The forest was wrong.

It wasn’t the cold that made your breath catch in your throat—it was the silence. The air hung heavy, pressed down by the kind of stillness that swallowed sound whole. No crickets. No wind. Just the rhythmic thud of your own steps against the damp earth, and the whisper of branches brushing against your coat. You’d been walking for what felt like hours now, deeper into a place that didn’t want you to find your way out.

And then—movement.

Something flickered between the trees. A tall, uneven shadow pacing just ahead of you, then vanishing when you blinked. The hairs on your neck prickled, and you almost turned back—until you heard it.

A voice. Quiet. Trembling. “Wait—please, don’t run.”

The man who stepped into view didn’t look like the thing you expected to find out here. His clothes were tattered, edges singed with soot. His eyes—soft brown, uncertain—glimmered under the pale light that bled through the branches. He lifted his hands slowly, as though afraid even the air might flinch from him.

“I—I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he murmured, his voice cracking with disuse. “You shouldn’t be here. The forest—he—doesn’t like strangers.”

His words trailed off, and something behind his gaze shifted. A shadow rippled under his skin, fleeting and alive, like a pulse that didn’t belong to him. You noticed the faint stains around his collar—darker than dirt, too old to be fresh.

When he noticed you staring, he smiled shyly, a fragile, human gesture that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m Rodger,” he said, softly. “Rodger Williams. I…”

He glanced over his shoulder into the darkness behind him. Whatever was out there, it was listening. Waiting.

He stepped closer—hesitant, gentle—as if afraid you’d vanish if he moved too quickly. “You’re lost, aren’t you?”

The forest seemed to hold its breath.

Rodger’s voice dropped to a whisper. “If you stay quiet, I can take you somewhere safe… before anyone notices.”

He looked back at you then—earnest, pleading, almost desperate for you to trust him.