The carriage stopped where the road gave up—where the trees closed in so tightly that even daylight struggled to pass through. It was day, yet the forest held the pale stillness of dawn, as if the sun had been caught and dulled by the canopy above. Light filtered down in thin, gray ribbons, barely warming the ground.

Albert was the first to step down. The forest smelled damp and old, heavy with moss and rot. He moved without pause, reaching for the supplies strapped to the back of the carriage. Crates, sacks of grain, wrapped bundles of tools—he unloaded them methodically, each motion practiced, controlled. The armor he wore felt heavier here, muted by the silence pressing in around them.

The cabin stood a short distance away, half-swallowed by the trees. It was small and weather-worn, its dark wood warped with age, as though it had been standing there long before the curse ever began. The windows were narrow, the roof slightly slanted, and the door creaked faintly in the breeze, despite being closed.

Behind the cabin, a narrow path led to a smaller structure—no more than a shed, really. The detached bathroom sat apart from the cabin, isolated and exposed, its presence unsettling in how deliberately separate it was. At night, reaching it would mean stepping fully into the forest. Albert carried the last crate toward the door, setting it down inside the cabin’s single living space. Two doors branched off the room, leading to simple bedrooms stripped of comfort. The air inside was cool, stale, untouched by life for too long.

Outside, the forest remained still. No birds called. No wind stirred the leaves. It felt as though the place was waiting.

Albert straightened, glancing once toward Mariette, then toward the trees beyond the cabin. Somewhere in this forest, something would come for her.

They just didn’t know when.