The last ember in the pit pulsed like a dying heart, mirroring my own. The chill had teeth tonight, gnawing through my soaked jacket, but it was the silence that truly bit. Or, not silence. The frantic pulse of blood in my ears, the ragged rasp of my own breath. And then, the *other* sound.
I huddled closer to the fading warmth, the phantom weight of Ethan’s tiny hand still vivid in mine. He loved fires, my little dragon-hunter, would point with a grubby finger, eyes wide, seeing magic in every flick of flame. He’d be wearing his lucky giraffe onesie, of course, giggling at the shadows dancing on the tent wall. But Ethan wasn’t here. He wasn't anywhere near this desolate patch of woods, not anymore. That was the point, wasn't it?
"Did you hear that?" Liam’s voice, a dry rattle from across the ring. Or was it? The logs he’d supposedly gathered lay untouched, unburnt, beside the ash. Sarah, usually so quick to scoff at his dramatics, was just a deeper shadow against the pines. They were both still there, though. I *knew* they were. We’d come out here for peace, for a break from… everything. A break I hadn't deserved.
The snap came again, distinct this time, from beyond the tree line. Not a deer. Too heavy, too deliberate. *Thump. Drag. Thump. Drag.* Like something wounded, or something carrying a heavy burden. It wasn't moving away; it was circling. Slow, methodical. The sound was a claw tracing the perimeter of our fragile, flickering world. "It's just the wind," I whispered, the lie tasting like ash. My fingers found the cold steel of the camp axe. Useless, against whatever was out there. Or in here. The circling continued, closer now. I imagined eyes, glinting in the dark, watching us. Watching *me*. The weight of Ethan’s absence pressed down, heavier than any physical threat. He loved to investigate, my little man. He’d want to know what was out there. But I couldn’t protect him then, and I couldn't protect anyone now. My mind flashed to the last time I’d heard that sound – a rhythmic dragging. The sound of something being pulled away.
A twig snapped right behind Sarah’s slumped form. My breath hitched. Was it reaching for her? Or was it reaching for *me*? The air grew impossibly cold, the campfire’s heat a forgotten memory. And then, a low, guttural growl, not from the woods, but from *everywhere*. It vibrated in my bones, a sound of profound, ancient sorrow. I squeezed my eyes shut, picturing Ethan’s innocent, curious face, his giraffe onesie, the way he’d mimic a dragon’s roar. He’d trusted me. We were supposed to be safe. But I hadn't been careful enough. I hadn't been strong enough. When I opened my eyes, the campfire was out. The friends were gone. Just me, the axe, and the circling sound, which now seemed to be coming from *inside* the tent, from *inside* my head. The dragging sound became the rhythmic thud of a heart – my own, or something else's – beating a furious, accusing rhythm against the quiet. Guilt, I realized, didn't need footprints in the mud to find you. It just needed a heartbeat. And mine was screaming.