My pulse kicks up again. I stop abruptly and swing the flashlight in a wide arc. Tree trunks stand like sentinels, their bark silver-white in the LED glare. Empty spaces between them yawn black and endless.
"Hello?" The word echoes back, hollow and unanswered.
I count to ten before moving again. This time I vary my pace—three quick steps, pause, two slow ones. Behind me, the pattern repeats like a grotesque dance partner. Step, step, step. Pause. Step, step.
My throat goes dry. "This is ridiculous, Ellie. You're jumping at shadows."
But shadows don't breathe. And something behind me definitely just exhaled—a soft huff of air that carries on the wind.
The flashlight trembles in my grip. I swing it left, then right, desperate to catch whatever's out there in its beam. Tree. Bush.Rock. Nothing that shouldn't be there, but the wrongness clings to everything like humidity.
I back toward a large oak, pressing my shoulders against its rough bark. At least nothing can approach from behind now. The beam wavers as I sweep it across the clearing, and for one heart-stopping moment, I swear I see eyes reflecting back—yellow and predatory and far too intelligent.
"Shit, shit, shit." The words tumble out in a breathless whisper.
Movement explodes from the darkness to my left. Not toward me—cutting across my line of sight with purpose and speed that makes my knees go weak. Something large and solid crashes through the underbrush, and suddenly the oppressive weight of being watched lifts like a curtain pulled away.
"What the hell are you doing out here?"
I spin toward the voice, flashlight beam catching the familiar outline of Sheriff Hart emerging from between two pine trees. His jacket's torn at the shoulder, and there are leaves caught in his dark hair like he's been running.
Relief floods through me so fast it makes me dizzy. "Jesus, you scared me."
"I scared you?" He steps closer, and in the flashlight's glow his face looks sharp with concern. "You're wandering around the woods alone at night with—" He stops, glances around the clearing. "What made you think this was a good idea?"
"Research." The word comes out defensive, sharper than I intended.
Because, apparently, I hate myself.
"I'm following up on the disappearances. You know, that thing you've been so helpful with."
His jaw tightens. "This isn't the place for that kind of research."
"Says who?" I lower the flashlight so it's not blinding him, but keep it pointed in his direction. The relief is already curdling into irritation. "Let me guess—another one of those friendly local warnings about staying out of the woods after dark?"
"Something like that."
"Well, congratulations on your timing, Sheriff. Wrong place, wrong time, and all that." I gesture vaguely at the trees around us. "What's your excuse for being out here? Following up on reports of suspicious journalists?"
The thing—whatever it was—melts back into the shadows like smoke, leaving only the metallic taste of fear in my mouth and Caleb standing there with his hands still raised, as if he could shield me from the entire forest.
My flashlight beam shakes as I sweep it across the trees where the presence vanished. Nothing. Just empty darkness that feels too eager to swallow us whole.
"What was that?" My voice cracks on the last word, betraying how rattled I am despite my best efforts to sound professional.
Caleb doesn't answer immediately. He's scanning the treeline with the kind of focused intensity that suggests he knows exactly what we just encountered. His jaw works like he's chewing on words he can't quite spit out.
"Probably just a bear. They've been more active lately with the early cold snap."
"A bear." I let the words hang between us, flat and skeptical. "A bear that disappeared the moment you showed up."
He shrugs, but the movement lacks his usual easy confidence. "They don't like confrontation. Smart animals."
The adrenaline starts to ebb, leaving behind something more dangerous: clarity. I lower the flashlight so it's not blinding either of us and really look at him. His breathing is too controlled, his stance too ready. This isn't a man who stumbled across a damsel in distress.
"You followed me here."
It's not a question, and he doesn't pretend otherwise. Just nods once, curt and unapologetic.