The sound of the night wind brushed gently against the wooden walls of our house, carrying the damp scent of soil freshly soaked by rain. On the roof, dripping water blended with the soft creak of old boards, as if the house itself was holding its breath.
June lay still, her eyes closed, but her breathing was too steady to be called sleep. Sometimes I watched her for a long time, trying to read what hid behind her small brows, but only silence stared back at me.
A chill crawled down my spine. My hand instinctively gripped the rifle, but I held myself from panicking. The shadow vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind a wet, dark night filled only with the sound of rain tapping against the shingles. I swallowed hard, forcing my heartbeat to calm. Something out there—something unseen—kept me alert, as if a pair of unseen eyes were watching me from beyond the trees.
My gaze returned to June. She must still be awake—maybe she'd overheard my conversation with her mother earlier, or maybe she was just waiting for something she didn't understand. I looked down, watching her tiny fingers clutch the thin blanket. The feeling inside me was tangled—wanting to hold her close, to protect her, but knowing I had to leave.
I stood for a moment, looking out through the window fogged by mist. Its surface reflected my own face, unfamiliar and distant. Something out there felt different, though I couldn't see what. The faint rustle of leaves and the snap of a branch echoed through the fog, like some unseen life moving just beyond sight.
I stepped closer. My eyes traced her small face, pale beneath the trembling glow of the oil lamp flickering in the draft. A quiet guilt always settled in my chest every time I looked at her—a weight that never truly left. I reached for her shoulder gently, careful not to startle her.
Slowly, I made my way to the front room.
The old rucksack lay on the chair, and the rifle leaned against the wall.
I reached for them one by one: flashlight, spare bullets, thick leather jacket. The soft clink of metal echoed through the small, cold room as I slipped the cartridges into my pocket.
Outside, the mist shifted slowly, as if hiding something within the shadows. That faint motion was enough to pierce the silence—like a quiet breath just beyond the wall.
Clara, who had been sitting by the window, turned sharply. Her face paled as she saw me pulling on my jacket and fastening the rucksack to my shoulder.
> "Are you really sure you have to go tonight?" she asked softly, her voice barely a whisper afraid to break the silence. The wind muffled her tone, but there was firmness there that couldn't be ignored.
I paused, looking at her. Worry filled her eyes—the same kind that always surfaced whenever I decided to leave after sundown.
Our heartbeats seemed to move in sync—fast and heavy with tension.
> "He's just a father who needs help, that's all," I said quietly. My voice tried to sound steady, but unease lingered beneath it.
Clara fell silent, her eyes searching mine, as if sensing the truth left unspoken.
> "I know you said this is only about helping," she murmured, "but I'm afraid it's more than that."
I didn't answer. My hands busied themselves locking the straps of the rucksack—only to hide the restlessness building inside. I was about to take a step when a soft, fragile voice called from behind me—enough to stop me in place.
> "Are you leaving again, Daddy?"
I turned. June still lay there, half her face hidden beneath the blanket. Her eyes weren't open, but tears slid quietly down her pale cheeks.
The lamplight shimmered over her hair, dampened slightly by the night's moisture.
> "Sorry, sweetheart, I thought you were asleep."
> "I heard Mom crying," she said softly. "She's scared, isn't she?"
I swallowed hard before answering.
> "Sometimes grown-ups get scared too, June. But that doesn't mean we stop doing what's right."
> "Do you have to go alone?"
> "Yes. Because if I don't, maybe no one else will come for the man in those woods."
> "But… don't be gone too long, okay?"
I brushed her hair gently.
> "I'll be home soon."
June watched me quietly, then whispered,
> "I know you just want to protect us." "But I don't want you to stay out too long." "When it rains again… come home, okay?"
Her words tightened something in my chest.
> "Why when it rains?" I asked softly.
June paused, her voice barely above the night's breath.
> "Because rain means you're too far away." "Mom always worries when you don't come back." "So when you hear the rain… you have to come home."
I stared at her for a long moment. That simple sentence sounded like a small prayer hidden within her fear. My throat tightened, but I forced a smile.
> "I'll come home," I said, leaning down to kiss her forehead.
> "When I get better," she whispered, "can I go hunting with you?"
I looked at her for a long time. The question was simple—but it cut deep.
> "When you're strong enough to stand again," I said softly, "I'll be the one to take you."
June didn't reply. She just pulled the blanket over her face, her shoulders trembling slightly. I watched her, feeling the urge to stay, yet knowing duty was already calling me out the door.
When I turned, Clara was already waiting at the door. Her hands trembled, but her voice stayed firm.
> "Come back soon," she whispered. "And be careful out there."
I stopped before her, staring into the eyes that once steadied every storm inside me.
> "I'll come back. Take care of June. If something happens… you know what to do."
Clara swallowed her tears.
> "Don't say that," she murmured, eyes glistening.
"You always say that… but every time, I'm afraid it'll be the last thing you ever tell me."
She stepped closer, her voice trembling.
> "I don't want to know what I'd have to do if you didn't come back," she said softly.
"All I want is for you to come home."
I looked at her for a long time before finally nodding.
> "Alright."
> "Don't just say 'alright,'" she said quickly. "Just… come home."
I had no other words. Only silence—the kind more honest than any promise.
I swallowed, feeling the night's chill creep into my bones. The door opened slowly, and the world outside stood still—but something was waiting out there, unseen, yet unmistakably real.
The fog swallowed the dirt road outside.
Raton Creek was silent that night—too silent.
The wind carried the smell of wet earth, rotting leaves, and traces of rain that hadn't stopped since dusk. The rustle of branches along the path added to the tension—too deliberate to be the wind, too soft to be human.
My boots sank into the mud, the sound sharp against the living silence. Someone had walked this trail recently. The footprints were fresh—heading north.
I crouched down, spotting a torn piece of cloth caught on a branch, stained faintly with blood. The metallic scent lingered in the air. Something moved faintly in the shadows of the trees.
I reached for the cloth, staring at it for a moment. The cold air bit against my skin. My heartbeat quickened; every sound around me grew louder, heavier.
> "I think this is his," I muttered. "Not too much blood… he should still be alive. Hold on, I'll find you soon."
I scanned the fog that drifted and swallowed the trail. Each movement of branch and wet leaf seemed to whisper a warning:
> "Be careful. Something is watching you."