The words landed like a stone in still water. I blinked, my hand frozen halfway to the mug of coffee Sam’s mom had left out. Around me, the warmth of the house—the crackling fire, the low murmur of the TV, the familiar weight of Jared’s arm draped over my shoulder—suddenly felt thinner. Colder.

Silence. The kind that presses against your ears. I could feel Jared’s heartbeat through his palm—fast, uneven, wrong. Like something inside him had just been yanked awake.

Sam ran a hand over his jaw, jaw tight, eyes dark. I looked between them, the tension thick enough to choke on.

Outside, the rain picked up, drumming against the roof like a heartbeat of its own. Somewhere deep in the woods, the dark pressed closer.