We didn’t speak as the sun rose. Emily leaned against me, her breath steady but shallow, like she was relearning what it meant to be real. The world looked sharper in the daylight too sharp. The trees stood still, but I didn’t trust them.


Not anymore.


Back in Hollow Creek, no one was waiting. No missing posters. No search parties. No questions. It was like Emily had never been gone. Like she had never existed at all.


The school records didn’t mention her. Her family’s house had been rented to someone else. I asked no one remembered her name.


But I did I had proof I kept the locket.


Some nights, Emily would stare at it for hours. Not crying. Just... remembering. Tracing the pattern like it might open a door she wasn’t ready to walk through again.


She didn’t speak much after that. When she did, her voice came out wrong like it had been echoing underground too long.


Sometimes, I would wake up and find her standing at the window, watching the trees.


“They whisper,” she said once. “But they never sleep.”


Neither do I.


I dream of Elara’s journal. Of the Whispering Man’s voice, low and silken, promising rest. And of the fire I set with shaking hands. I remember the way the flames burned white.


We got out.


But we didn’t escape.


Not really.


And some nights, when the air goes still and the fog slips in early, I swear I see them again between the trees, just beyond the light. Red eyes glowing.


Waiting.