The road was not on any map.
That was the first thing Ethan noticed.
He slowed the jeep and leaned forward, eyes narrowing at the narrow stretch of land cutting through the hills. No signboard. No markings. Just a silent path disappearing into dense green, as if it had no intention of being found.
"You're sure this is the route?" a voice asked from the passenger seat.
Mira Noor didn't look convinced. She rarely was.
Ethan tapped the folded map on the dashboard. "According to this, yes."
Mira let out a short breath. "According to this," she repeated, lifting an old, weather-stained journal from her lap. "Not according to reality."
The journal had belonged to her grandfather—an explorer who vanished twenty years ago without leaving anything behind except questions and this book. Every page was filled with rough sketches, half-written notes, and places that officially did not exist.
This road was one of them.
Ethan glanced at her. "You still want to turn back?"
Mira's fingers tightened around the journal. For a moment, something unreadable crossed her face—fear, maybe. Or memory.
"No," she said firmly. "If we turn back now, I'll never forgive myself."
That was how it always went with her. Doubt first. Decision next. No retreat.
Ethan smiled faintly and drove forward.
The trees closed in around them as the jeep moved deeper. The air felt heavier, quieter. Even the sound of the engine seemed out of place, like it was intruding on something ancient.
"People don't disappear for no reason," Mira said suddenly.
Ethan kept his eyes on the road. "Sometimes they do. Sometimes the reason just isn't kind."
She didn't reply.
They had met only two weeks ago.
A researcher and a journalist.
Two strangers connected by one impossible location and a shared refusal to let go.
The jeep came to a stop near a broken stone marker, half-buried in vines. Ethan stepped out first, scanning the area. The forest stretched endlessly, untouched and watchful.
Mira joined him, her boots sinking slightly into the damp earth.
"This is it," she whispered.
Ethan looked at the stone. A symbol was carved into it—a mountain split by a river.
The same symbol from the journal.
A chill ran through him. "Your grandfather was here."
Mira swallowed. "Then he didn't just disappear."
She looked up at Ethan, eyes steady but shining with something close to hope.
"If he came this far," she said, "then so can we."
Ethan hesitated. He had chased mysteries his entire life. Lost cities. Forgotten paths. But this—this felt different. More personal. More dangerous.
And somehow, more alive.
He nodded. "We move carefully. Together."
Mira gave a small smile. Not relief. Trust.
They stepped past the marker and into the forest.
Neither of them noticed the way the air shifted behind them,
or how the path they had taken slowly faded away.
Some journeys don't begin with excitement.
They begin with a choice.
And once made, they demand everything.