Micah

Like someone had studied his voice and was trying to imitate it.

Like a recording with just enough distortion to feel wrong.

It came from farther up the ridge.

I hesitated.

Maybe he was messing with me.

He liked pranks, nothing extreme, but this didn't feel like one of those.

Still, I grabbed my flashlight and stepped out.

The ridge path looked steeper than I remembered.

Each step felt heavier, like I was pushing against something I couldn't see.

Words tangled across the trail in places I was sure had been clear before.

Rocks shifted slightly under my feet, like they didn't want to hold still.

I kept calling his name, and each time the voice answered.

Toan, same cadence, always a few steps ahead, never closer.

By the time I reached the clearing at the top, I was breathing hard, not from exertion, but from the anxious pressure in my chest, the kind that tells you something is wrong before your brain catches up.

Drew was there.

He stood across the clearing, facing away from me, completely motionless.

At first, I was relieved.

I shouted, "'Dude, what are you doing?'

and stepped forward."

That's when my flashlight caused something on the ground.