he took a careful step back. His phone light trembled slightly in his hand, the beam dancing across the walls as he tried to keep it trained on them both.

“Wait just a moment.” The old woman’s voice was light again, lilting, pleasant in a way that didn’t fit the moment. “How’s the room? Are you having a good time?” Her smile widened, too many teeth showing. “Does your friend like it?”

Alfred opened his mouth to respond, some fumbling lie about it being great, when the light caught on something in her mouth.

He froze.

There, gleaming faintly between her front teeth, was something dark and wet. When she smiled again, the light caught on a glint of metal—no, not metal.

Blood.

Blood shining under the glare of his phone.

Alfred’s throat went dry. His pulse thundered in his ears as he stared at her, unable to stop himself. The light trembled more violently now, jittering between her face and the silent man standing beside her.

The old woman tilted her head, her smile faltering as she noticed his expression. For a second, the kindly warmth vanished from her eyes. Something else, something older, looked out from behind them.

“Ah,” she said softly, voice slipping into something deeper, distorted. “Such a pity.”

Alfred’s stomach dropped.

“You know what I am now,” she continued, her grin curling back into place but stretched wider, unnatural. “I liked you, too. Could’ve made it painless.”

Alfred swallowed, his voice breaking as he stammered, “Whose blood is that? What did you do to James and Hannah? They’re—they’re your family friends, right? How could you hurt them?”

The woman laughed then, and it was wrong. It started as a chuckle, but warped midway through, turning wet and uneven, like it caught in her throat.

“Oh, dear boy,” she crooned. “I didn’t hurt them.” Her lips parted again, and for a split second Alfred saw something moving beneath her skin, just at the edge of her jawline. “I gave them a gift.”

The light flickered across her face, and her pupils flared unnaturally wide. Flat, dark, swallowing nearly all the white. “I could give it to you, too… Alfred.”

The sound of his name came out wrong. Like something else was speaking through her, something mimicking the shape of her mouth but not quite human.

Alfred stumbled back a step, the phone shaking so hard the light barely stayed steady. The air seemed to hum faintly now, a low vibration crawling under his skin.

The son moved first. His body jerked once, and then he started toward Alfred, slow at first, then faster, his face expressionless, eyes glassy. His hands hung at his sides, fingers twitching.

“Stay back,” Alfred rasped, backing away. “I swear to God—”

The old woman’s laugh cut him off, warped and gurgling. Her voice split, layered, as though two people were speaking in unison.

“You think we wouldn’t find you?” she hissed, her smile splitting wider, her teeth too sharp in the light. “It was so easy. We have people everywhere… and every day, new members join.”

Her son’s shadow fell over Alfred, blocking the hallway light.

“You still have a chance to make it painless, Alfred,” the woman crooned, her voice rippling oddly, as though two notes were trying to harmonize but couldn’t. “Hand over the phone, and we’ll make it quick. The same goes for your friend.”

Alfred’s throat clenched. He tried to swallow, his tongue thick and dry in his mouth. “Make what quick?” he managed to ask, though his voice cracked halfway through.

The woman’s smile twitched, an imitation of warmth that only made her face look more wrong. “Why, your rebirth, of course.”

For a moment, everything was silent, the hum of the hallway lights, the faint ticking of the front desk clock, his own pulse pounding in his ears.

“Not a chance in hell,” Alfred barked out, voice breaking between anger and terror. “You’re not going to kill me!”

His words came louder than he meant, echoing through the empty corridor. His hands shook so badly the light from his phone quivered over the walls, bouncing from the woman’s distorted grin to the blank face of her son.

“You won’t win by fighting, dear boy,” she said softly, but the sound scraped against his nerves like nails on glass. “You’ll only make it harder for yourself. You can’t win. This is only the beginning. You’ll be wishing for our mercy by the end of it all.”

“Stop talking,” Alfred snapped, taking another step back. His heart was hammering so fast it hurt. “I don’t—I don’t even know what the hell you are, but stay away from me!”

The woman didn’t move closer, only raised her arm, palm open, the skin around her wrist twitching like something was shifting just beneath it.

“Now,” she whispered, her voice stretched thin, the air around her seeming to hum. “Give me the phone.”

Alfred’s grip tightened on the device until his knuckles went white.

“Go to hell,” he spat, then turned and ran.

His bare feet thudded against the hallway floor as he bolted back toward the stairs, heart in his throat. The light from his phone swung wildly, throwing fractured beams across the walls. He didn’t dare look back, but he could hear them. The sound of footsteps, heavy and uneven, following behind.

Alfred’s breath tore out of him in ragged gasps as he sprinted up the stairs two at a time. His legs burned, the floorboards groaned beneath his feet, the sound chasing him as he ran.

He didn’t dare look back, but he could hear them. The sick sound of appendages that didn’t sound right anymore. The shuffle and scrape of claws against wood. The low, rasping hiss that rose and fell in an awful rhythm.

He hit the landing and nearly slipped, one hand grabbing the railing for balance. His chest ached, lungs straining, and his thoughts blurred into one frantic chant, Room 77. Room 77. Room 77.

He rounded the corner, the door finally in sight at the far end of the hall. The world felt too quiet now, the kind of silence that listened back.

“Come on, come on, come on…” Alfred fumbled for the keycard, his fingers slick with sweat. He jammed it at the slot once, red light. Again, still red.

“No, no, no—come on!” he hissed through gritted teeth.

Behind him came a noise that made his blood freeze, something skittering. Not footsteps. Too fast, too sharp. He risked a glance and nearly screamed. The shapes were wrong now, hunched and shifting, crawling along the walls and ceiling. Their skin glistened under the faint light, scales splitting flesh that should’ve been human.

The keycard finally flashed green.

Alfred slammed his shoulder into the door, stumbling into the dark room and twisting around to shove it closed. Just as he threw the bolt, something hit the other side with a sickening thud.

The door shuddered in its frame. Another hit. Thump. The hinges groaned. He could hear the wet hiss of air, claws scraping wood.

Alfred stumbled back, chest heaving, phone light shaking in his trembling hand.

Alfred spun toward the beds, panic pounding in his skull. The door groaned again under another impact, splinters cracking somewhere near the handle.

“Ivan!” Alfred hissed, but the man didn’t move. Not even a twitch.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Alfred half-whispered, half-growled. Ivan was sprawled on his back, one arm slung lazily over his stomach, looking for all the world like he didn’t have a care in it.

Another bang at the door. The frame creaked. Alfred didn’t think, he launched himself onto the bed.

“Ivan, wake up!” he shouted, grabbing the man’s shoulder and shaking him hard.

Ivan groaned, eyelids fluttering. “Mmm… what…”

“Wake up! We’ve got company!” Alfred hissed again, still shaking him, and that’s when he realized his hand was pressed against bare skin. Warm, solid muscle under his palm. His brain caught up a half second too late, and his entire face went red.

Before he could yank his hand away, Ivan’s eyes snapped open. Reflexes kicked in before reason. He grabbed Alfred’s wrist, twisted, and rolled.

Next thing Alfred knew, he was flat on his back with the full weight of a very awake, very shirtless Ivan pinning him down.

“What is happening?” Ivan demanded, voice thick with confusion, accent heavy.

“Jesus—Ivan!” Alfred squirmed beneath him, staring up at the Russian’s wide violet eyes. “You…there’s something trying to break the door down!”

Another slam echoed through the room, the wood splintering this time. Ivan’s head snapped toward the noise, expression darkening in an instant. He pushed off Alfred and swung his legs out of bed, already reaching for his clothes.

Alfred scrambled up beside him, heart still hammering for more reasons than one. “Okay, okay—game plan? ’Cause I’m all for not dying tonight!”

Ivan shoved his arms through his shirt, tugging the sweatshirt over it as the door rattled again, each blow splintering more of the frame. “I just woke up,” he muttered tightly, grabbing his bag. “You make the plan. I need to get my things.”

“I have shit I need to take too!” Alfred snapped back, trying to zip his own bag with shaking hands.

Ivan shot him a deadpan look that said really? even in the flickering light.

“Okay, not that much stuff!” Alfred admitted, shoving his charger and phone into the side pocket, grabbing his back pack from the floor. “But how the hell are we supposed to get out of here!?”

“The windows are screened, not full glass,” Ivan replied, already cramming socks into his suitcase like it was second nature. His tone was oddly calm, too calm. “Figure it out from there.”

“Dude! I’m not breaking a window!” Alfred hissed, though his voice cracked halfway through it. The next slam against the door made both of them flinch.

“You were eager to steal a car earlier,” Ivan reminded him sharply, striding over to the far side of the room where the parking lot lights barely bled through the curtains.

“That was different!” Alfred shot back, struggling to put on his shoes, but following Ivan anyway.

Ivan peeled back the curtain and cursed softly under his breath. “It’s not too high,” he said after a moment, though there was a tremor under the words. The fear was there, quiet but raw, threading through his steady voice. He didn’t look at Alfred when he spoke next. “I will go down first. Then you drop our things. You come after.”

Alfred’s heart thudded painfully. “That’s like—what, twelve feet down? I’m gonna break something!”

Ivan turned to face him, violet eyes fierce in the low light. “Would you rather be torn apart by lizards?”

Another slam. The wood cracked, the latch groaned. Alfred looked at the door, then the window, then back at Ivan.

“…Point taken.”

Ivan nodded once, hands shaking only slightly as he fumbled with the screen latch.

He pushed the screen free with a sharp pop and tossed it to the ground below. Cold night air rushed in. It was sharp, almost electric against Alfred’s skin. Beyond the window, the gravel lot glimmered faintly under the orange glow of a flickering streetlight.

“Come on,” Ivan said, already climbing through. His movements were quick, too composed for someone who’d just been woken up by monsters breaking down a door. But Alfred could see the tightness in his shoulders, the faint tremor in his hands. Fear, masked under focus.

Ivan dropped down, landing hard but steady with a grunt. “Throw down the bags!”

Alfred didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Ivan’s backpack and suitcase first and shoved them through the window, then his own bag. Some were caught and some landed beside the Russian with heavy thuds.

The door behind him splintered. Wood cracked like bone. Alfred froze, his breath catching as a scaled hand, dark green and slick with something unnatural, pushed through the jagged frame. The fingers flexed once, twice, nails catching the air.

“Alfred!” Ivan’s voice cut through the panic. “Now!”

Alfred scrambled up onto the sill, trying to hoist one leg out, but his shoes slipped against the frame. He slammed his hand into the wall for balance, heart in his throat. Another blow hit the door; it swung inward an inch, hinges screaming.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!” Alfred hissed, forcing himself through. His knees scraped the wood, his shirt snagged on the latch, then suddenly there was no ground beneath him. He dropped, air rushing past his ears.

Before he could hit the gravel, a pair of arms caught him. The impact drove the air out of his lungs.

“You okay?” Ivan grunted, staggering back a step but holding steady.

For a moment, Alfred could only stare, half from shock, half from disbelief. Ivan’s breath was ragged, his eyes flicking up toward the window just as the door inside their room burst open.

Alfred nodded, shock still evident in his face. “Yeah, thanks dude.”

A guttural hiss echoed through the night, followed by the scrape of claws against the windowsill.

“Run,” Ivan said, already grabbing their bags. His voice was low, sharp, and panicked in a way that left no room for argument. “Now.”

They reached the car quickly. Alfred tossed his backpack onto the passenger-side floor while Ivan heaved his suitcase and bag into the back.

Alfred slammed the car door shut the second his feet hit the floor mat. His hands shook so badly he could barely get his seatbelt on, and when the buckle finally clicked, the sound was too loud, too final. Ivan was soon behind the wheel, fumbling with the keys, his fingers trembling, breath coming out in uneven bursts. The first try missed the ignition entirely. The second scraped against it.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Ivan muttered in Russian under his breath, voice rough with panic. The third try caught. The engine roared to life, far too loud in the quiet night. Alfred flinched, twisting around to check the backseat as if something might’ve followed them out the window.

Nothing. Just shadows.

Ivan slammed the gear into reverse and tore out of the parking spot so fast the tires screeched. Gravel spat against the sides of the car. He didn’t bother with the headlights until they hit the edge of the lot, the beam cutting across the cracked motel sign that flickered a dying blue.

They turned onto the road, tires bumping hard over the curb. Alfred let out a shuddering breath, forcing himself to look back one last time.

The motel stood there under the neon light. Frozen still as if the world was bending around it.

And then he saw them.

The old woman and her son stood just outside the lobby, framed in the glow of the porch lamp. Their shadows stretched long and warped across the gravel. Behind them were two more figures, James and Hannah, the couple from before. Their movements were off, slow and puppet-like, as if something else was pulling the strings.

Their faces were wrong too. Too still. Their smiles wide and bloodless. Their eyes… empty. Not blank, but vacant, like something important had been scooped out and replaced with nothing.

The old lady lifted her hand in a small, almost grandmotherly wave. Her smile gleamed faintly under the light. Alfred’s stomach turned. He didn’t wave back.

“Don’t look,” Ivan said quietly, eyes fixed on the road. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his shoulders hunched so tight they nearly touched his ears. He sounded shaken, unsteady. “Just—don’t.”

Alfred swallowed hard, tearing his gaze away from the mirror. “They’re just standing there,” he whispered. “Like they’re watching us leave.”

“They are watching us.” Ivan’s voice cracked just a little. He exhaled shakily, pushing harder on the gas pedal as the road curved away from the motel. “But we are gone now. They can have that place.”

The car sped through the dark, headlights carving narrow tunnels of light through the emptiness. Alfred sank back into his seat, pulse still racing, trying not to picture the old woman’s teeth or the way her son’s eyes hadn’t blinked once.

He wanted to say something, but his throat burned too much to speak.

Beside him, Ivan kept his eyes on the road, but Alfred saw it this time. The faint tremor in his jaw. The quiet, uneven breaths he was trying to disguise.

For once, neither of them had to pretend they weren’t terrified.

Alfred let out a shaky breath, staring down at his hands as they trembled against his knees. “James and Hannah,” he said finally, voice raw and hoarse from shouting. “That couple…”

Ivan’s eyes flicked from the road to him, the dim dashboard light throwing uneasy shadows across his face. His knuckles were still white on the steering wheel. “What about them?”

“They… they did something to them,” Alfred said. His throat felt tight. “The old lady. I saw her teeth—there was blood on them.”

Ivan didn’t say anything. His jaw twitched, but his eyes stayed fixed on the road, the lines of the highway slipping beneath them in a blur.

“I think…” Alfred’s voice cracked a little, and he hated that it did. “I think they’re gone. James and Hannah.”

Ivan’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “What do you mean by that?”

“They’re not them anymore.” Alfred’s voice dropped to a whisper. “They’ve been replaced.”

He turned his head toward the window, watching the dark woods blur past, a reflection of his pale face ghosting against the glass. Reborn, he thought bitterly, the word crawling up from his memory. That’s what she called it.

The pause stretched for a long moment, filled only by the hum of the engine and the low whisper of wind sneaking through a crack in the window seal.

Alfred rubbed his palms over his jeans, trying to chase away the shaking. “So… where are we even going now? Do we have a plan? Or are we just driving until the sun comes up?”

Ivan exhaled through his nose, still staring straight ahead. “We are heading south,” he said simply. “I need to find a main road again. Then we will keep going until we reach Texas.”

“Texas?” Alfred repeated, groaning, slumping back in his seat. “You’re kidding me, right? That’s, like, an entire country away. Who the hell are we even going to see down there?”

Ivan’s mouth pressed into a thin line. For a while, Alfred thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then the man finally spoke. “A professor I once knew. He taught biology at my university.”

Alfred blinked, turning to look at him. “A professor? You think a professor can help us with—” he gestured vaguely toward the window “—whatever the hell that was back there?”

Ivan shrugged one shoulder, his expression unreadable, but there was something just under the surface. Something that almost looked like hope, or maybe desperation. “He is not just any professor. He studied parasitic species. Cellular mutations. Things like this…” He paused, hesitating. “He may believe our story. And if he does, he might help us understand what we are dealing with.”

Alfred stared at him for a long moment, trying to process it. His brain felt foggy, like it was still somewhere back in that motel lobby. “So we’re just… gonna drive to Texas and hope some random biology guy can fix this?”

Ivan finally looked at him again, eyes tired but steady. “Do you have a better idea?”

Alfred opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again. “No,” he admitted quietly.

The road stretched endlessly ahead, empty and dark, the headlights cutting through the mist that had begun to rise from the asphalt. Alfred slumped against the window, his body finally starting to crash after the adrenaline high.

“Texas it is,” he muttered under his breath, watching the last flicker of the inn sign disappear in the distance.

Alfred leaned his head against the cool window, the hum of the tires lulling him despite everything. His body ached from the tension of the last hour, muscles tight and sore in ways he hadn’t realized until now. The adrenaline that had kept him sharp was gone, replaced by a heavy, bone-deep exhaustion.

Outside, the world passed by in streaks of silver and black. The faint reflection of the moon glinting off the road signs, the shadows of trees bending like specters as the car sped through the dark. Every so often, the headlights would catch something, an old fence post, the curve of a hill, but Alfred barely registered any of it.

He blinked slowly, eyes burning. His thoughts began to unravel into loose threads. Colorado, the inn, the blood on her teeth, rebirth. And under it all, the steady sound of Ivan’s breathing beside him, even and rhythmic, like an anchor in the dark.

He mumbled something, maybe an apology for being stupid and leaving the room, maybe just Ivan’s name, but his voice was already fading. His eyes fluttered shut, and the world softened around him. The cold glass against his temple, the low rumble of the engine, and the faint scent of rain through the cracked window all blended into one hazy comfort.

Somewhere deep down, Alfred hoped that when he woke up, all of this. The screams, the blood, the monsters, would fade away with the night. Nothing more than a terrible dream.