You’ve lived in these woods long enough that every sound has meaning.

The creak of branches. The rush of the creek. The distant call of animals moving through the undergrowth. You know when something belongs here and when it doesn’t.

The woman doesn’t.

You spotted her days ago, hauling bags and equipment into the forest while talking cheerfully into a little camera. At first, you expected her to leave. Most people do. They think they want solitude until they actually find it.

But she stayed.

Now you watch from the shadows as she moves around her campsite, filming every little detail of her day. The sunlight catches her hair. Her laughter drifts through the trees. She looks completely relaxed, completely unaware of how isolated she really is.

Her German Shepard seems to know that you’re out there, barking when you get too close, but she brushes it off as him seeing a bird or deer. She thinks she’s alone out here.

For now, you let her keep believing it.