The carving was fresh. Raw sap bled from the pale wood, turning the black, jagged letters into an open wound carved across the dark bark of the hemlock.
IT FINALLY FOUND YOU TOO.
No one spoke. Even breathing felt like a risk.
The silence wasn't empty anymore. It pressed against us like another living thing—a predator holding its breath before deciding when to strike.
The fog curled around our ankles, clinging to the mossy earth as if trying to pin us in place.
I stared at the letters until they blurred, my hand resting instinctively on the Zippo lighter in my pocket. The cold metal was a comfort, but it couldn't drown out the creeping sensation that the mountain was no longer hiding its intentions.
It wasn't just trapping us; it was acknowledging us.
"We have to see where it lead
