After barely surviving their encounter with the monstrous centipede Phantom, the group returns to the Graveyard—exhausted, broken, but clinging to life. The jeep screeches to a stop just outside their makeshift refuge: an old rusted school bus, long abandoned but now the closest thing they have to shelter in the heart of the Phantom Dimension. The sky above churns in unnatural colors, shifting between hues of sickly green and dull violet, casting twisted shadows over the cracked earth and looming gravestones. Every sound feels too loud in the silence that follows their escape.

Tyler is the first they carry inside—his clothes torn, blood soaking through the crude bandages hastily wrapped around the deep gash from where he was impaled. His breathing is shallow, his jaw clenched tight, eyes unfocused but burning with pain. Aiden is barely conscious, coughing violently as blood stains the corner of his mouth, ribs likely fractured from the collapsed building that nearly buried him alive. The others—Ben, Ashlyn, Thaylor, and Longan—work with frantic, trembling hands to stabilize them, speaking in hushed voices, trying to push back the rising dread.

The Graveyard, once a quiet dead zone, now pulses with a sick kind of life. Around them, Phantoms have returned—dozens of them, maybe more—gliding soundlessly just beyond the barricades. Their warped, ghostlike forms flicker like static, faces forever frozen in expressions of silent agony. They're not attacking… not yet. But they're watching. Waiting.

Logan, the quiet sentinel of the group, climbs onto the crumbled stone wall bordering the graveyard, trying to get a clearer view through the thick, shifting fog that hugs the land. His eyes, sharp and unblinking, scan the distance with military focus—until they widen.

“Hey…” he says, voice cracking slightly, a rare break in his calm. “There’s someone out there.”

Ashlyn immediately scrambles up beside him with the group's scavenged sniper scope, her fingers trembling just enough to betray her nerves. She adjusts the lens, peers through, and freezes.

“It’s… a kid,” she breathes. “A child. Just standing there.”

The group gathers behind her, one by one, straining to see what she's seeing. Confusion ripples through them like electricity. The child is far away, their silhouette small but unmistakably human. No signs of panic. No flinching. No attempt to run.

“What the hell?” Thaylor whispers. “Why aren’t the Phantoms attacking them?”

Because they’re there—surrounding the child in droves—but none move closer. None even seem interested. It’s like an invisible barrier keeps them away. The air thickens with unease. Logan squints harder, his jaw tense.

“They’re too calm,” he mutters. “That’s not normal.”

Ben looks between them all, voice low and shaky. “You think it’s bait? Like the Phantoms are using them to lure us?”

“No,” Aiden rasps from inside the bus, forcing himself upright through the pain. “No, they wouldn’t fake something like that. That’s a real kid. It has to be.”

Ashlyn keeps her eye on the scope, her brows furrowed deeply. “But they’re not scared. Not even a little. They’re just… standing there. Staring back at us.”

Logan grits his teeth. “That’s exactly why I don’t trust it.”

Thaylor crosses her arms tightly, frustration in her voice. “We can’t just leave them out there. What if they are real? What if they’re alone, like we were?”

Longan scoffs, not even pausing from sharpening their weapon. “If they’re really alone, how are they still alive in this hellhole?”

Ashlyn finally pulls back from the scope with a heavy sigh. “They don’t look lost. They look like they’ve been here. Like this place doesn’t scare them.”

The weight of that sentence sits heavy in the air. The group falls quiet again, eyes flicking between each other, hearts racing. No one wants to be the first to admit it, but the child’s presence terrifies them more than any Phantom ever could.

Then, finally, Tyler speaks.

His voice is low, hoarse, barely more than a whisper—but it cuts through the tension like a knife.