Cynthia stopped feeling cold sometime before dawn.
That scared her more than the screams.
She sat curled against the damp earth, staring at nothing, her mind floating somewhere just outside her body. The ravine breathed around them, fog sliding in and out like lungs expanding and contracting. Daniel slept in short, violent bursts, jerking awake every few minutes. Ian remained awake, as always.
Cynthia watched her own hands.
They didn't feel like hers anymore.
They were scratched, bruised, streaked with dried blood she didn't remember getting. She flexed her fingers slowly, half-expecting them not to move.
"You're dissociating," Ian said quietly.
She didn't look at him. "I don't feel real."
"That's normal," he replied. "Given the circumstances."
The word normal made her laugh.
It came out wrong — sharp, brittle, almost hysterical.
"Normal?" she whispered. "People are disappearing into the ground. My friends are dead. The forest talks. And you're saying normal?"
Ian didn't flinch. "Your mind is protecting itself."
"From what?"
"The truth."
That did it.
Something inside her cracked.
She stood up suddenly, swaying. "The truth is that this is my fault."
Ian's gaze sharpened. "It isn't."
"It is!" Her voice rose, echoing too loudly off the ravine walls. She clapped a hand over her mouth, breath hitching. The forest seemed to pause, listening.
"I didn't want to come here," she continued in a whisper, tears spilling freely now. "But I didn't stop them either. I laughed. I went along with it. I ignored every warning."
She thought of the packages.
The dreams.
The fear she had tried to bury.
"I knew something was wrong," she sobbed. "And I still came."
Daniel stirred, watching her with hollow eyes.
"You think the forest cares who suggested the trip?" he asked quietly. "It wanted us. That's all."
"No," Cynthia whispered. "It wanted me."
The words tasted true.
The thing had pointed at her.
You.
Ian stood slowly, his presence suddenly intense. "You're not special to it," he said firmly. "Not in the way you think."
"But I am," she insisted. "Everything started happening around me. The gifts. The threats. The dreams. Janet—"
She stopped.
Her heart skipped.
Ian's eyes flickered — just for a second.
"You're thinking about Janet," he said carefully.
Cynthia nodded slowly. "She died… and nothing stopped unraveling after that. It's like… like something followed us from that moment."
Daniel's face darkened. "People don't just die and bring curses with them."
"Unless they were wronged," Cynthia whispered.
The forest answered.
A branch snapped sharply above them.
Daniel jumped to his feet. "It's close."
Cynthia didn't move.
"Let it come," she said dully.
Ian grabbed her arm hard. "Do not say that."
"Why not?" she asked, meeting his eyes. "Isn't that what it wants? Me broken? Me afraid?"
"Yes," Ian said. "And dead."
Something shifted in the fog.
A shape formed — not fully, not yet — but enough.
A whisper slid through the ravine, wrapping around Cynthia's thoughts.
You invited us.
Her knees buckled.
Ian caught her before she hit the ground.
"You hear them too," he said softly.
She nodded against his chest, shaking. "They know me."
"They know fear," he corrected. "And yours is loud."
The shape receded slightly, as if disappointed.
The forest did not attack.
It waited.
Ian looked down at Cynthia, his voice low and steady. "If you break completely, they will take you. Not because you're guilty. Because you're open."
She swallowed hard. "Then what do I do?"
He held her gaze. "You survive. Out of spite, if nothing else."
The fog thinned as morning light began to seep in.
But Cynthia knew something irreversible had happened.
The forest had tested her.
And found a weakness.