The smell of old wood and iron clinging to the cabin air felt like a permanent weight inside my lungs. Morning in the Blue Ridge Mountains didn't bring light; it only brought a thick, choking gray fog that pressed against the small windowpanes, cutting us off from the rest of the living world. On the floor by the iron cot, the dark stain where Elisha’s blood had soaked into the cedar boards was now a dull, dried black. They hadn't cleaned it well. Silas wanted the ghost of my only friend to sit between us, a silent reminder of what happens when I look for help outside his walls.
Toby sat in the corner of the cot, his knees pulled tightly to his chin. He hadn't touched the cold broth on the tray. His eyes, usually so bright and full of questions, were hollow pools of static fear.
"Drink a
