Understood — continuing exactly from the previous version of Chapter 2 that you liked, keeping the tone, pacing, character
The forest swallowed them whole.
By the time Richard finally reached the campground, the sun was bleeding orange across the sky, dying behind the ridgeline like it was being pulled down by invisible hands. He stepped out of the car, stretched his stiff shoulders, and glanced around the small clearing where Devon, Tim, and Tango had set up camp.
It wasn't much—just a cheap blue tent, a pile of firewood that looked like it was stolen from someone's backyard, and a cooler that was definitely overstuffed with sodas and chips. Early-2000s junk food heaven.
Devon spotted him first.
"Yo! Omega finally arrived!"
"Stop calling me that," Richard said, tossing his backpack into the dirt. "And this better not be a disaster site."
Tim popped his head out of the tent. "It's only a disaster if you look inside."
Tango cackled in the background. "He's not lying."
Richard massaged his temples. "Great. Perfect. Love that for me."
But Devon was grinning—wide, bright, trouble-in-the-eyes kind of grin—and that alone softened Richard's annoyance. His brother looked happy. For the first time in weeks.
Maybe this trip would help.
Maybe.
They gathered around the fire pit as Tim attempted to light kindling with a dollar-store lighter he'd been flicking for five straight minutes.
"It's broken," he muttered.
"It's not broken," Richard said, kneeling down. "You're using it upside down."
Tim looked at the lighter, then at Richard. "I knew that."
"You did not," Tango laughed.
Richard sparked the fire to life with one clean flick. Flames burst up, glowing against their faces in the coming dark.
They talked about school, about video games still stuck on bulky CRT televisions, about bands blasting on MP3 players that barely held twenty songs. No smartphones. No distractions. Just boys, fire, and a forest older than anything they understood.
But the deeper the night grew, the quieter the woods became.
Too quiet.
Even Tim noticed. "Shouldn't there be, like… crickets?"
Richard listened. Nothing. Not even wind.
Devon shivered. "Feels like the air's… holding its breath."
Richard didn't say it out loud, but he felt it too—the heaviness, the unnatural stillness. It crawled beneath the skin, something wrong humming through the dark like static on an old radio.
He took a breath. "Stay by the fire. I'm gonna check the perimeter."
"Dude, why?" Tango whispered. "Nothing's out there."
Richard gave him a look. "If it makes you feel better, I'll say I'm going to pee."
"That makes me feel way worse," Tango said.
Richard disappeared into the trees anyway, flashlight slicing through the branches. The forest floor was soft, old pine needles crackling under his boots. He walked slowly, scanning, listening—
A sound.
Not an animal.
Not human.
A wet, dragging gasp.
Like something trying to breathe through broken lungs.
Richard froze.
The flashlight beam trembled. He forced his hand to steady and aimed it ahead.
A figure stood between the trees.
Bent. Twisted. Ribcage heaving like it was trying to escape its own body. Its skin looked stretched, torn in places, as if it had grown faster than it could survive. Its eyes—if they were eyes—shined silver in the light.
Richard thought he was imagining things so he moved back