I tried to convince myself that fear was exaggerating things.
That was what I told myself the morning after the fence was destroyed, that my mind was filling in gaps that didn't exist, turning shadows into threats. Crescent Valley had always been strange. Quiet towns bred quiet fears. That didn't mean something supernatural was stalking the edges of my life.
But the evidence refused to stay quiet.
I woke early, before my grandmother stirred, and stepped outside with my phone in my hand. The air was damp, the fog thick enough that it softened the world into blurred shapes. I moved slowly, deliberately, as if sudden motion might wake whatever had come through the yard the night before.
The fence damage looked worse in daylight.
The wood hadn't snapped the way it would if a tree had fallen or an animal had rammed into it. It had been pulled apart. The grain split outward, deep grooves carved into the posts like something with too much strength and too much precision had tested its limits and found them weak.
I crouched and took pictures, my fingers cold despite the gloves. I measured the distance between the marks with my eyes. Too wide. Too deep.
I swallowed.
No bear did that.
I followed the trail beyond the fence, careful to stay close to the house. The ground was torn up, pressed deep with footprints that barely looked like footprints at all. They were large, bare, and inconsistent as if whoever made them hadn't been walking normally.
I stopped abruptly.
They ended.
Not faded. Not scattered.
Just… gone.
It felt like the forest was laughing at me.
Back inside, my grandmother watched me with knowing eyes as I cleaned the mud from my boots.
"You went looking," she said.
"I needed to understand," I replied.
She shook her head slowly. "Understanding has a cost."
"Then why does no one pay for it?" I snapped, frustration bubbling over. "People are disappearing. Animals are being taken. Something destroyed your fence, and everyone keeps pretending it's nothing."
Her mouth tightened. "Because naming a thing gives it power."
I wanted to argue. Instead, I grabbed my jacket and keys.
I needed answers. Real ones.
The school building sat on the edge of town, modern and dull compared to the forest looming behind it. Inside, the halls buzzed softly with voices and footsteps. Life continued here as if nothing was wrong, as if the trees weren't swallowing secrets every night.
That was when I noticed him again.
Kael Draven sat alone at a table near the back, untouched food in front of him. He didn't blend in, no matter how still he sat. People unconsciously avoided his space, chairs left empty around him like an invisible boundary.
I took the seat across from him.
His eyes lifted slowly, sharp and unreadable.
"You're persistent," he said.
"I found footprints in my yard," I replied. "Or something pretending to be footprints."
A muscle in his jaw jumped.
"You shouldn't have gone looking," he said quietly.
"You keep saying that," I leaned forward, lowering my voice. "And yet you keep showing up where the answers should be."
For a long moment, he said nothing. The cafeteria noise faded into the background, replaced by the sound of my own heartbeat.
"You're asking the wrong questions," he finally said.
"Then tell me the right ones."
He studied me as though weighing a risk. "Ask why the town stays silent. Ask why people lock their doors before sunset. Ask why no one searches the forest anymore."
"Why?" I pressed.
"Because some things don't want to be found."
The bell rang sharply, breaking the tension. Students stood, chairs scraping loudly. Kael rose in one smooth motion.
"Stay away from the woods," he said, already turning away. "Especially tonight."
Tonight.
The word lingered.
That afternoon, the clouds thickened until the sky turned the color of old bruises. The air felt charged, heavy, like the world was waiting for something to happen. I checked my phone repeatedly, watching the time crawl forward.
At sunset, my grandmother locked the doors.
"All of them," she insisted. "Windows too."
"Is there something happening tonight?" I asked.
She hesitated. "The moon will be full."
That was all she said.
I waited until she went to bed.
Then I grabbed my flashlight.
I didn't go far just to the edge of the property, where the trees began to crowd close. The forest felt different at night. Alive. The darkness pulsed with movement, sounds layered on top of each other until I couldn't tell which were real.
A snap echoed to my left.
I turned too slowly.
Something moved between the trees fast, low, massive. My breath caught as fear slammed into me, sharp and undeniable. I stumbled back, heart pounding.
Another movement.
Closer.
I ran.
Branches tore at my clothes, roots grabbing at my feet as I fled blindly toward the house. A deep growl rolled through the forest, vibrating in my bones.
I screamed.
Then nothing made sense.
A blur slammed into me from the side, knocking me off my feet. I braced for pain that never came. Instead, arms locked around me, lifting me with impossible ease.
The world slowed.
I heard snarls. Crashing movement. A roar that didn't sound human.
Then silence.
I opened my eyes.
Kael stood between me and the forest, his body tense, shoulders broad, eyes glowing faintly in the dark. His breathing was steady too steady for someone who had just moved faster than my mind could follow.
"Did it touch you?" he demanded.
"I what?" My voice shook. "How did you"
"Did it touch you?" he repeated.
"No."
Relief flickered across his face before he masked it.
That was when I noticed it.
His hands.
They weren't shaking. Not even slightly.
"What was that thing?" I whispered.
He looked at me for a long moment, the truth heavy in his eyes.
"Something you weren't meant to see," he said.
He carried me back to the house without effort, setting me down gently on the porch. Before I could ask another question, he stepped away.
"Tomorrow," he said. "If you still want answers."
Then he disappeared into the night.
I stood there long after, heart racing, one thought echoing louder than the rest:
Humans didn't move like that.
And whatever Kael Draven was
He wasn't just protecting the forest.
He was protecting me from it.