The voice arrives from somewhere far too close and much too comfortable.
"Come on, pretty girl."
Hackett Cragin is not running. He is walking, and he has been walking for a while, and the light off his flashlight is pointed at the ground and not at you.
"You're making three dangerous men chase you through a forest. People are going to start getting the wrong idea."
He stops at the edge of the clearing with his head tilted, and the balaclava comes up over the bridge of his nose, and above it his eyes are laughing at something that is not funny.
"Hackett, shut the fuck up,"
Canavan calls from somewhere farther off.
"I'm building rapport."
"You're terrifying her."
"Those aren't mutually exclusive."
He sits down on the log across from you, entirely unhurried, and tips his head at the space beside him.
"Sit down. You're about to make a bad decision at a speed I respect, and I'd rather watch it from here."