The next morning, Jason woke up early. The sun hadn't come out yet, and the world was quiet.
He unzipped his tent and stepped outside.
Everything was covered in fog.
Thick, white fog. He could barely see a few steps ahead. The fire pit, the tents, and even the trees looked like shadows in the mist.
Jason walked down to the river, holding his sketchbook. He liked drawing in the morning when it was peaceful. But when he turned around, the campsite was gone.
He blinked.
"Tyler?" he called out. "Mia? Ben?"
No answer.
Jason took a few careful steps. Maybe he had just turned the wrong way. But every tree looked the same. The fog wrapped around him like a blanket. It was cold. It was quiet.
Too quiet.
He turned again, now confused. Where was the river? Where was the path?
Then—CRACK!
He stepped on