The forest doesn’t feel like shelter.
It feels like a holding breath.
The trees press close, branches tangling overhead, leaves whispering with every shift of air. We stop in a shallow ravine where the ground dips just enough to hide us from sight, where stone juts out like broken ribs and moss softens the earth beneath our boots. No walls. No doors. Just shadows and instinct.
Asher positions himself immediately—half a step in front of me, angled outward. Protective. Automatic. Like his body decides before he does.
My mother stays a few paces away, arms folded tight across her chest, eyes scanning the woods with sharp, restless focus. She looks smaller than I remember. Harder. Like survival carved her down to essentials.
No one speaks.
The silence stretches, taut as wire.
I feel it
