The woods began where the town pretended they ended.
That was the first thing Arlee noticed the next afternoon, standing at the edge of the trail with Eli and Nyla beside her. The path looked harmless enough—packed dirt, a ribbon of brown winding between trees—but the air changed the moment her foot crossed from pavement to soil. It cooled, thickened, as if the forest inhaled and held her there.
She didn't need to widen her awareness to feel it.
The woods already knew her.
"Okay," Nyla said brightly, adjusting her backpack straps. "Someone explain to me again why we're doing this."
Eli shrugged, eyes scanning the trees. "Because you said you hated rumors."
"I hate stupid rumors," Nyla corrected. "This is how people get eaten in movies."
Arlee smiled faintly, though her pulse hammered. "We won't go far," she said. "Just enough to see."
"See what?" Nyla asked.
Arlee hesitated. She didn't know how to explain that some places pulled at her now, not like the grave had—no hunger, no pressure—but like an old scar that tingled when the weather changed.
"Just… patterns," she said.
Eli studied her face. "If it feels wrong, we leave."
Nyla pointed at him. "I like him. He has survival instincts."
They stepped onto the trail together.
At first, the woods were ordinary. Sunlight filtered through leaves in fractured gold. Birds called overhead. The town's noise faded until there was only the sound of their footsteps and the soft sigh of wind moving through branches.
Then the path curved.
And curved again.
"Didn't we just pass that tree?" Nyla asked, slowing.
Arlee's skin prickled. The charm warmed faintly—not warning, exactly, but alert.
"We did," Arlee said.
Eli frowned. "This trail loops," he said. "But not that fast."
The air shifted.
Not dramatically. No sudden cold. Just a subtle sense of being watched—not by eyes, but by memory. The woods felt older than the town, older than the stories people told about it. Old enough to remember when people walked it differently.
Arlee's breath caught as something brushed her awareness—soft, curious.
"Do you hear that?" she asked.
Nyla tilted her head. "Hear what?"
Eli closed his eyes briefly. "Like… breathing," he said. "Not loud. More like… waiting."
The trees leaned closer.
Arlee stopped.
The trail ahead split in two. One path dipped downhill, darker, narrower. The other rose slightly, brighter, deceptively inviting.
Her heart lurched. The same choice rose in her mind—the same pressure she'd felt at the grave, though muted here.
"This place chooses," she whispered.
Nyla stared at her. "Okay. That was ominous."
Eli's hand brushed Arlee's wrist—light, grounding. "Which way feels right?"
Arlee swallowed and closed her eyes.
She didn't push. She didn't reach. She let the woods speak.
Images flickered behind her eyes—not memories, not visions. Impressions. Children laughing once, long ago. Footsteps running. Someone hiding. Someone waiting.
Her eyes snapped open.
"The brighter one is wrong," she said.
Eli nodded immediately. Nyla hesitated, then followed.
The darker path cooled as they stepped onto it. The trees pressed closer, branches knitting overhead, turning afternoon into twilight. The birds fell silent.
"Guys," Nyla whispered. "I don't like this."
Arlee felt it too—the way the air thickened, how sound seemed to travel strangely, stretching then snapping back. The charm warmed again, steady now.
A clearing opened ahead.
In its center stood a stone.
Not a headstone—older, rougher. Carved with symbols so worn they were almost smooth. Moss crawled up its sides like something reclaiming a wound.
Eli slowed. "That's not on any map."
Arlee stepped forward, heart pounding. The moment she crossed into the clearing, the woods exhaled.
The stone pulsed.
Not visibly. Not dramatically. But Arlee felt it—felt something inside her answer back, like two tuning forks struck at once.
"This is a thin place," she whispered.
Nyla swallowed. "You say that like you know."
"I do," Arlee said softly. "I just didn't remember until now."
She reached out, fingers hovering inches from the stone.
Eli's breath hitched. "Arlee—"
She touched it.
The world tilted.
The clearing fell away, replaced by layered sight—trees over trees, paths over paths, time folding in on itself like pages pressed too tightly together. Arlee saw the woods as they had been and as they might be. She saw figures moving through them—some human, some not. She felt laughter and fear braided together.
And then—
A voice.
Not the grave's voice. Not the hungry whisper that wore her father's sound.
This was quieter. Older. Worn thin by time.
You came back.
Arlee's knees weakened. "I don't know you," she whispered.
You knew me once, the voice replied. Before doors had names.
The stone warmed beneath her palm.
Behind her, Nyla gasped. "Arlee, your eyes—"
Eli stepped closer, fear and awe tangling in his expression. "What's happening?"
Arlee tore her hand away. The vision shattered, the clearing snapping back into focus. She stumbled, and Eli caught her without thinking, arms steady around her shoulders.
The contact sent a jolt through her—not supernatural, not dangerous. Real. Solid. The warmth anchored her.
"I'm okay," she said quickly, though her heart raced. "I just—"
A laugh cut through the air.
Soft. Polite.
Mara stepped out from behind a tree at the edge of the clearing, hands clasped loosely in front of her. She looked untouched by the woods—hair perfect, clothes clean, smile measured.
"There you are," she said. "I thought I saw you come in."
Nyla's eyes narrowed. "You followed us?"
Mara tilted her head. "I was walking," she said lightly. "Then I noticed you weren't where you were supposed to be."
Eli stiffened. "We didn't tell you where we were going."
Mara's gaze slid to Arlee, lingering. "Some things are easy to find."
The air tightened.
Arlee felt it—a faint echo behind Mara's presence. Not possession. Not control.
Interest sharpened into focus.
"We're leaving," Eli said firmly.
Mara's smile didn't waver. "Already?"
She took a step closer to the stone.
The woods reacted.
Branches creaked. Leaves shuddered. The air thickened like it was pushing back.
Mara paused, eyes flicking around her. For the first time, uncertainty cracked her composure.
"What is this place?" she asked.
Arlee's voice came out steady despite the pounding in her chest. "It's not for you."
Mara laughed softly. "You don't get to decide that."
She reached for the stone.
The woods surged.
Not violently—not yet—but with intent. The air pressed in, and Mara staggered, gasping, as if something invisible had shoved her back.
Eli grabbed her arm instinctively. "Hey—"
The moment his skin touched hers, Arlee felt it.
A ripple.
A line drawn too cleanly.
Mara's eyes met Eli's, something dark flickering there before smoothing over. "Thanks," she said, breathless. "Guess I lost my balance."
She stepped away, gaze sharpening. "We should all head back," she added. "Before someone gets hurt."
The path behind her looked… different. Narrower. Twisted.
Nyla grabbed Arlee's hand. "Now," she said.
They moved quickly, the woods shifting around them as if reluctant to let them go. The trail bent strangely, doubling back on itself before straightening again. More than once, Arlee felt the pull to stop, to listen—to answer something calling just beneath the sound of leaves.
Eli stayed close, hand brushing hers occasionally, grounding her each time the world threatened to slip sideways.
When they finally burst out onto the street, sunlight hit them like a shock.
The woods fell still behind them.
Mara lingered at the edge of the trail, watching. When Arlee glanced back, their eyes met.
Mara smiled.
It wasn't friendly.
At home, Arlee's mother took one look at her face and went rigid. "You went into the woods."
Arlee nodded. "There's a stone."
Her mother swore softly. "Of course there is."
Eli and Nyla sat at the kitchen table, quiet for once. Nyla's bravado had cracked, replaced by something wary and real.
"I don't want to know everything," Nyla said carefully. "But I need to know enough."
Her mother studied her, then nodded. "Fair."
She turned to Arlee. "Did you touch it?"
"Yes."
Her mother closed her eyes. "Then it knows you again."
Arlee's stomach dropped. "Again?"
Before her mother could answer, a knock sounded at the door.
Three sharp raps.
Arlee's pulse spiked.
Her mother didn't reach for the handle. She widened her stance, eyes glowing faintly at the edges. "Who is it?"
"Me," came Mara's voice. "I wanted to make sure Arlee was okay."
The house seemed to listen.
Arlee stepped forward. "I'm fine," she said loudly. "You can go."
A pause.
Then, softer: "You don't know what you stepped into," Mara said. "Some places remember people. Some people attract attention."
Arlee felt the truth in that like a bruise pressed too hard.
"We're done," her mother said sharply. "Leave."
Another pause. Footsteps retreated.
Silence settled—but it was brittle.
That night, Arlee lay awake again, thoughts racing. The woods. The stone. The way Mara's presence felt like a question mark waiting for permission.
Her phone buzzed.
ELI: i'm sorry about earlier. i shouldn't have grabbed her.
Arlee typed back slowly.
ARLEE: you were helping. that matters.
Three dots.
ELI: next time… i want to be helping you.
Her chest tightened. Warmth bloomed, dangerous and welcome all at once.
ARLEE: there will be a next time.
She set the phone down and stared at the ceiling.
Outside, the woods rustled though there was no wind.
Far beneath the town, something ancient stirred—irritated now, and curious.
Because Arlee Storm had touched a place that predated names.
And places like that did not forget—
they waited