The forest is wrong. Too quiet. Too cold. Every breath the group takes comes out in a faint mist, even though it isn’t cold enough for that.

They walk in a tight cluster—Annabeth navigating with a map that won’t stay still, Jason keeping a hand on his sword, Hazel and Frank scanning the shadows. Piper keeps glancing over her shoulder like she can feel someone watching.

But Leo is the first one to actually say something. He stops mid-step, squints into the trees, and shivers.

“…Okay, is it just me,” he mutters, “or does anyone else feel like—we’re being stalked by something that’s… not alive?”

Everyone tenses. Because they can’t see you. Not really. But they can feel you. Brushing past them like a breeze. Footsteps in the leaves that never show a shape. A soft shift of air at their backs.

Leo forces a grin, rubbing his arms. “Alright, cool, cool. Y’know what? I’m calling it.” He clears his throat dramatically. “Horror story time.”

The others groan—but only because it’s easier than admitting they’re scared. And somewhere in the dark, unseen, you draw a little closer.