ADRENALINE PUMPED THROUGH Devora's veins as they fled the scene running, the pain of her wound long forgotten. Their feet thundered down on the forest floor, sending the dried leaves and grass flying into the air whenever they kicked at it a little too hard. Every few steps, Nathan spun around to look behind them, making sure that they were not followed. Thankfully, they weren't.

"We lost them," he panted, breath haggard and labored.

Once he was sure that they were out of danger, Nathan slowed down to a jog before stopping all at once. Breathing out heavily, Nathan blew at his fringe, sending the wisps of brown hair flying a few times before he ran a hand through the strands, combing them backward. His pink tongue stuck out, licking at his dry lips, pearly white teeth showing through the small action. With both of his hands on his hips, he spun around a little, still wary as he surveyed their surroundings.

Somehow through the chaos and madness, they had been blessed by Lady Luck and had won the gunfight. They hadn't emerged completely injury-free, of course, but the damage done to them was nothing compared to the damage sustained by their enemies. While the opposing team had been wiped, all killed, Devora suffered no more than a few additional scratches from when she dodged too quickly. Her skin had scraped against the rough dirt of the ground and the uneven edges of the boulder she had used as a shield. Nathan, on the other hand, had a fresh cut across his left cheek. A bullet had flown too close for comfort, leaving a mark. It would've been fatal if he hadn't swerved out of the way in time.

"Are you alright?" He asked, stretching a hand out to place on Devora's shoulder.

Devora could only nod twice in silent agreement, much too parched to speak. Her throat felt scratchy and gritty, resulting in her voice failing her commands. In addition, with the rush of excitement dying down, the guilt of taking a life came crashing down on her at full force. It knocked her off her axis, causing her to struggle for control over her own emotions.

She had never killed before, of course. There was never a need to. She lived in an average town and led an average life by the side of average people. That was all her life ever amounted to and that was how she thought it would stay. However, her hands were now stained scarlet with sins she could never wash off. Even though the drops of blood had never reached her skin, they were already tattooed in her heart.

"Whew! What a work out that was." Sighing, Nathan withdrew his hand, stretching them over his head. "Can't wait to get back after this. I need a vacation."

Unable to stand properly, Devora dropped to her knees with a thud. Her face grew gaunt, paling with remorse as she continued to stare at her pale palms. In her eyes, they were crimson and not beige. The smell of iron still clung persistently to her clothes, invading her senses. When she looked away from her hands for even just a second, she could see the bodies she had shot down, seven in total; three on purpose, four by pure chance even though she had aimed for non-fatal spots.

Shivering, her entire body trembled. It was the height of noon but it never felt colder than now. It seemed as though winter had arrived early, especially just for Devora and none other because she was the only one that could feel it. Hollow-cheeked and pallid, she kept turning her hands around shakily, as though flipping them a couple more times could wash the stains away.

Her first kill was a man that Devora hadn't even properly looked at. She couldn't even remember his features or body structure. All she remembered about him was that he had walked a little too close with a gun cocked and ready to fire so she had to shoot first. There had been nowhere else for her to run. She had been trapped in a corner and was separated from Nathan by a short distance. If she hadn't fired that shot, he would've, no doubt.

As far as Devora could guess, he was a mere pawn following the orders of someone higher up the food chain. A pawn — a man — with, most likely, a family waiting for him back home. He might have a spouse lovingly waiting up for him, or maybe children or elderly he had to feed with his wage. Maybe he lived alone, unloved, unwanted, and with no one to mourn the fact that he had just passed. Not that any of this mattered. It was too late for regrets, if she had any. He was already dead and the dead did not come back to life.

Death is the only permanent thing in this world. That fact will remain unchanged for all eternity.

What was truly frightening wasn't that she had taken lives. Rather, it was that she didn't regret taking them. After all, Devora knew that Nathan was right. In this harsh and cruel reality where the game they were playing was no longer something as simple as cops and robbers, those thugs would've killed them if they were caught. This was no playground and they were no longer kids. To survive in this kill-or-be-killed world, one had to strip away all of their innocence and naivety.

"I killed someone," she croaked, still staring fixedly at the lines on her palms. "I feel guilty but I also don't regret doing it. Why?"

A single tear dripped onto the dirt beneath her, the shade of golden brown darkening into chocolate. Nathan, who had just realized that the girl he was with was on the ground muttering mindlessly to herself, quickly dropped to his knees as well. Shuffling closer to her, he put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his embrace.

"Hey, hey. It's alright. They were kidnappers, thugs, gangsters, as much of a killer as we are. Or I am. The law would've sentenced them to death anyway, if they were caught. You don't have to put so much blame on yourself."

"But that's the thing!" Finally tearing her eyes away from her hands, Devora grasped at the collar of Nathan's shirt, clutching it hard between her fingers until her knuckles turned white and the fabric of his shirt wrinkled beyond hope. "That's the thing," she repeated, this time softer. "I don't blame myself. Not after I think about how he could've killed me. Not after how I think about how I could've been the one dead on the forest floor with no one to collect my body. I'm scared! Why am I... How did I... I'm a monster!"

"Devora!"

Warm hands gripped her cold shoulders, giving her a good shake to get her to look at him properly. With lips still quivering and fingers still tightly holding onto Nathan's collar like a lifeline, Devora slowly looked up to meet his eyes. Their faces were mere inches apart and she could see every fine detail of his features. He was beautiful, yes, but the light in his eyes seemed to glow a haunting red just like her hands.

"It's alright to prioritize yourself over other people. Don't listen to all those people that tell you to put strangers' lives before your own. We go by the law of the jungle. Only the strong survive. It's alright if you're choosing to save yourself. And not only that, you saved me. Rather than just thinking about how you took lives, remember that you also saved mine. I could've never gone against so many of them on my own."

"But they're dead. I killed them. This red," Devora finally released her hold on Nathan's collar so that she could show him her hands, "I can never wash this red off."

Nathan sighed, placing a hand over hers so that he shielded her palms from her line of sight.

"They would've died anyway," Nathan confessed. "Even if you hadn't killed them, even if we had escaped this forest without taking a single life, my boss would've still sent in a group of people to eradicate those people. Hell, he might even send me back in to kill them. And if it had come down to that, it wouldn't be as simple as a bullet to the head. They would've been brought back to headquarters, tortured for information, before being left for the dead. You're showing them mercy."

It didn't make sense— none of what Nathan said did to Devora. She wanted to argue that she didn't live in the same world as he did. Her world was plain, boring, and occasionally colorful, occasionally dull. It was never colored in just red and was always a kaleidoscope of colors.

However, she could see why he said the words he did. Deep down, a part of Devora felt the thrill of taking a life. An insane, psychotic part of her felt an exhilarating rush when they were on a run from death's jaws. There was never this much excitement in her world before. Perhaps she no longer lived in that plain world she had grown up in. She was now in the sea of red with no lighthouse to guide her ashore.

Her cries and whimpers eventually calmed down to occasional sniffs. Eventually, all grew quiet.

"You okay now, Dora?" Nathan asked, his fingers running through the strands of her hair as she rested her face against his chest. She could hear each thump of his heart, beating, alive, and it was because she acted fast enough to save him. That thought was empowering.

Wiping back her tears, she peeled herself from his body, nodding. Her eyes were no doubt rimmed red, puffy and swollen from her tears. However, after crying everything out, she felt lighter than before. The weight on her shoulders seemed more bearable now with someone holding her hand.

"Great. Come on, we have to keep moving." Holding her by her upper arms, Nathan hoisted Devora to her feet with ease. She staggered for a moment before regaining her balance, legs still a little weak and numb. "We should be there soon. Just a little more to go and we can get your leg treated."

'Ah,' Devora thought. 'My leg. That's right.' Amidst everything, she had already forgotten about her injury.

"Thank you," she choked out, fingers tightly intertwined with Nathan's. A word of thanks was long overdue. If he hadn't saved her, if she had been left in that cold, dark cell, how bleak would her future have been? "For breaking me out. Thank you."

"Just doing my job."

When Devora braved a quick glance, she was met with Nathan's cheeky smile. He seemed so carefree, so utterly sincere that she was momentarily blinded by the angel that stood by her side. She tightened her grip, unwilling to let go, afraid that if she loosened her fingers, he would disappear back to Heaven and she would be left alone.

Nathan didn't mind. Or at least, if he did, he didn't mention. The two continued their way with their fingers intertwined with each other's, hand in hand conquering the distance between them and safety.

The rest of their journey was uneventful. There weren't any more pursuers that came after them. The only thing that disturbed their walk were a few harmless woodland features, some that were too friendly for their own good. Squirrels snuck a little too close to take a sniff while birds perched on branches that were right over their heads, cooing a song.

After an hour passed, then two, Devora started to grow hungry again. That small portion of bread was hardly enough to fill her stomach. Paired with the rigorous exercise she had been put through, her body practically screamed for nourishment. However, there was nothing else Nathan could bring out for her to eat. She knew that he must've been hungry as well. After all, he even gave up some of his food to feed her the night before. The only thing they could do to tide by the hunger was to stop for water breaks. Such breaks were scarce since clean running water wasn't available. They could only fill up Nathan's flask with water from streams and rivers that were still clear. It didn't do much to soothe the rumbling monster in her belly but it was better than nothing.

"Drink up," Nathan instructed, practically shoving the flask into her hands. In his spare hand was a compass, his eyes trained on the little spinning needle. "Keep yourself hydrated. We're almost there, I promise."

Just as Devora reached for the flask, a wail from a distance away caught her attention. Her hand stopped, fingers hovering in midair as she spun around to the source of the sound. Her ears pricked up in attention, eyes scouring the area. The cry was from a child. It must've been someone else that had been locked up in the same god-forsaken place as her.

"Did you hear that?" Climbing to her feet, Devora stepped away from the stream. "There's someone else here."

Nathan didn't reply.

"Shut the fuck up!" A gruff tone tore through the forest, attempting to cover up the wails of the child.

Devora could make out several background noises of protest but she couldn't put a finger on what they were saying. With all the screaming and commotion, the words were lost to mindless pandemonium. As time dragged on, the wails only continued, growing in volume. Now on his feet, Nathan winced a little, hissing through his teeth.

"Oh no," he muttered, quickly capping the flask and keeping the compass in his pocket.

"I said," the voice repeated, angrier. "Shut the fuck up!"

"No!" A new voice yelled out before the speaker was abruptly cut off by a sound that resembled thunder.

Bang. The unmistakable blare of a gunshot reverberated, sendings the nearby birds flying into the sky in fright.

At that moment, all color drained from Devora's face. Forgetting about her previous panic and abandoning Nathan behind her, she ran towards the sound of the scuffle. Shoveling her way through the bushes and shrubs into a clearing of trees, Devora found herself staring at the scene of the crime.

There, by a corner, two men restrained two familiar faces. Travis and Leah were forcefully held down, their hands bound tightly by those two men. Each of those two strangers had rough cuts and tattoos decorating their bodies, some scars even slicing through their faces, pink with age. Further back was a sleek black helicopter parked to a stand-still, its blades motionless. Another man, much scarier than the other two, stood closer to where Devora was. He held a large rifle in his hands, poised to kill.

Devora could only raise her hands to cover her lips, attempting but failing desperately to hold back the sob that was escaping. Tears streaked down the apples of her cheeks, racing to her chin as she struggled to breathe. Her throat clogged up at the sight in front of her, the newly regained strength in her legs quickly dying down again as she fell back a few steps in shock.

Where the man's gun was pointed, a child laid, hair spread all over the bloody grass plains. Her eyes were glossed over and lifeless, staring wide open at Devora.

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