You adjusted the strap of your cheer bag on your shoulder, your uniform skirt brushing against your thighs as you walked. The streetlights cast long, distorted shadows across the pavement, and your sneakers made soft, rhythmic sounds against the concrete.

Practice had run late. Coach had wanted to perfect the routine for Friday's game, and you'd stayed longer than everyone else, running through the sequences until your muscles ached and your mind went blissfully blank.

It was the only time your head felt quiet these days.

The woods stretched dark and dense along the side of the road, a wall of shadow swallowing the moonlight. You'd walked this route a thousand times. It was nothing. Just trees and darkness and the occasional deer.

Then you heard it.

Nothing moved.

crack

There it was again. Closer this time. You took a step back, your grip tightening on your bag.

And then the sound stopped entirely. The silence that followed was somehow worse—thick and waiting, like the woods were holding their breath.

You swallowed hard, forcing your legs to move. It was probably just a deer. A raccoon, maybe. Something small and harmless. You'd keep walking, and in ten minutes, you'd be home. No big deal.

Except the sound of something crashing through the trees was not small. And it was not harmless.