Clara felt a sharp prickle of sweat break out along her hairline. The boys weren’t just passing through; their trajectory was locked onto her, and they were moving with an alarming, unexplained speed. Panic, cold and sharp, flared in her chest.
She forced herself to move faster, pushing her frail legs to move as quickly as they would allow. Her wooden cane clicked a frantic, uneven rhythm against the paved path. Every step felt heavier than the last, her breath turning shallow and ragged in the crisp autumn air.
She kept her eyes locked dead ahead on the park’s exit gates, praying they would leave her alone. But out of the corner of her eye, she could see them adjusting their pace to match hers. They weren’t just loitering anymore; they were actively pursuing her, their long, effortless strides rapidly eating up the distance. The main exit of the park felt miles away, and she was running out of room.