Page 43 of Silent Shadows

“Hold up,” his hand held out.

Everyone stops on command.

I almost walk into Maya’s backpack, trying to catch myself.

Miles studies the ground with a slow, precise scan.

“What?” Jax murmurs.

“Possible structure.”

I stare. At first, I don’t see anything. Then branches contorted together. Twisted. Like what I saw in the Bigfoot documentary.

“Oh, come on,” I say. “That could just be from wind.”

Miles glances back at me, focused.

“Could be,” he says. “But wind break patterns don’t usually rotate inward like this.”

Taylor crouches beside him, eyes wide. “That’s fresh too.”

“How can you tell?” I ask, quieter now.

“The color,” Miles says. “Interior wood’s still light.”

I fold my arms skeptically. “Or a deer ran through here.”

“Deer don’t twist branches.”

“You don’t know what ambitious deer are capable of.”

Jax laughs under his breath while filming.

And that laugh. This—this is where I feel myself settling back into familiar ground. Observation. Distance. Narrative. Laughs and reactions.

I pull out my recorder.

“Current field status,” I murmur into it. “The team has stopped to investigate what appears to be highly suspicious sticks.”

Miles points at me without looking up. “That’s editorializing.”

“It’s documenting.”

“It’s sarcastic documenting.”

“Can’t help that I’m funny.”

He heaves a heavy sigh.

And then, a sound echoes somewhere deeper in the canyon.

A howl or cry of sorts. Low. Sharp. Wrong.

Every person in the group freezes.

The sound comes again.

Not loud.