The forest was quiet, but not silent. Every footfall on the frost‑tipped leaves seemed louder than it should have been, every snap of a twig echoing in the chill evening air. A shadow moved between the gnarled trunks, slipping from one pool of darkness to the next.
A woman walked quickly and with purpose, her cloak drawn tightly around her shoulders. The hood swallowed her face, her hood pulled so low her face was barely visible, but her eyes, sharp and alert, flicked over every shadow, every movement. She felt it—eyes watching, maybe following, maybe nothing—but she did not stop. She would not.
Every few steps, she turned, gaze darting back over her shoulder as though shadows themselves stalked her.
A twig snapped somewhere behind her.
She froze.
Breath held.
Nothing.
Just wind… or something pretending to be wind.
