Diana sat alone in the spacious, leather-upholstered cabin of the private jet, her seat angled toward a window where clouds drifted lazily past. The hum of the engines was hypnotic, lulling her into a calm that felt strangely enchanted. She had never flown like this before—no cramped rows, no crying children, no stale tea, or smell of burnt coffee. Just silence, comfort, and the uncanny sense that her life had stepped off its carefully laid path of predictable work and quiet struggle.
She leaned her head against the soft pillow of the seat, watching the horizon tilt as the plane adjusted course. The carved wooden wolf nestled in her breast pocket felt warm against her chest, as if it had absorbed some of her body heat. Absentmindedly, she rubbed it with her thumb, a small gesture that grounded her amidst the whirlwind. A flicker of doubt passed through her—how had this become her life? Planes, talismans, and impossible visions. Was she truly stepping into a world she belonged in, or just being swept along by a tide she couldn't stop?
Everything had happened so quickly—the meeting, the offer, the signed documents, the hefty check, and these plane tickets to a destination that until now had been nothing more than a shadow in her imagination.
The flight attendant, dressed in a sharp gray uniform without a name tag, offered her a drink and a small meal tray. Diana accepted a cup of tea, the steam curling upward like a whispered secret. The flavor was delicate and unfamiliar—just like everything else surrounding her.
Fatigue began to settle in, the emotional weight of recent days pulling at her. She reclined her seat slightly and closed her eyes, surrendering to the gentle lull of the flight.
In her dreams, the forest returned. Towering evergreens bathed in silver moonlight stretched their branches skyward like graceful arms. She was barefoot again, draped in a shimmering white gown woven from stardust and moonbeams. The forest pulsed with breathless magic, alive and waiting.
Wolves moved through the shadows—half-seen shapes circling and watching. Their howls rippled through the night, haunting and beautiful. Then she saw them—eyes glowing amethyst, ancient and knowing, filled with recognition.
The largest wolf stepped forward, silver-white fur radiant beneath the moonlight, bowing its head slightly. A shiver ran down Diana's spine. She reached out—but before her fingers could touch the wolf's fur, the vision dissolved.
She woke with a start as the pilot's calm voice filled the cabin.
"Ms. Morgan, we'll be landing shortly. Local time is 3:47 p.m. Please prepare for arrival."
Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Diana sat up. Those amethyst eyes clung to the edges of her thoughts. They reminded her of something—or someone—but she couldn't place it. Not yet. There was a pull in her chest, subtle but insistent, as though the dream hadn't ended at all.
Outside, a patchwork of dense forest stretched beneath her, interrupted only by a winding river and a small landing strip nestled among the trees. No control tower, no other planes—only isolation.
The wheels touched down smoothly, and the jet taxied toward a rustic structure resembling a ranger station more than an airport terminal.
Diana gathered her things, fingertips brushing the wooden wolf once more—a talisman, a guide.
As the door hissed open, warm, pine-scented air spilled inside. Sunlight poured in at a golden angle, casting the clearing in a magical glow.
Stepping down, she spotted a man leaning casually against a dusty vintage pickup. His faded flannel shirt and rolled sleeves revealed forearms bronzed by the sun. A well-worn hat shaded kind, weathered eyes framed by a neatly trimmed white beard. His presence was calm and solid, like a favorite uncle or trusted neighbor.
"Ms. Morgan?" he called, voice warm and deep.
She nodded and stepped closer.
"Name's Thom," he said, extending a hand. She shook it firmly. "I'll be taking you the rest of the way."
The drive wound through towering pines and ferns brushing the windows, sunlight filtering through the canopy in scattered golden-green beams. Thom spoke little, but his steady presence eased Diana's nerves.
Eventually, the forest opened to a hidden clearing. There, nestled at the edge of a crystal-clear lake, stood a sprawling log cabin with mossy shingles and smoke curling from its stone chimney.
Diana's breath caught in her throat. A sense of calm washed over her—like the sudden silence after a long storm. Her chest loosened, her shoulders lowered. For the first time in what felt like ages, she inhaled deeply, the crisp scent of pine and lakewater grounding her. Something about the place whispered of belonging.
Thom parked and grabbed one of her bags. "Welcome to Greystone."
Inside, warmth spilled from a grand riverstone hearth, blending rugged charm with cozy sophistication. Walls of timber and stone displayed shelves of books, artifacts, and nature-inspired art. Thick rugs softened the hardwood floors, and the scent of pine and aged leather lingered.
She blinked, caught between wonder and déjà vu. The scent of pine brought back flashes of childhood—campfires, laughter, her mother humming as they boiled water over a flame. This place felt like a memory made real.
At the kitchen counter stood an older woman with salt-and-pepper hair in a loose braid, wearing an apron over cotton blouse and jeans. She looked up and smiled warmly.
"You must be Diana. I'm Mae—Thom's better half. Welcome."
"Thank you," Diana replied, her voice tinged with awe.
Mae gestured to the fire. "Make yourself at home. I just put on some tea."
Diana absorbed the comfort of the space—foreign yet familiar, like a dream half-remembered.
Mae and Thom explained they were caretakers of the cabin, which belonged to friends who occasionally rented it out and had asked them to prepare it for Diana's stay. "They're often away, so they count on us to keep things in order," Thom said with a shrug. They'd aired out the rooms, restocked essentials, and ensured everything was cozy and welcoming.
"We didn't know exactly when you'd arrive," Mae said, unloading fresh produce. "But we wanted everything just right."
"It's beautiful," Diana murmured.
Mae smiled knowingly. "There's a roast in the oven, should be ready in an hour. You'll want to eat after the trip."
Thom chuckled, setting her bags by the staircase. "And the fridge is stocked—juice, milk, sparkling waters. And if you want something stronger," he added with a wink, "we've got that too."
Mae gave Diana a quick hug and kissed her cheek. "We're nearby if you need anything."
"There's a phone, it usually works, but the lines are old," Thom added as he stepped out of the cabin. "It's kind of a crap shoot if you can make a call out or not." He smiled almost apologetically. "We'll come check on you next week if we don't hear from you sooner." With that, Diana stood alone, the warmth of their farewell still lingering in the air. The quiet of the cabin settled around her like a thick quilt—comforting, yet heavy with the weight of solitude and expectation.
After they left, Diana wandered upstairs, unpacked, then stepped onto the balcony. The lake shimmered in twilight, calm and endless. A telescope pointed toward the horizon; nearby, a fire pit and cushioned lounge chair invited quiet reflection.
Back downstairs, she found a sleek camera case nestled on the table beside a small folded note. Unfolding the note, Diana read the simple message:
"This equipment is for your use during your assignment. Please handle with care."
Inside the case lay a professional grade camera securely cushioned in custom foam, along with a mini voice recorder and a leather-bound journal embossed with the same mysterious symbol she had seen on her documents. She ran her fingers over the journal's cover, a chill running up her spine. Something about it felt important, as though it held secrets waiting to be uncovered.
A ripple of unease tickled the base of her neck.
Dinner was slow, comforting—Mae's roast was tender and fragrant, paired with robust red wine from the cabinet. Each bite grounded Diana, washing away the haze and stirring memories of family dinners at her grandmother's house, where roast and laughter were always in abundance. The ritual of shared meals had once been her anchor, and tonight, it felt like a thread reconnecting her to something familiar in a world that had changed so fast.
Later, she soaked in a clawfoot tub filled with lavender and cedarwood salts, muscles relaxing, mind quieting.
Wrapped in a robe, she returned to the balcony, wine in hand. The moon hung luminous over the lake, stars blinking to life.
Though alone, she felt watched—not with fear, but welcome—as if the woods had opened their arms.
A gentle breeze stirred the trees, whispering secrets she didn't yet understand. The stars watched in silence, and somewhere in the forest, something watched back—not in menace, but in expectation.
Diana woke on the balcony, curled beneath the thick woolen throw, the empty wine glass still resting beside her. The night had been peaceful, the fire pit now cold, its embers long since faded. The first pale light of dawn crept across the sky, casting soft pink and lavender hues over the lake. Mist hovered above the water, swirling lazily as if reluctant to leave the warmth of the surface.
She sat up slowly, her body stiff but not uncomfortable. The chill of the morning air nipped at her cheeks and nose, but the robe and blanket kept most of the cold at bay. She rubbed her eyes and yawned, the inexplicable feeling from the previous night still clinging to her like dew.
The carved wolf had remained close, nestled in her pocket, as if standing vigil. She pulled it out and cradled it in her hand for a moment, running her thumb along the smoothed wooden back. Somehow, waking here—under the open sky, beneath the fading stars—felt more real than any morning she'd had in years. As she held her little protector, a wave of calm washed over her, tethering her to the present. Maybe it was the talisman, maybe it was the air—but something about this place, this moment, was beginning to stitch reality together in a way she hadn't felt in ages.
Rising slowly, Diana stretched her limbs before heading inside. The cabin was quiet, only the soft ticking of a wall clock and the creak of floorboards under her feet breaking the silence. She placed the glass in the sink and filled the kettle with water for tea. Reaching into the tin, she was surprised to find a fresh supply of her favorite tea leaves. It took her a moment to remember Mae putting groceries away the night before.
She smiled to herself and set the kettle to boil, savoring the fragrance of her favorite tea as it steeped—a small ritual that brought a sense of normalcy to an otherwise extraordinary morning. Today, though, felt like the real beginning.
Her instructions had been clear: explore the terrain, observe animal behavior—particularly during lunar phases—photograph significant findings, and meticulously record both daytime and nighttime activity, with a special emphasis on the movements and habits of wolves. The woods were her office now. The moon her calendar.
She glanced out the window to the path that led into the trees.
She poured steaming tea into her favorite mug—the one she'd packed carefully in her bag—before turning to prepare a proper breakfast, something she hadn't been able to do for months. To her surprise, the fridge held more than just essentials: eggs, thick-cut bacon, fresh mushrooms, oat bread, and churned butter—all clearly selected with care by Mae. Grateful and a little touched, Diana smiled and rolled up her sleeves, ready to savor this rare and comforting moment of abundance.
Moving to the table, she sat by the window to eat, watching as the mist slowly retreated from the lake. The meal, though modest, warmed her from the inside out, offering a sense of comfort she hadn't realized she'd been missing.
After clearing her dishes and tidying the kitchen, she padded back to the bedroom to change. She slipped into a soft thermal base layer, cargo hiking pants, and a thick flannel shirt. A weatherproof jacket and sturdy boots completed the ensemble. She tugged her hair into a loose braid and looped the carved wolf around her neck with a leather cord—tucking it under her shirt where it rested near her heart.
Her backpack was already stocked with essentials: the camera and mini recorder, along with her leather journal and compass. She added a water bottle, a few protein bars, and the field guide that had come with her instructions. She added a few more items from the pantry and double-checked that she had everything she might need.
Standing at the door, hand on the latch, she paused for a moment. The forest waited—quiet, ancient, and full of secrets.
She stepped outside and started her journey, the morning mist curling around her legs like a whispered promise.
Though her boots felt familiar on the uneven path, Diana quickly realized how long it had been since she'd truly hiked terrain like this. Her movements were less fluid, her steps louder than she liked. She winced as a snapped twig echoed too sharply in the quiet. She would need to reawaken the old instincts—how to place her feet carefully, move with the rhythm of the forest, and blend into the landscape rather than disturb it. If she hoped to capture wildlife on film, she had to remember how to be invisible.
She walked at a steady pace, pausing now and then to admire moss-covered logs, fungi that clung to the trunks of ancient trees, and the occasional squirrel darting up a pine. The deeper she went, the more it became clear that this forest was untouched by the modern world, a place preserved in time. It was as though the trees themselves kept the outside world at bay.
She took several photos, marveling at how the morning light seemed to make everything glow. With each step, her nervous tension melted away, replaced by a grounded calm she hadn't felt in years. Now strung on a leather cord, the carved wolf thudded softly against her chest with each breath, a steady heartbeat echoing her own.
As she reached a small clearing surrounded by towering pines, she paused to take a sip of water. She pulled out the journal and scribbled a few notes about what she'd seen—nothing too remarkable yet, but a sense of peace and wonder had taken root in her chest.
For now, that was more than enough.
She followed the faint trail as it wound deeper into the woods, the air growing cooler beneath the canopy of old-growth trees. A gentle breeze stirred the branches above, causing shafts of sunlight to flicker across the forest floor like fleeting spirits. Birds called to one another in the distance, their melodies weaving through the rustle of leaves.
After another twenty minutes of careful hiking, Diana heard it—a faint gurgling sound that grew louder with each step. She pushed through a tangle of underbrush and stepped into another clearing, this one smaller and cradled in the arms of a rocky rise. A narrow stream flowed through, its water clear and fast-moving as it danced over smooth stones.
Her breath caught slightly at the sight. The sunlight broke through the canopy here, glinting off the water like scattered diamonds. A flat boulder jutted near the stream's edge, the perfect place to sit and rest. Beyond it, nestled into the base of the rock formation, was a small cave. Its mouth was low and wide, partially hidden by overgrown ivy and moss. Not large enough to stand in, perhaps, but just deep enough to feel mysterious.
Diana crouched near the stream, letting the cool water run over her fingers. It was shockingly cold, invigorating. She took out the camera and began capturing the textures—the glittering water, the velvety green moss, the way the ivy curled like lazy fingers around the stone.
Her gaze drifted to the cave. There was a strange stillness to it, like it was waiting. Not ominous, not exactly. Just… expectant.
She made a note in her journal: Stream discovered at mid-morning. Coordinates to be recorded later. Found cave—potential den? Will revisit under different light.
The carved wolf pendant grew warm against her skin, noticeably so—like a heartbeat quickening at the edge of fate—as she stood again and let her eyes linger on the cave one last time. She stepped onto the flat boulder, letting herself rest and soak in the moment. For the first time in years, she felt entirely present. The bubbling stream, the birdsong, the rustling leaves—it was all so alive.
As she rose to leave, brushing dirt from her pants, a sound stopped her cold.
A soft whimper. Then a low grunt.
It came from the cave.
Diana froze, head tilting toward the dark entrance. The sounds came again—faint, animalistic, not threatening, but pained or distressed. Her heart began to pound as she strained to listen, instinct and curiosity warring within her.
Something, or someone, was in there.
Diana hesitated only a moment before her curiosity overcame her caution. She moved slowly, carefully, each step deliberate as she approached the cave entrance. The overgrowth obscured her view, and the cave's angle made it impossible to see inside from a distance. Her breath caught in her throat as she neared the shadowed mouth.
Just a few feet away, she crouched low, the cool dampness of the mossy ground soaking through her pants. She leaned in, trying to peer into the gloom.
Only when she was right beside the cave did she finally catch a glimpse of what lay within.
Nestled deep in the shadows, a lone wolf pup whimpered softly. Its fur was matted with dirt and dried blood, one leg awkwardly twisted beneath it. The pup looked to have been attacked—claw marks and a deep gash along its flank told a story of something large and mean, possibly a bear. Diana froze, her breath catching in her throat as their eyes met. A pang of sorrow and urgency twisted in her chest. The pup shivered, letting out a faint, high-pitched cry as its luminous eyes blinked up at her, wide and full of pain—and something else. A silent plea. A desperate, instinctive begging for help that struck her straight in the heart.
In that moment, she felt the old world fall away—the jobs, the bills, the loneliness. All that remained was the life before her, fragile and afraid. And it had already begun to claim her
Acting on impulse, Diana dropped her pack beside the the cave entrance and shrugged off her overshirt. The cave opening was small and low, not built for comfort or ease of entry. She lay flat on her stomach and began inching forward, careful not to scrape against the stone or make sudden movements that might startle the pup.
As she reached the pup, the smell of blood and fear hit her. Her heart ached at the sight—its tiny body trembled as she gently reached out. "It's okay," she whispered softly, her voice steady and low. "I'm here to help."
With deliberate movements, she eased the overshirt beneath the pup and wrapped it like a swaddled infant. The wolf whimpered but didn't fight her, its small head pressing weakly against her arm. She bit her lip, trying not to cry as she worked her way backward, careful not to jostle the bundle too much.
Once outside, she sat back on her heels for a heartbeat, cradling the pup in her arms. Its eyes fluttered closed, still breathing but faint. She slipped her arm through the loop of her pack, scooping it up with one hand, and rose to her feet.
Then she ran.
Branches slapped her arms, twigs cracked underfoot, but she didn't stop. She knew the direction back, had memorized the trail well enough. Every step felt too slow, every moment a weight on her chest. The forest blurred around her—the light, the trees, the quiet sounds—as she raced to get the wounded creature to safety.
To warmth. To care. To help.
Racing into the cabin, Diana dropped her pack on the couch, still cradling the injured pup gently against her chest. Its body was limp but warm, and she adjusted her grip instinctively, careful not to press too hard on its wounds.
With her free hand, she grabbed the landline and fumbled to dial the number Thom and Mae had left on the welcome note. The receiver slipped slightly against her shoulder, but she didn't dare shift the pup to make it easier. Her heart pounded as the phone rang once, then again—each second stretching unbearably long.
No answer. Only static.
She tried again, her breath hitching with the weight of fear and helplessness.
Nothing but a faint crackle, then silence.
"Come on, come on…," she muttered, gripping the receiver tight before slamming it back into its cradle.
The wolf pup whimpered softly, and Diana pulled it closer, resting her cheek gently against its head. "Hang in there, little one," she whispered. "I've got you now."
Still holding the bundle close, she pivoted toward the kitchen. There had to be something—anything—she could do.
She barely noticed the little carved wolf pressing warm against her chest, its presence eclipsed by the weight of the real pup—wounded, trembling, and utterly dependent on her care.