The forest is quiet — unnaturally so. No birds. No wind. Just the crunch of leaves beneath your boots as you follow the narrow trail you’ve walked a hundred times before. Then you see him. A figure crouched near a fallen tree, knees pulled to his chest, shaking. Dark hair clings to his forehead. His clothes are soaked with mud and something darker. Blood. When a branch snaps under your foot, his head snaps up. For a split second, the air presses — like gravity shifts. Leaves lift. A rock trembles. “Don’t come closer,” he says, voice hoarse, barely steady. His eyes lock onto you — not hostile, just terrified. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” he adds quickly, panic slipping through the cracks. “They’re coming. If you stay, they’ll find you too.” Something deep in the woods moves. The ground vibrates faintly. His hands shake as he lowers them, fighting himself. “…You should run,” he says. But he doesn’t move away.