Morning did not arrive the way it should have.
There was no gradual lightening of the sky, no birds announcing survival. When Cynthia opened her eyes, the forest looked exactly the same—dim, gray, and suspended in a timeless half-light that belonged neither to night nor day.
She sat up sharply.
Her body ached, but worse than that was the wrongness clinging to her skin. The air felt heavier than it had the night before, like the forest had inhaled and refused to breathe out.
Alex was awake already, sitting with his back against a tree, his eyes hollow. Violet lay curled near the dead fire, arms wrapped around herself, lips moving silently as if praying—or bargaining.
Ethan was missing.
Cynthia's heart lurched.
"Where's Ethan?" she asked.
Alex didn't answer right away.
"He went to look for a way out," he finally said. "An hour ago."
"That's a lie," Cynthia said quietly.
Alex flinched.
"He wouldn't go alone," she continued. "Not after last night."
Alex swallowed. "He said he heard something."
Cynthia stood, panic crawling up her spine. "Heard what?"
"A voice."
They searched.
Every direction looked familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Trees repeated themselves in patterns that felt intentional, like copied memories. Cynthia scratched a mark into a trunk with her knife.
Ten minutes later, they passed the same tree.
The mark was gone.
Violet broke down then.
"This place is alive," she sobbed. "It's playing with us."
Cynthia didn't argue.
They found Ethan near the well.
Or what remained of him.
His body lay twisted at an angle no living thing should hold. His eyes were open, glassy, staring straight into the dark mouth of the well.
His lips were stretched into a smile.
"No," Alex whispered.
Cynthia knelt beside him, hands trembling as she checked for a pulse she already knew wouldn't be there.
Cold.
Too cold.
There were no wounds. No blood. No sign of struggle.
Only something carved into his chest.
A symbol.
Jagged lines forming a shape that made Cynthia's vision blur when she tried to focus on it.
"What… what does it mean?" Violet asked.
The well answered.
"Confession."
The word echoed from its depths.
Alex screamed and kicked a stone into the well.
This time, there was a sound.
A wet splash.
Followed by laughter.
Not loud.
Not manic.
Satisfied.
They ran.
The forest changed as they did.
Trees leaned closer. Roots rose like fingers from the soil, snagging their feet. The ground softened, sucking at their shoes as though trying to pull them under.
Cynthia felt something brush her ankle.
She screamed and stumbled.
Hands caught her.
Hands that were too cold.
She twisted free and turned—
Janet stood behind her.
Whole. Untouched.
Smiling.
"You shouldn't have brought them here," Janet said gently.
Cynthia shook her head violently. "You're not real."
Janet's smile faded.
"You said that before," she replied. "And look what it cost us."
The forest screamed.
Not a sound—a feeling. A pressure wave of anguish that slammed into them, knocking Violet to her knees.
The trees began to bleed.
Dark sap seeped from their bark, dripping onto the ground like thick, sluggish blood.
Alex grabbed Cynthia's hand. "Don't look. Whatever you do, don't look."
But Cynthia couldn't stop.
Faces pushed through the bark—half-formed, frozen in silent agony. Mouths open. Eyes begging.
People she recognized.
People she didn't.
People she would.
Violet stood suddenly, her eyes vacant.
"I remember now," she said calmly.
Alex turned. "Remember what?"
Violet smiled.
"How I'm going to die."
The ground split open beneath her.
Hands—dozens of them—dragged her down screaming. Her fingers clawed at the earth, nails tearing off, blood streaking the soil.
Then she was gone.
Silence followed.
Alex collapsed, sobbing.
Cynthia stood frozen, her mind screaming.
The forest whispered.
"Two truths remain," it murmured. "And one debt unpaid."
Cynthia backed away.
"I didn't mean to," she whispered.
The forest listened.
It always did.
And somewhere deep beneath the well, something ancient and patient smiled—because the search had truly begun.