Rain lashed the windows, and the wind howled like it had stories to tell. Aurelia stood at her bedroom window, staring at the dark blur of the woods. She pressed her hand to the glass, her breath fogging up a corner. Her pendant warmed against her skin, faint but certain, like a heartbeat she didn’t know was hers.

She turned from the window and began to dress.

Jeans. Jacket. Boots. The pendant tucked beneath her shirt.

She didn’t bring her phone. She didn’t bring a flashlight.

She didn’t need them.

The trees swallowed her like an old secret.

Every step into the forest felt like a page being turned in a story that had waited too long to be told. The rain softened as she passed beneath the canopy, and the wind lost its edge. What remained was a hush—not silence, but something listening.

Aurelia followed the path behind the house, the one worn by habit and memory. She hadn’t walked this far in years, not since she was small enough to need her mother’s hand.