Because I was looking straight into the trees…into the eyes of something thatcouldn’t be there.
It was about twenty feet away, cloaked in shadows, moonstone eyes glimmering in the last vestiges of firelight. A giant cat…perched on an oak branch, inky black wings folded at its back. Its tail flicked, and I realized that tail wasbarbed, a sharp point catching the light.
I’d never seen it so clearly before.
Not even the night my brother died.
I took a shuddering breath, panic rising. “Oh…oh God…”
“Noelle?” Delilah’s voice cut in. I turned?—
And when I looked back, the Painter was gone.
Shane was coming out of his tent now, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Did you see something?”
“I—I don’t know,” I said, but my voice trembled with the lie. “I think we need to get out of here.”
Beau caught my eye. “You saw it, didn’t you?”
I nodded, breath shivering in my chest.
“Okay,” he said. “We’re not staying out here. Grab your stuff.”
I ducked back into the tent, hands moving on autopilot. Shoved my notebook and flashlight into my backpack. Jammed my feet into sneakers without socks. I didn’t bother rolling anything up. I didn’t care if we left the damn tent behind.
Beau was already outside, slinging his bag over his shoulder and double-checking Milo’s collar. His voice was low when he said, “Delilah, wake the others. Quietly.”
Delilah didn’t ask questions. She nodded and disappeared toward Whit and Holden’s tent.
I zipped the tent closed behind me—not that it felt like it would keep anything out—and slipped my backpack on. “Trailhead’s that way, right?” I whispered.
Beau nodded. “We’ll stay close. Flashlights on low.”
We moved in a tight cluster, the six of us bunching up without really meaning to—shoulders brushing, flashlights flicking back and forth. Milo trotted ahead, still tense but quiet now, ears twitching at every sound.
“Okay, someone wanna explain what the fuck is happening?” Shane hissed. He was pulling on a hoodie over pajama pants, his hiking boots unlaced, phone clenched in one hand.
“Later,” Delilah said. “Let’s just get to the cars.”
Whit kept glancing over his shoulder like he expectedsomething to be following us. “Why’d we come out here again?”
“Research,” Holden muttered, voice clipped.
“Right,” Whit said. “Next time let’s research the bar on Main Street instead.”
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. My throat was dry. I kept replaying the Painter’s eyes. The wings. That tail. It hadn’t looked like it wanted to hurt me. It hadn’t even moved.
It just…watched.
Like it was waiting to see if I got the message.
“Shouldn’t the trailhead be just past that bend?” Beau asked.
We came around the curve—and stopped short.
There was no trailhead.
Just more trees. Thick, dark, and endless.
