The office was silent.
The journal lay open on Damien's desk, its cracked leather cover folded beneath yellowed pages that smelled faintly of dust, engine oil, and cedarwood. My fingers refused to stay still. The tremor began somewhere behind my ribs and spread into my hands until even turning the page felt like defusing an explosive.
Outside, the clubhouse had gone unnaturally quiet.
No shouted orders.
No engines.
No footsteps crossing the porch.
Even the whistle had vanished.
The silence felt less like peace than something waiting to inhale.
I stared at the first page again.
Three lines.
Nothing more.
IF YOU ARE READING THIS...
IT MEANS...
THE MOUNTAIN TOOK ME AGAIN.
My heartbeat stumbled.
No.
No...
Not again.
The word refused to leave me alone.
Again.
As though this
