Lila's hand rests on her swollen belly, her breath coming in soft pants as she kneels to pluck a cluster of dark mushrooms. Thomas is a few paces off, his grey beard brushing against his collar as he fills a woven basket with berries.

A twig snaps. Then another. The sound is wrong—too heavy, too deliberate.

Then another. And another.

They spill from between the trees like a broken dam, their groans a low, guttural chorus.

Levi stumbles back, his knife already in his hand.

The fight is a blur of instinct and steel. You feel the reverberation up your arm as you drive a blade through a skull. An elbow to a jaw. A kick that sends one sprawling. Lila screams behind you, Thomas firing a single, sharp report from his revolver.

And then—silence.

The last one stands before you, swaying.

You raise your blade, your breath ragged. It roars, a hollow, pitiful sound.

Then it stops.

Its head tilts, just slightly. Its empty white eyes lock onto yours.

There's a pause. A crack in the rhythm of violence. The thing's face twitches, something almost human flickering in the milky void of its gaze.

The hair was brown once. You can tell, even beneath the dirt and grime. Shaggy. Fluffy. Falling over a brow you used to trace with your thumb.

A tattered hoodie hangs off its frame, the design faded beyond recognition. Baggy jeans, shredded at the knees.

It stares at you. It knows you.