The forest seemed to hold its breath.
What moments ago had been filled with the low crackle of campfire and the muted clatter of equipment now stood frozen under the pale morning light. The fog had begun to lift, but the air felt heavier, thicker, as if the Sylven Forest itself had leaned closer to listen.
Everyone gathered at the edge of the slope.
The two bodies lay sprawled on the uneven ground, limbs twisted unnaturally, faces locked in expressions of terror so raw it made even hardened men avert their eyes. Their pupils were wide, staring at nothing, veins on their temples bulging as if fear itself had tried to tear its way out from within. There were no claw marks. No bite wounds. No sign of struggle against an animal.
Only bullets.
Spent rounds from their own magazines had been carefully arranged around them, pressed into the soil with deliberate intent. Not scattered. Not random.
Arranged.
