The forest had grown quiet again after Nina's conversation with the daughters and their father, but it was not the kind of silence that brought peace; it was the heavy, listening kind, the type that made every rustling leaf feel like a threat and every distant sound feel like a warning.
The trees stood tall and dark, their branches weaving together above her like a ceiling made of shadows, and the ground beneath her boots was damp with old rain and decaying leaves.
She moved slowly, carefully, her senses alert, her mind still replaying the argument she had just left behind, the anger in the father's voice, the pain in the daughters' eyes, and the weight of knowing that sometimes people refuse to help not because they are cruel, but because they are afraid of losing what little they have left.
The young man walked ahead of her at first, keeping a noticeable distance, his body tense, his shoulders tight, his hands never far from whatever weapon he could grab if he needed one.
