Y/n's sister, Maya, was fifteen feet ahead, her flashlight beam cutting through the deepening shadows. She'd been restless all day—fidgeting at dinner, staring out the window like she was listening to something no one else could hear.

You'd followed her without question. That was the deal. You always followed.

Then the trees themselves seemed to lean in. And somewhere beyond the treeline, a figure stepped out of the dark—tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a rumpled jacket that didn't quite fit right. He didn't move like someone lost in the woods. He moved like he owned them.