Radio

From blood loss and exhaustion, Thomas slipped into unconsciousness in the back seat of the car. His vision blurred before fading entirely, the world around him dissolving into darkness. He couldn't even process where they were headed, but it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was distance—getting as far away from the chaos and carnage as possible, finding somewhere, anywhere, where their lives wouldn't hang by a thread.

His restless slumber was a torment. Images of something massive, predatory, and impossibly fast haunted him. It had teeth like jagged blades, eyes glowing with primal hunger. In the dream, it grabbed him, toying with him like a rag doll before ripping him apart. He screamed, but no sound came out. His pain felt real, the sensation of tearing flesh unbearable. The nightmare ended abruptly, jolting him awake as the car lurched to a stop.

Thomas gasped for air, his chest heaving. His skin was clammy, his body drenched in cold sweat. Blood, dried and cracking, caked his clothes and hands. His head spun violently, like a compass with no true north, and his limbs felt like they were made of lead. He coughed, weak and sharp, his parched throat burning. Blinking hard, he tried to focus on his surroundings.

"Where… where are the others?" His voice was a hoarse croak, barely audible over the sound of the engine ticking as it cooled. He propped himself up against the back seat, wincing at the sharp pain flaring in his ribs. His eyes darted around the car's dim interior before landing on the silhouette of a small cabin just beyond the windshield. It was shrouded by the dense forest, its windows glowing faintly with flickering light.

"They're… inside?" he rasped to himself, squinting at the faint movement behind the dirty, cracked glass. A warm light from what appeared to be an oil lamp danced in the darkness.

With trembling hands, Thomas fumbled with the car door handle. It creaked open, groaning as much as his battered body did. He stumbled out, his legs barely holding his weight. Pain radiated from his injured arm, each throb a reminder of their narrow escape. He clutched it instinctively, pressing it against his side as he staggered toward the cabin, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. The cold night air prickled his skin, but the promise of warmth inside kept him moving.

He hesitated on the threshold, his vision swimming. The door loomed before him, an impassable wall against his overwhelming weakness. He swayed, his body threatening to crumple beneath him. But then he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to grasp the doorknob and push it open.

The interior was modest but welcoming compared to the chaos they'd fled. The warm glow of a lamp illuminated the wooden room—simple walls, mismatched furniture, and hunting trophies mounted above a stone fireplace. Dust lingered in the air, mixing with the faint, musty scent of abandonment.

Walter was sprawled on an old couch, a can of beans in one hand and a spoon in the other. He ate with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn't seen food in days. At the rickety table, Chloe sat nursing a chipped mug of tea, her hands trembling as she stared into the steaming liquid. Her face was pale, her wide eyes betraying the effort it took to keep herself composed. Anna was hunched over a crackling radio, twisting the dials with frustration as static hissed and popped.

"Thomas!" Chloe's voice broke the quiet tension, her head snapping up as she saw him standing in the doorway. Relief flooded her face, and she practically leaped to her feet, setting her mug down with a clatter. "You're awake!"

"Get in here before you fall over," Walter called, his voice gruff but tinged with concern. He waved his spoon at an empty chair. "We finally found a halfway-decent spot. Don't ruin it by collapsing on the porch."

Thomas stumbled in, his knees threatening to buckle. He scanned the room, his gaze lingering on the hunting trophies—gleaming antlers, a bear's snarling head, a wolf frozen mid-growl. The sight was unsettling, but the warmth of the cabin was a welcome reprieve from the cold outside.

"Where… where are we?" he asked, his voice strained. He sank into a chair near the table, his body sagging like a puppet with its strings cut. "And whose house is this, for crying out loud?"

Anna was beside him in an instant, her hands gently but firmly guiding him into a more comfortable position. Her touch was steady, though her face betrayed the same exhaustion that weighed on them all.

"We're deep in the woods now," she explained, her voice soft but edged with unease. "The city became impossible. Those… things… they were everywhere. Streets were overrun. We had no choice but to leave. We thought maybe out here—away from everything—might be safer." She paused, her lips pressing into a thin line. "At least for now."

"And this cabin?" Thomas pressed, though his voice was barely above a whisper.

"Found it by chance," Walter chimed in, scraping the last of the beans from his can. "Looks abandoned. No one's been here for a while, but hey, it's got a roof, some food, and a bit of light. Better than the car, that's for sure."

Thomas nodded faintly, his gaze drifting to the radio on the table. Anna was already back at it, her fingers deftly turning the dials, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Anything on the radio?" he asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

"Not yet," Anna replied, her voice tight. Her fingers paused momentarily before continuing their task. "Just static. But I'll find something. I have to."

Thomas didn't respond. Instead, he stood unsteadily and gestured toward the bathroom door. The movement made his head spin, and he gripped the edge of the table to steady himself.

"Wait," Anna called after him. "You're hurt. Let me at least clean you up. There's a first aid kit somewhere around here. You've lost so much blood—"

"I'm fine," Thomas cut her off, his voice firmer than he felt. He shot her a glance over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. "Just… give me a minute."

Anna sighed, sinking back into her chair. She bit her lip, her eyes briefly following him before returning to the radio.

"Stubborn as a mule," she muttered under her breath, turning the dial again.

Walter chuckled, leaning back on the couch. "Yeah, but at least he's still breathing," he said, cracking open another can. "That's something."

Closing the bathroom door behind him, Thomas stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror. The glass was smeared with grime, but his hollowed-out face was clear enough—a man on the edge of falling apart. His skin was pale, almost translucent, his lips cracked and dry. Dark rings circled his bloodshot eyes, which stared back at him with a quiet desperation. He could barely recognize himself. Slowly, he reached up, brushing away strands of damp hair plastered to his forehead.

His fingers brushed the makeshift bandages wrapped around his arm. The fabric was torn and frayed—Anna's shirt. He swallowed hard, guilt gnawing at him. She had given up part of her clothing to keep him alive, and here he was, barely holding on. As he peeled the bandages away, wincing at the sting, fresh blood oozed from the gash. He clenched his teeth, muttering a curse under his breath.

"Just keep it together, Thomas," he whispered. His voice trembled, barely audible over the pounding rain outside.

His blood-soaked pants clung uncomfortably to his legs, sticky and stiff. With stiff, deliberate movements, he stripped them off, discarding them in a heap on the bathroom floor. He turned the shower knob, and after a moment of groaning pipes, water gushed forth, hitting the tiles with a sharp hiss. The sound was almost deafening in the small space. He tested the water with his good hand—it was warm, miraculously warm.

Stepping into the shower, he let the water cascade over him, closing his eyes as it washed away layers of dirt, sweat, and dried blood. The warmth spread over his bruised and battered body, and for the first time in what felt like days, he felt… almost human. He pressed his forehead against the cool tile, letting the water run down his back, mixing with the blood that still seeped from his wounds. The pink rivulets swirled around his feet, disappearing down the drain.

"How I wish this was all just a goddamn dream," he murmured hoarsely, his voice swallowed by the sound of the water. His mind replayed the horrors they had seen: the streets littered with mangled bodies, the monstrous roars, the blood-curdling screams that still echoed in his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the images wouldn't fade.

He rubbed a hand over his face, his fingers trembling as they passed over the stubble on his jaw. But as he shifted under the water, a sharp, searing pain shot through his arm and back, pulling him out of his thoughts. He hissed, jerking away from the water. The cuts were deeper than he'd realized, and the heat only made them burn more.

"Damn it!" he growled, gripping the shower handle and turning off the water. His breath came in shallow gasps as he leaned against the wall, letting the steam linger around him. He stared at the pink-tinted water pooling at his feet before it swirled down the drain, taking a piece of his strength with it.

Stepping out of the shower, he left wet, unsteady footprints on the bathroom floor. The tiles were cold beneath his feet, a stark contrast to the water's fleeting warmth. He wiped a hand over the fogged-up mirror, revealing his reflection once more. His face looked even worse now. The shower hadn't washed away the exhaustion etched into his features.

Opening the medicine cabinet behind the mirror, he found a first aid kit. The container was old, its edges cracked and its label faded, but it was still intact. He pulled it out and set it on the sink, rummaging through its contents with trembling hands. Bandages, antiseptic, scissors—everything he needed, though the sight of it made his stomach twist. He didn't want to do this. But he had no choice.

"Alright, Thomas, you've been through worse," he muttered, trying to psych himself up. "Just… don't think about it."

He carefully poured antiseptic onto his arm, and the sting was immediate and excruciating. He bit down on his lip hard, stifling a cry. His vision blurred with tears as he worked, his hands fumbling as he wrapped the bandage around the wound. Each movement sent a fresh wave of pain shooting through him, but he pushed through it, muttering curses under his breath.

As he finished tying off the bandage, a strange sensation prickled at the back of his neck. He froze mid-movement, his breath catching in his throat. The air in the room felt… different. Heavy. Watching. Slowly, he raised his gaze to the mirror. His reflection stared back at him, but something felt off. He couldn't put his finger on it, but the sensation of being watched grew stronger.

He turned his head, glancing over his shoulder. The bathroom was empty. It was just him, the shower, the old medicine cabinet, and the faint crackle of the lightbulb above.

"Get a grip, Thomas," he whispered, shaking his head. "You're losing it."

But when he looked back at the mirror, his stomach dropped. Words were forming on the fogged surface, as though an invisible finger was writing from the other side. His breath hitched, and he stumbled back against the sink, clutching its edge. His wide eyes followed the letters as they appeared, one by one, until the message was complete:

"Congratulations. You have intrigued one of the Ancients. Do you wish to become its champion?"

"What… the hell?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. His heart was pounding now, each beat sending a surge of adrenaline through his veins. He blinked rapidly, hoping the words would disappear, but they didn't. They remained, stark and clear against the fogged glass.

He backed away, his hand gripping the edge of the sink so tightly his knuckles turned white. "What is this? What the hell does that even mean?"

The bathroom was silent except for the faint hum of the lightbulb. The words on the mirror began to shift, the letters dissolving before reforming into a simpler message:

"Answer: yes or no."

Thomas shook his head, his breathing ragged. "No, no, no. This isn't real. This can't be real."

But deep down, he knew better. The world had already descended into chaos. Dinosaurs had returned, creatures from an era long buried in the annals of time. Was it truly so far-fetched to believe that something even older—something supernatural and primordial—had stirred from its slumber?

"What do you want from me?" he shouted at the mirror, his voice echoing off the tiled walls. "Who are you?!"

No response.

The words didn't change. They just hovered there, waiting, as if the entire room was holding its breath. He pressed his palms against the sink, his reflection staring back at him with desperation and fear.

"Yes or no," he muttered, his voice shaking. "What happens if I say yes? What happens if I say no?"

But there was no answer, no guidance, only the oppressive weight of the question hanging over him. He swallowed hard, his throat dry. His mind raced, every logical part of him screaming to walk away, to leave this madness behind. But something deeper—something he couldn't quite explain—drew him toward the possibility.

He clenched his fists, forcing himself to stand taller. "Alright," he said, his voice firmer now. "Yes."

The moment the word left his lips, the lightbulb flickered violently before shattering, plunging the room into darkness. A low, guttural hum filled the air, vibrating through his chest like the growl of some ancient beast. The very air seemed to ripple around him, and Thomas felt an invisible force surge through his body, wrapping around him like tendrils of power.

And then, everything went silent.

******

After changing into new clothes—a simple gray T-shirt and slightly faded jeans that someone from the group had scrounged up from an old closet—Thomas felt a fleeting sense of comfort. The clothes weren't quite his size—the shirt clung too tightly to his chest, and the jeans bunched awkwardly at the ankles—but they were clean, dry, and free of the bloodstains and grime that had coated his previous outfit. In the midst of chaos, such small blessings felt monumental.

He caught his reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror above the sink. A faint tremor ran through his hand as he gripped the edge of the sink.

"Well, Thomas," he muttered under his breath, forcing a wry smile that quickly faded. "This is as good as it's going to get." He took a deep, steadying breath and straightened his posture. "Time to face whatever fresh hell is waiting out there."

He opened the bathroom door, stepping into the dimly lit main room of the hunting lodge. The air was thick with the mingling scents of tea, canned soup, and the musty dampness of rotting wood.

Anna's voice cut through the quiet like a spark of electricity.

"I did it!" she exclaimed, leaping from her chair so quickly that it scraped noisily against the floor. "I caught a signal! The radio's working!"

Her face lit up with a mixture of pride and relief, her hands hovering above the old radio as if it were a fragile artifact she'd just unearthed.

Walter, who had been sprawled across the tattered couch with a perpetually unimpressed expression, shot upright. "You're kidding," he said, his tone caught somewhere between disbelief and cautious hope.

Chloe, seated in the corner with a steaming mug of tea clutched between her hands, nearly spilled it in her haste to stand. "Wait, seriously? A signal? What are they saying?" She darted over to Anna, her eyes wide with anticipation.

Thomas, still lingering by the doorway, blinked in surprise. "The radio?" he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. Despite his exhaustion, he found himself drawn to the group, his legs moving almost of their own accord as he shuffled closer.

Anna turned the volume knob, and the radio sputtered and hissed, static crackling like distant thunder. Everyone leaned in, their collective breath held. Then, cutting through the interference, a male voice emerged—strained, trembling, but unmistakably human.

"…if you hear this message, know that the world is descending into darkness. Television and the internet are no longer operational, and mobile phones are useless. Only a few radio stations are still broadcasting, but they too will soon face the same fate. We are returning to the Stone Age. A large part of the Earth's population has already fallen victim to the creatures that have returned from the depths of ancient times. We do not know how or why this has happened, but this is our reality. Survivors, listen closely: the military is still fighting, but their resources are not endless. Your only hope is to evacuate to the nearest military bases. There, you may find shelter and possibly aid in the resistance. The enemy we face shows no mercy…"

The voice faltered, static swallowing the silence before it resumed, now laden with an almost prophetic weight.

"…this may be a punishment for our sins or the result of reckless experiments. We do not know. But that does not matter now. You must stick together. Do not let fear divide you. This time, our enemy is not ourselves, but something far more ruthless. Pray. Pray for salvation. And pray that your death is swift and not as horrific as that of others. That is all I can say. Good luck, survivors…"

The voice cut off abruptly, leaving the room in a suffocating silence broken only by the low hum of static.

For a moment, no one moved. No one spoke. The weight of the message pressed down on them like an invisible hand, squeezing the air from their lungs.

"Is that… it?" Chloe's voice quavered as she broke the spell, her words barely above a whisper.

Anna stared at the radio, her lips pressed into a thin line. Then, with a sharp exhale, she stood straighter and brushed her hands on her jeans. "Yes, that's it." Her tone was clipped, betraying none of the unease flickering in her eyes. She turned abruptly, already heading toward the bedroom. "I'm going to sleep. Chloe, you're with me. Good night."

"Wait, what?" Walter barked, his brows furrowing. "Hold on. We're just going to let that slide? No discussion? No plan?"

Anna didn't so much as glance back. The bedroom door slammed shut behind her, leaving Walter staring after her in stunned disbelief.

"Well, that was productive," he muttered sarcastically, throwing himself back onto the couch with a huff. "Fantastic. Not only are we surrounded by goddamn dinosaurs, but now we're officially living in the Stone Age. Great. Just great." He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, the motion jittery and restless.

"Walter, shut up," Chloe snapped, her voice tight, though her hands trembled as she set her tea down on the rickety table. "We're all tired. Don't make it worse."

Thomas sat down heavily in the nearest chair, his gaze fixed on the radio. His mind churned, replaying the man's words over and over: Your only hope is military bases. He swallowed hard, his throat dry.

"We need to decide what to do," he said finally, his voice quiet but firm. "We can't just sit here. We need a plan."

"Tomorrow," Chloe cut in, her tone brooking no argument. She rubbed her temples as though trying to stave off a headache. "We've been through enough for one day. Let's just… rest. Please."

Thomas nodded reluctantly. He could feel the exhaustion radiating from all of them, a silent, shared weight. "Fine. Tomorrow, then."

As the others began to drift to their respective corners of the lodge, Thomas cast one last glance at the radio. Its silence seemed almost ominous, as if it were daring them to hope. He exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening.

Tomorrow, they would make a decision. And whatever they chose, it would change everything.

******

Night had swallowed the hunting lodge whole, drowning it in an oppressive silence that felt almost alive. The only sounds were the faint creaks of the wooden walls, groaning softly as if mourning their age, and the occasional distant roar that shivered through the forest like a phantom's lament. The world outside was no longer the one they had known, and the unnatural stillness of the night only drove that truth deeper into Thomas's chest.

Everyone else had succumbed to exhaustion, their breaths slow and steady in the rooms beyond. But sleep eluded Thomas. It wasn't just the day's events that kept him awake—it was what had happened in the bathroom. What he had done.

He sat by the window, the moonlight spilling through the cracked glass and painting pale streaks across the floor. His gaze wandered to the forest, its shadows dense and heavy under the silver glow of the moon. He clenched and unclenched his hand compulsively, staring at it as though it didn't belong to him.

"I didn't tell them," he whispered, his voice barely audible in the suffocating quiet. He flexed his fingers again, watching the way the knuckles shifted under his skin. Stronger. They felt stronger. "And maybe that was for the best. God knows how they'd react if they found out."

His voice cracked slightly, and he shook his head, rubbing his face with his hands. The weight of the day pressed down on him, heavier now than it had been when the sun was up.

"But what if I made a mistake?" he muttered, lowering his hands and staring at the faint reflection of his face in the window. His eyes looked hollow, haunted. "Who was that? What does he want? What if it's… something worse than I think? Some kind of demon?"

His fingers tightened into a fist again, his knuckles whitening as the memories of the bathroom returned to him in vivid detail. Desperate for salvation, he grasped at these offer, clinging to hope like a drowning man clutching a piece of driftwood.

And now here he was, alive. Whole. Stronger than he had any right to be. Every wound he'd carried—deep gashes, bruised ribs, even the burning slice across his back—was gone, leaving behind faint scars like fading whispers of what once was. The pain that had been his constant companion was now a distant memory.

He flexed his fingers again, his palm tingling faintly with an energy he couldn't quite explain. It felt like something was coiled inside him, ready to strike, to explode outward if he let it.

"Maybe I'm overthinking this," he said aloud, though his voice shook slightly. "Maybe it's just… I don't know. A miracle. Or luck. Or…" He trailed off, chuckling nervously. It was a hollow sound, one that didn't reach his eyes.

"But miracles don't appear alongside strange messages on the mirror, do they?" he muttered, his jaw tightening. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the cold glass of the window. The forest outside was unnervingly still, the trees frozen as though holding their breath. The silence wasn't peaceful—it was watchful. Predatory.

"Thomas?"

The sudden voice made him flinch, and he turned sharply to see Chloe standing a few feet away. Her hair was messy, her face pale in the moonlight, and she clutched a blanket around her shoulders like a shield against the cold.

"You scared the hell out of me," Thomas said, his voice rougher than he intended. He exhaled, trying to steady himself. "What are you doing up?"

"I couldn't sleep," she admitted, stepping closer. Her bare feet made no sound against the wooden floor. "I kept hearing that guy's voice. You know, from the radio. It's like it's stuck in my head, replaying over and over." She paused, studying him. "What about you? You look… tense."

Thomas hesitated, his hand twitching at his side. "I'm fine," he said after a moment, though it sounded unconvincing even to his own ears.

Chloe frowned, her gaze dropping to his hand, which was clenched into a tight fist again. "You sure? You've been sitting here all night. Didn't even try to get some rest."

"I said I'm fine," he snapped, more forcefully this time. Immediately, he regretted it. Chloe flinched, her expression shifting to one of cautious concern. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry. I didn't mean to… I'm just tired."

"Tired doesn't make you jumpy," she said softly, crossing her arms. "Something's eating at you. You can talk to me, you know. We're all going through hell right now. Whatever it is, it can't be worse than what we've already seen."

Thomas opened his mouth to respond but stopped. The words sat heavy on his tongue, unwilling to leave. How could he tell her? How could he explain that he'd made a deal with something he didn't understand, something that might not even be human—or good?

"It's nothing," he said at last, forcing a weak smile. "Just… nerves, I guess. Everything feels like it's falling apart, and I'm trying to hold it together."

Chloe studied him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face for cracks in his facade. Finally, she nodded, though her expression suggested she didn't entirely believe him.

"Well, try to get some rest," she said quietly. "You can't hold anything together if you're running on empty."

As she turned to leave, Thomas called after her.

"Chloe?"

She stopped, glancing back.

"If… if you had to make a choice," he began, his voice hesitant, "a choice that could save your life, but it might… cost you something. Something important. Would you do it?"

Chloe tilted her head, her brow furrowed in thought. "I think," she said slowly, "when it comes down to it, survival changes people. We all have to make choices we never thought we'd face. But if you're asking me if I'd make a deal with the devil…" She gave him a faint, sad smile. "I'd want to know the fine print first."

Thomas nodded, his throat tight as she disappeared back into the shadows of the lodge. He turned back to the window, gripping the sill so hard his knuckles turned white.

"The fine print," he muttered, his voice laced with dark humor. "Guess I should've asked for that."

The forest outside seemed to shift, the silence growing heavier, the shadows deeper. Somewhere in the distance, another low roar echoed, and Thomas clenched his fist again.

Whatever he'd done, whatever bargain he'd struck—it was too late to undo it now. All he could do was move forward and hope the price he'd pay wouldn't destroy him.

******

The next morning arrived with an eerie calm, the sunlight filtering weakly through a haze of mist that clung to the forest like a shroud. It painted the clearing outside the hunting lodge in muted golds and silvers, but the beauty of it went unnoticed.

Anna and Chloe were crouched on the floor, going through their sparse belongings. Anna meticulously packed supplies into her weathered backpack—cans of food, a flashlight with weak batteries, and a knife she'd found in one of the kitchen drawers. Chloe, on the other hand, moved more hesitantly, pausing as she picked up a tattered photo from her bag. She traced her finger over it—a picture of her parents, smiling in front of a house that likely no longer existed. She quickly stuffed it back into her bag, blinking away the sting of tears.

Walter sat at the old table in the center of the room, a large, crinkled map spread out before him. He leaned over it, jabbing his finger at a marked point and muttering calculations under his breath. His brow was furrowed in concentration, though his usual air of sarcasm had been replaced with something closer to unease.

Thomas stood apart from them, leaning against the doorframe and staring out into the forest. The sunlight streaming through the leaves gave the woods an almost serene quality, but he knew better. The shadows between the trees seemed to shift, and the silence outside was oppressive, like the calm before a storm.

"So," Walter said, finally breaking the silence. He tapped his finger on the map with more force than necessary, as if to emphasize his point. "The nearest military base is here." He gestured to a spot on the map, a faint red circle drawn around it. "If my calculations are right—and they usually are—we can get there in a day, two at most, if we keep moving and don't waste time."

"What if there's no one left there?" Chloe asked softly, her voice trembling despite her efforts to keep it steady. She glanced at him, then at Anna, as though hoping one of them would have a reassuring answer.

"We won't know until we get there," Anna said firmly, tightening the straps of her backpack. Her tone was sharp, but not unkind. She was trying to keep them focused, to hold them together. "Staying here is suicide. We've already seen what's out there. It's only a matter of time before something finds us."

"She's right," Thomas said, pulling himself away from the doorframe. His voice was quiet but carried a weight that made everyone look at him. "We've seen what these creatures can do. They've already overrun the cities. Hiding out here might feel safe, but it's not. It's just… waiting to die."

Chloe's hands tightened around the straps of her bag, her knuckles going white. "You make it sound so simple," she muttered, avoiding his gaze.

"It's not simple," Thomas replied, his tone softening. "But it's the only chance we've got."

Walter exhaled loudly, folding the map with an exaggerated flourish and stuffing it into his jacket pocket. "Alright, then. It's settled. We head for the base. But…" He hesitated, glancing around at the group. "If something goes wrong—"

"We'll manage," Anna cut him off, not even sparing him a glance as she slung her backpack over her shoulder.

Walter raised an eyebrow. "You're too sure of yourself," he muttered under his breath, but he didn't push the issue.

Thomas watched the exchange in silence, feeling that strange, simmering warmth stir within him again. It was the same sensation he'd felt the night before—a quiet power coiled beneath his skin, waiting. He flexed his fingers, feeling the strength in them, and swallowed hard. He still didn't know what this newfound energy meant, and he wasn't sure he wanted to.

"Enough talking," he said, his voice cutting through the tension. "We've wasted enough time already. The sooner we leave, the better."

Anna nodded sharply. "He's right. Let's move."

The group filed out of the lodge one by one, stepping into the cool morning air. The trees stood tall and still around them, their branches draped in mist like skeletal arms reaching for the sky. The smell of damp earth and decaying leaves filled the air, and the silence was so complete it made their footsteps sound unnaturally loud.

Thomas lingered at the door, casting one last glance back at the lodge. The old house had been a fragile sanctuary, but now it felt like a hollow shell. The walls seemed to sag under the weight of memories they didn't want to take with them. He couldn't shake the feeling that something—or someone—was watching them from the shadows.

He clenched his fist, feeling that unsettling warmth rush through his veins again, and turned away. The others were already moving, their figures cutting through the mist like ghosts.

As they walked, Walter tried to break the silence with forced bravado. "Alright, so here's the plan. We keep a steady pace, no stopping unless absolutely necessary. Stay alert, keep your eyes on the trees. And for God's sake, if anyone hears or sees anything, speak up. I don't want to get eaten because someone decided to play hero and kept quiet."

"Got it," Chloe murmured, her voice barely audible.

"Sure, boss," Anna said dryly, though her eyes darted to the forest every few seconds, scanning for movement.