***Sawyer**
The cabin door creaked on its hinges, a sound that felt like a gunshot in the oppressive silence of the ridge. I didn't want to be here. I wanted to be anywhere else—back in the city, back in the noise, back in a life where the most dangerous thing I had to worry about was a passive-aggressive text from my sister. But the woods had a way of pulling you back, and the guilt, heavy and cold, was an anchor I couldn't cut loose.
I had spent the last few days trying to write. I had sat at my desk for hours, staring at a blinking cursor, trying to find the words to explain why I had done what I had done. But every time I tried to justify it, the words felt hollow. I was protecting them. No. I was testing them. Maybe. I was lonely and I wanted to be the hero of a story I didn't under
