The fog had not lifted. If anything, it had thickened overnight — pressing down upon the forest floor like a heavy, damp blanket. Dew dripped from mossy branches, the sound echoing faintly in the still air.
The Dutchman sat against a tree trunk, knees drawn up, breathing slowly through clenched teeth. His once-rigid composure was beginning to crack. Hours had passed since he killed the Anangsi man. His boots were soaked. His throat was dry. His thoughts - wild.
The maze was winning.
He pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open. The hands were spinning slowly, like they’d lost all sense of time. A bitter laugh escaped his throat. “Perfect,” he muttered, slamming it shut. Even time itself refused to behave in this cursed place.
A branch snapped somewhere behind him. He was on his f
