Vera turned her gaze to Mason, nodding slightly. "Your turn. What's your story?"
Mason shifted uneasily, the firelight catching the lines of tension in his face. He ran a hand through his hair and finally spoke, his voice low but steady.
"I had four older brothers. I was the youngest. My mother was an angel—a true sweetheart—but my father… he was abusive. I'd watch him come home drunk from work, cursing at my mom, hitting her. My brothers would all go to their rooms, and I'd just sit there, only four years old, witnessing it. My mother kept telling me not to say anything when he did it.
This went on for years. Until I turned nine. That time, I couldn't stay silent anymore. I'd had enough of just watching. I grabbed his arm and pushed him to the ground. My mom got scared, and he hit me… then her, until she passed out.
After that, my brothers and I decided to act without my mother knowing. We recorded him and called the police, gave them the footage. After that, my mom was happier, healthier, wounded, but better.
But despite all of that, I still felt helpless. I couldn't protect her. I couldn't shake off the guilt. So I threw myself into working out—pushing myself harder than anyone else—so I'd never fail my mom, or anyone I cared about, ever again."
Mason ran a hand over his face, letting out a low sigh. "I'm not used to talking about this stuff," he said firmly. "So don't ask any questions."
The group nodded silently. Ivy drew a deep breath, her eyes fixed on the fire as it crackled and flickered, before she finally began to speak.
"As Mason knows, I specialize in forensic psychology. What Ellis revealed at the hotel was one of the most horrific cases I've ever encountered. There was a series of crimes against women and children—boys and girls. We had two suspects. One had a prior criminal record, which aligned with the brutality of the crimes: sadistic, violent assaults that fit the profile I had prepared. The other suspect, however, also matched the profile in many ways. He had a troubled childhood, issues with his mother, and had been bullied, but he appeared polite, cooperative, and sane. Because of that, the FBI didn't consider him the primary suspect. I, however, was convinced he was a psychopath, but my warnings were dismissed. They even forced me on vacation, claiming I was overwhelmed by the gruesome series of crimes. I didn't stop. I continued to monitor him. One day, I confronted him. He said, 'Maybe your suspect had a reason,' and tried to deflect me, telling me to leave him alone. But who justifies murdering children and women? Eventually, they arrested the first suspect, and the crimes paused—only for another series to begin, with a completely different M.O." she sighed. "And i couldn't stop it." She said in a defeated tone.
Vera and Leo muttered almost simultaneously, their voices overlapping. "What's… M.O.?"
Ivy sighed, glancing at them over the firelight. "Modus operandi. It's the criminal's method, their pattern of committing the crimes. It tells you how they think, how they operate."
Leo sighed, running a hand over his face. "Well… that's all. Very interesting, emotional stories. What a group, huh? Ellis really did study us."
He paused, his gaze flicking around the fire. "Earlier we said we needed a word. Now it's time to pick one." "We know we're supposed to remind each other who you are if they possess you, but… what if we split up?" He puased then added "But it can't be obvious, right? They'll mimic, lure… trick us."
Vera frowns. "So… it has to mean the opposite of what it sounds like?"
Leo nods. "Exactly. The word is… 'Don't come'. When anyone says it, it means the opposite: come over here, But if you hear it in the wild, coming from them… it's a warning. Don't go toward it."
The group nodded , and the silence stretched between them , the fire crackled softly, sending up small sparks that danced like restless fireflies into the night sky. Shadows stretched long and twisted across the snow-dusted ground, warped by the flickering light. Each of them sat in silence, huddled close to the warmth, breaths visible in the cold air, mingling with the faint scent of charred pine.
The wind outside moaned through the skeletal trees, rattling branches and stirring loose snow that fell in quiet showers. Every rustle made hearts jump, every distant snap of a twig pulled attention to the darkness beyond. The forest felt alive, watching, waiting.
Inside the circle of fire, their faces were half-illuminated, half-swallowed by shadow. Eyes flicked nervously toward the treeline, then back to the flames, as if the fire could shield them from what lurked beyond. The tension was thick, pressing into their shoulders, even as the warmth soothed their chilled bones.
For a while, there was no sound but the fire's hiss and pop—no voices, no movement, just the oppressive, lingering sense that they were not alone. Each second stretched, filled with unspoken fears, memories, and the faint, creeping dread of what the night might bring.
Mason stood up suddenly.
"Let's keep going we've been sitting too long, we can't stay in one place"
Mason's words cut through the silence like a whip. He stood, snow crunching under his boots, then stamped out the fire before burying it under a spray of snow. The others stirred, reluctantly following suit. The fire's warmth faded behind them, leaving a chill that bit at their skin.
"Fine," Vera muttered, brushing snow from her coat, though her gaze lingered on the treeline, wary. Leo tightened his scarf around his neck, glancing nervously at the dark forest beyond. Ivy remained still a moment longer, staring into the fire's dying glow, her hands clasped together, before finally moving.
The air hit them like icy knives, and each step felt heavier than the last. Snow crunched beneath their boots as they retraced the path Ellis had once led them down, the familiar trail now seeming more ominous in the dim light.
The wind whispered through the trees, carrying faint echoes that made them flinch—branches scraping against one another, snow falling from unseen heights, and somewhere far off, the faint, chilling rustle of movement that could not be explained.
Each of them walked tense, shoulders hunched, eyes darting from shadow to shadow, every instinct screaming that the Wendigos were still out there, watching, waiting.
As soon as they started walking, the oppressive feeling of being watched grew heavier, pressing down on them like the weight of the snow around their boots. A sudden, unusual rustle ripped through the trees, sharper than the wind, closer than anything natural.
Vera's eyes snapped to the sound, heart lurching. There, crouched low against a snow-laden branch, a Wendigo's twisted, emaciated form slithered through the underbrush. Its pale, elongated limbs moved with unnatural speed, and its head tilted in a grotesque mimic of human curiosity. The moment it locked eyes with hers, it vanished behind a tree, leaving only a shadowy impression in the snow.
"Run!" Vera's voice sliced through the icy air. Panic sparked in every direction. She pulled Ivy by the arm, dragging her along
Mason did the same, grabbing Leo by the arms, hauling him forward, boots skidding on the slick snow. Branches whipped at their faces as they bolted, lungs burning, hearts hammering. Behind them, a chorus of rustling, snapping twigs, and low, guttural sounds heralded more Wendigos closing in, the shadows of the forest alive with predatory intent.
Snow sprayed around them as they stumbled over hidden roots and rocks, desperate to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the creatures. Every fleeting glimpse in the corners of their eyes made their stomachs churn—limbs stretched unnaturally, heads tilted impossibly, eyes glinting with hunger.
"Keep moving!" Mason yelled, adrenaline sharpening his voice. "Don't stop for anything!"
Leo's chest heaved, but his gaze flicked toward the forest, a flicker of the mimicked voices from before whispering in his ears, threatening to draw him in. Ivy and Vera exchanged a glance—fear, determination, and the grim knowledge that survival meant running until their legs could barely carry them.
The snow-drenched trees blurred into a tunnel of white and shadows, the Wendigos relentless, creeping ever closer, the line between predator and prey vanishing with every frantic step.