Night Forest was a place unlike any other in Arizone. A place that carried a strange, untouchable magic in its bones, as though the very land whispered to itself in voices no one else could hear. Dylan had heard many tales about it, but being here was entirely different. The air buzzed with a kind of hidden energy, unseen but heavy enough to make the skin prickle. The soil underfoot shimmered faintly, for it was made of black crystal that glowed whenever their torchlight brushed against it. The trees themselves rose so tall and dark that Dylan could hardly see their peaks, their barks gleaming like polished obsidian.
Above them, the canopy was so thick that not a single flake of snow reached the ground, though outside the forest it fell endlessly. The branches knitted themselves so closely together that even the moon and stars could not find their way through. The air was cold, damp, and pressing. They had to walk with torches, the beams cutting through the shadows in narrow cones, and even then the darkness around them remained deep and restless.
Dylan walked with a kind of unease in his chest, though he tried not to show it. He had never trusted the stories of the Night Forest—those whispers of spirits who lingered between the trees, of ancient things left unspoken. But seeing Lena beside him now, clinging softly to his arm, made the unease sharper. He wished he had never agreed to let her come here.
Eva, ahead of them, was entirely enchanted by the guide's words, eagerly asking about the forest's history, eyes sparkling with curiosity. Lena, on the other hand, was silent. Too silent. Dylan felt the way her grip tightened on his arm, little by little, until it almost trembled against him.
"Dylan," she whispered as they reached deeper into the forest, her voice fragile.
He stopped instantly, looking at her pale face in the dim torchlight. Her eyes were wide, her lips slightly parted, and fear lay there so raw that it pierced him straight through. His heart skipped, then raced. She was shivering now, and not from the cold.
"What's wrong, Lena?" he asked softly, though his voice betrayed him with the tremor of his own fear. He drew her closer, wrapping his arm around her small frame. His chest felt tight, like he had failed her simply by bringing her here.
Lena's grip on him grew tighter, almost desperate. "Dylan… let's not continue. Please." Her voice was breaking, a whisper close to tears.
He didn't hesitate. "Okay," he murmured, stroking her back. "I'll take you out right now."
He didn't ask questions. Not then. His only thought was to get her away from here, to take her somewhere warm, somewhere safe. Her body was trembling against his, each shiver cutting him in ways words could not.
"Let me talk to security," Dylan whispered, taking a step back.
But Lena clung to him suddenly, arms wrapping tighter around him, her face buried against his chest. "No. Don't go."
His chest ached. "Okay," he soothed instantly, brushing his hand over her hair. He pulled out his phone with one hand, sending a quick message to Eva, telling her they were leaving, before guiding Lena back through the dark path. A guard silently followed them at a distance, but Dylan hardly noticed—his whole world was Lena in his arms, her steps small and uneven, her shivers unrelenting.
When they finally reached the parking lot, the snow was still falling steadily, covering the world in white. The night air was freezing, the kind of cold that bites through layers of clothing. Dylan brushed the flakes from Lena's hair as he carefully opened the car door for her.
"Sit, love," he murmured, guiding her into the front passenger seat. He placed her down so gently it was as though she were made of glass. Then he stood before her, looking at her face in the dim glow of the lot's light. Her cheeks were pale, her lips trembling. He could feel the weight of her fear pressing on his chest.
"Lena," he whispered, leaning closer. "Tell me what's wrong?"
But she only buried her face against him again, hiding in his coat. The feel of her small hands clutching the fabric of his chest made his heart twist. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing his lips to her hair.
"It's okay now," he whispered, his breath warm against her crown. "It's okay, love. You're safe."
Still, she clung to him as though he were her only anchor in the world. And maybe he was. Dylan closed his eyes, feeling her trembling soak into his bones. His heart trembled with her, but he refused to let it show. He had to be strong—because if he faltered, what would happen to her?
At last, Lena pulled back just slightly. Dylan cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears staining her cheeks. The sight of them broke something inside him. He leaned his forehead against hers, whispering, "Won't you tell me what happened, Lens?" His voice was low, pleading.
Her eyes filled again, shimmering with tears that slipped down before she could stop them. Dylan quickly drew her into his arms again, holding her close as though he could shield her from the whole world.
"If you won't talk about it, love, then tell me… how can I solve it?" His voice cracked slightly, but he hid it against her hair.
Her words trembled out, almost broken. "That place was suffocating. I felt trapped. And then… I saw someone." Her body shivered hard, and Dylan tightened his hold on her. "Someone hiding between the trees. He was watching me. And when I saw him… Dylan, he smiled. At that moment, I felt like I was already dead."
Shock went through Dylan like ice, but he forced it down. He couldn't let her see his fear. He smoothed his hand over her hair, resting his chin there.
"You're my bravest girl, Lena," he whispered fiercely. "It's over now. You're safe. No one will ever hurt you while I'm here. Not ever."
But inside, his chest was a storm. Who was that man? Why could Lena see him and he could not? She had spoken of him before—once in Capaldi, and now here. Dylan hated the helplessness that filled him, hated that his eyes had failed her, that his arms alone were all he could give. But he would not let her see that weakness.
"Dylan," she whispered suddenly, looking up at him with those wide, frightened eyes.
"Hmmm?" His heart shook at the way she said his name.
"I'm cold," she murmured, her lips quivering. Her legs dangled slightly from the seat, her coat falling open.
Dylan's breath caught. He quickly pulled a blanket from the back seat, tucking it around her carefully, his fingers brushing her cold hands. He crouched, rubbing her legs gently to bring warmth back into them.
"Is it warmer now?" he asked softly, watching her face.
"A little bit," Lena whispered, eyes still wet.
Dylan looked around. Snow was falling thick outside, coating the ground, and the wind bit at his skin even under his coat. He spotted a small building nearby, lights glowing faintly—a visitor's café.
"Lena," he said gently, "let's wait inside that café. It'll be warmer there."
He fetched her woolen cap from the back seat, placing it gently over her head, then wrapped a muffler around her neck with such care it almost hurt him. Then, holding her hand tightly in his, he guided her slowly through the snow. Each step she took, he matched with patience, never rushing her.
The café was small but warm, with soft lights and a fireplace burning at one end. Dylan found the coziest corner near the fire and settled Lena into a cushioned chair. She looked fragile but calmer, her hands wrapped in the blanket he had carried inside with her.
"Wait here, love," Dylan murmured, brushing a kiss to her hair before going to the counter. He ordered two steaming mugs of hot chocolate and a slice of her favorite chocolate cake.
When he returned, Lena had already wiped away the traces of her tears, trying to hide the storm she had endured. But Dylan saw it. He remembered the way she had cried against him, harder than she had in Capaldi after the December incident. The memory twisted his heart, but he forced a smile for her sake.
He set the tray down and sat beside her, watching the flames flicker in the fireplace. For a moment, silence settled between them, but it wasn't empty—it was fragile, delicate, the kind of silence that carried all the words they couldn't yet say.
Dylan turned his head, looking at her softly. "Are you fine, love?" His voice was low, almost hesitant.
Lena leaned against him, her smile faint but real this time. "It's alright now," she said gently.
And she leaned on him, her warmth sinking into him as the fire glowed. Dylan wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close, and for a fleeting moment, the world outside—the snow, the shadows, the haunting figure between the trees—did not matter. All that mattered was that she was safe here, in his arms.