Shadows in the Snow
1324 Words
Chapter 4
It snowed harder by morning. Big, wet flakes swirled past Iris's window, blinding the world outside with pale white. The mountains had disappeared, hidden beneath white. The trees stood out alone—tall black silhouettes in the mist, swaying like slow dancers. She stared at them for a long time before getting dressed.
The institute felt quieter today. The hallways absorbed her steps. There were no other patients in sight. She passed a therapy room and saw Mira inside, crumpled in a chair, speaking to a man with gray hair. Her words were inaudible, but her eyes looked raw—haunted.
Iris walked on.
She was not scheduled to do another simulation until tomorrow, but she needed air. Not fresh air—space. The corridors were too narrow. The walls are too reflective. There was nothing inside that bore the sign of being used. It made everything artificial.
At the far end of the building, a metal door opened onto the outside grounds. She touched the sensor, expecting that it would refuse her entry.
It opened.
Snow fell hard, slicing her face. She cinched her coat up and went out. Cold cut into her skin, but it was raw. Grounding. She walked in the snow, the crunch of her boots a rhythmic beat. The courtyard was huge, bordered by pine trees, and blanketed in white.
At the other end, a path led into the woods.
She paused.
Then followed it.
The trail was narrow but navigable. The farther she moved in, the quieter it became. The trees were a barrier to cold and sound. Dense, living was quiet here.
Then she saw them—tracks.
Fresh.
Not hers.
They vanished off the trail, deeper into the forest.
Iris stopped. She recognized that she should not go blindly. But something about the shape of the prints made her pay attention. They were small and light. A woman's, maybe. And there was only one pair. No going back.
Her instincts took over.
She followed.
The trail wound between the trees, turning left, then right. The prints remained clear, not yet blotted by snow. Whoever made them wasn't far in front.
Then she saw it—a red scarf, half-buried in a drift.
Iris knelt and picked it up. The material was damp but warm. Recently dropped.
A noise—snap—a branch breaking.
She turned sharply.
No one.
"Hello?" she called.
No response.
She turned again to the scarf—there, sewn into the lining in faded black thread: M.L.
Mira Langston.
Iris's pulse spiked. She glanced around. "Mira?"
Silence.
She jammed the scarf into her jacket and began to walk more rapidly. The trees became denser, and the sky darker. No footprints anymore, only fresh snow and tension. Her breathing was rapid and shallow.
Then—a sound.
Not a twig.
A voice.
Soft. Almost inaudible.
"Iris…"
She stood still.
The voice had not been ahead of her. It had been behind.
She turned around, gazing at the trees.
Nothing moved.
Then something did.
A figure stood at about ten feet away. Blurred by the snow. Still. Watching.
Iris narrowed her eyes. "Mira?"
The figure did not react.
She took a step closer.
The figure moved—not towards her, but away—swiftly, silently, deeper into the trees.
Iris chased after it.
Branches lashed across her arms and face. Snow swirled up around her boots. She did not think—simply followed the movement, the whisper of motion ahead.
Then stopped.
The forest opened out into a small clearing.
Empty.
No figure.
No footprints.
No sign of anything.
Just. Still.
She slowly spun around in a circle.
That's when she saw the camera.
Taped to a tree, half-concealed behind a large clump of moss and bark, a small black eye stared out into the clearing. It winked once—a soft red flash.
Recording.
Her skin was crawling.
This wasn't a trail. This was a test.
By the time she returned to the institute, the sun had begun to set behind the mountains. She entered through the same door, trying to be natural. Inside, everything was as it should be. Clean. Quiet. Deceptive.
She went straight to Mira's room and knocked loudly.
No answer.
Again. Still nothing.
She tried the handle. Locked.
And then she remembered the scarf.
In her own room, she spread the scarf on the bed and looked at the initials.
Mira had been there. Or someone had wanted Iris to think so.
She opened her journal.
"I found a scarf today. Mira's. In the woods. Followed her trail. Saw. Something. Something looking. Gone.
There was a camera.
The trail wasn't random. They brought me there."
She hesitated.
"Why?"
Someone knocked on her door.
She stood frozen.
“Ms. Vale?” Mara’s voice was muffled but calm.
Iris opened the door slowly.
Mara smiled, professional and serene. “Dr. Wren would like to see you.”
Iris blinked. “Why? I’m not scheduled until tomorrow.”
“He had a few questions. About your walk today.”
The cold settled in her stomach.
They’d been watching.
Wren's office was on the second floor, above the immersion labs. It was larger than she had expected—book-lined, plush leather chairs, and a long window with a view of the mountains. A fire crackled in the hearth. It should have been warm. It wasn't.
Wren stood at the window, hands behind his back.
"Iris," he said without turning to her.
"Sit down."
She did.
He turned to her.
"You went for a walk today."
"Yes."
"Off the marked path."
"I needed air."
He nodded slowly, then went over to his desk and sat. "Did you find anything of interest?"
Iris regarded him. "A scarf. Mira's."
His expression remained unaltered.
"She was in therapy this morning," he said. "Never left the building."
Iris's forehead furrowed. "Then someone planted it."
Wren sat back in his chair. "Perhaps. Or perhaps your simulation-induced projection."
"I was awake."
"Were you?"
His voice was calm but biting.
Iris made her hands stay in her lap. "There was a camera in the woods. Taping the clearing."
Wren did not blink. "Yes. We watch the perimeter. For safety."
"Is that what this is?" she said. "Safety?"
He smiled at her, a little tight, little smile. "Iris, you came here for truth. Sometimes that means being shown things before you're ready to see them."
"Or being manipulated into seeing them."
Wren did not reply.
"I want to see my file," she said.
"That's not how this works."
"I want to know what you're doing to us."
Wren stood up slowly and approached the door.
"The more you struggle, the harder it gets," he said softly. "Trust the process."
Iris stared at him.
Then stood.
And departed in silence.
That night, the institute was changed.
Heavy.
She ate in silence. The room was half occupied. Mira wasn't around. Neither Dominic. Only Casey and Elias were left, the two of them sitting together at the end of the table, whispering.
Iris sat with them.
Casey leaned up, piercing eyes. "You heard?"
"Heard what?"
"Mira's gone."
Iris felt a chill of blood. "Gone where?"
No one knows," said Elias. "Staff says she went. Checked herself out."
Casey scoffed. "No one goes. There is no car. No driver. No outside communication."
"She didn't leave," Iris replied flatly. "She was taken."
Casey glared at her. "How do you know?"
Iris folded the scarf from her coat and set it on the table.
Elias's expression hardened.
"That's hers," he informed her.
Casey's fingers curled into fists.
"They're trying to break us," Iris whispered. "One by one."
In her bedroom, she double-checked the lock on her door. Again. Again.
Sleep was hard-won.
When it came, it was shallow, restless.
In her dreams, she was running.
Over snow.
Red scarf streaming behind her.
A scream echoed down through the trees.
And always—always—someone watching.
- Writer
