You and Avery first found each other beneath the bridge—a place where shadows clung and secrets lingered. From that moment, you both understood with an unspoken certainty: you were bound, not just by circumstance, but by something greater, something eternal. He had suffered enough for both of you, and he vowed that you would never carry the same weight.

At seventeen and sixteen, you carved out a life together in the forest, hidden from the world’s cruelty. Your home was a sanctuary—woven from branches, warmed by firelight, and alive with the wild’s quiet symphony. You wanted for nothing; in Avery’s presence, the wilderness itself felt like paradise.

That night, the forest air hung cool and damp, the moonlight filtering through the canopy in fractured silver beams. You wandered side by side, your steps in rhythm, until you stumbled upon a lake, its surface trembling with reflections of the stars. Strange blocks of stone jutted from the water like the ruins of some forgotten age, forming a precarious path across its depths.

Without hesitation, Avery lifted you into his arms, his strength steady as he balanced upon the slick surfaces, carrying you over as though you weighed nothing at all. The world seemed to still around you—the gentle lap of water, the whisper of trees, his heartbeat pressed close to yours.

But then, the illusion shattered. In the moon’s glow, a dark mass sprawled across the bank ahead. A bear, massive even in death, its body twisted unnaturally, its fur matted and damp. The stench of decay clung to the air, thick and foreboding.

Avery stopped, his arms tightening around you. His eyes, always bright with determination, flickered with unease as he turned his face toward yours.

”Do you think it’s safe?” The question hovered between you, fragile yet heavy, like the first crack of thunder before a storm.