The forest was a void of shadows and whispers, the crisp autumn air slicing through the trees like a silent predator. Opal walked alone, her breath misting before her in the moonlight. The leaves beneath her boots barely made a sound, as though even nature itself held its breath in this forgotten part of the woods.
She had meant to clear her mind, to escape the suffocating weight of the pack's expectations. But instead, she had wandered too far.
The usual scents of home—of pine, damp earth, and the lingering traces of her packmates—had disappeared.
She was alone.
Yet, she wasn't.
The night was too quiet now. The soft chorus of crickets had died out, the rustling leaves ceased as if the trees themselves dared not stir. A weight settled in the air, thick and suffocating, pressing against her skin like unseen hands.
Then, from the abyss of the trees, something moved.
