The symbol is still burned into my mind even though we have put a good bit of distance between us and that cabin. I try not to think about how fresh the grooves looked even though the blood smelled old and faint. I try not to think about what kind of creature would leave something like that behind either, but trying doesn't do much. The air is different now. Thicker and charged. Almost like the forest is holding its breath. Even the birds have gone silent. No rustle of wings. No chirps. Just the steady crunch of boots on cold earth and the hum of unease threading through my chest. We’re less than a mile from the scout camp when the wind shifts.
“I smell something,” Rowan says, stopping short.
“I know,” I mutter. “So do I.”
The smell of smoke is faint, but it is definitely there. Beyond
