The ripple slowly fades, the surface settling back into place like nothing was ever there, and the silence returns. Thicker.
He doesn’t move right away. Doesn’t release me. He waits. Counts something I can’t see. Measures something I don’t understand. Then—slowly—his hand drops away.
Air rushes back into my lungs in a sharp inhale. I don’t speak, still afraid to move. I stare at the place where the sand moved. Where something almost did.
“That—” My voice comes out rough, thinner than I want it to be. I swallow hard and try again. “That was?—”
“Hunt.”
I look at him then back at the sand. Then back at him again.
“You knew it was there.”
“Yes.”
I let out a shaky breath, dragging a hand through my hair.
“I didn’t even?—”
I stop, because that’s the point. I didn’t see it. Didn’t feel it. Didn’t know it was there until it was almost on top of us. I look back at the dune. Empty and silent, like nothing ever passed beneath it, but I know better.
I look at him again. At the way he’s still scanning the ground, still listening, still tracking something I’m not seeing. One step ahead of something I didn’t even know existed.
The realization settles, heavy and unavoidable. Out here I’m not the one in control. And if he hadn’t stopped me I wouldn’t be standing here right now.
He moves without further discussion, angling across the dune at a sharper line than before, and faster. I follow because it’s clear what happens if I don’t.
The sand drags at my steps as I push to keep up. The slope is uneven and shifts under every stride. He doesn’t look back to check if I’m there. He doesn’t need to. He knows.
“That thing—” I say, breath not fully steady. “How many are out here?”
“Enough.”
That’s unhelpful, even if it’s probably accurate. I push forward another few steps, closing the gap between us.
“You could have told me.”
No response. I bite back the frustration before it turns into something louder.
“You knew it was there before it got close,” I press. “You knew exactly when to stop.”
He adjusts direction again. Sharper this time. Cutting across the face of the dune instead of following its natural line. Avoiding.
“Why that way?” I ask.
“Track.”
“What track?” I ask, frowning. No answer. Of course. I exhale hard, wiping sweat and sand from my face as the heat presses harder with every step. “This would go a lot faster if you actually explained things.”
“Not fast.”
“I know,” I snap. “Alive.”
He glances back for a fraction of a second, confirming that I remembered, then forward again. I hate that that works. I push forward, matching his pace as best I can.
The terrain shifts, becoming firmer in places, but looser in others. The wind picks up, dragging sand across the surface in thin, whispering lines that erase anything behind us. No trail. No markers. No way back.
I glance over my shoulder, and there’s nothing. Just dunes. Endless. Indistinguishable. Gone. I turn back quickly, a tight feeling settling low in my chest.
