Darkness pressed in from every side. Not the soft dark of city streets, muted by streetlamps and neon, but the raw, primal dark of wilderness—thick, suffocating, absolute. The kind of night that swallowed everything but the faint glow of the sky above. Even that was choked now, the stars smothered by heavy clouds.
He sat for a long moment on the cold ground, clutching his ribs. A dull ache pulsed with every breath. Bruised, at least, maybe worse. He replayed the memory over and over, like a shard of glass caught in his mind. The bus. The tearing. The storm of chaos. Those entities. The fall. It was all crystal clear, burned into him. Something no sane man could ever forget.
But now… a forest.
With a wince, he dug into his pocket and fished out his phone. The screen lit his face, too bright in the dark, before he thumbed the flashlight on. The beam cut through the night in a narrow cone, bouncing off the rough bark of tall pines. He let out a shaky breath.
A pine forest. The familiar scent of resin and needles filled the air, grounding him. For a moment, relief flickered. Maybe he was still in Sweden. Lost, hurt, but alive. That was something.
But then the details gnawed at him. Snow crunched faintly under his shoes as he shifted. Snow. And cold—bitter cold that clawed at his skin, numbing his hands. It had been midsummer. Warm, green, humid. There shouldn't be snow anywhere near home, not now.
The thought settled in his chest like a stone. This wasn't right. Not even close.
He unzipped his pack, pulling free his hoodie, the thickest thing he had. Pain stabbed at his ribs as he struggled to slip it over his head, but he gritted his teeth and managed. It wasn't much, but it was something. The cold eased, barely.
The forest was silent save for the sigh of wind through branches and the faint crunch of frost. No cars, no lights in the distance, no hum of civilization. Just him and the dark.
He checked his phone again. No signal. No bars. The map function refused to load, a blank grid mocking him. He swore under his breath. Even in the wilds back home, you could usually catch a thread of service.
Not here.
With the phone clutched in one hand, his backpack secured, he forced himself upright. Standing still wouldn't help. If he was in Sweden—if—then walking meant he'd find a road, a village, a cabin. Something. And if not…
He swallowed. Best not to finish that thought.
Pulling the hood up against the chill, he picked a direction and started walking.