Narrator

And the silence had a shape to it, like something was holding its breath.

When the voice called, hello, from behind the cabin, cheerful, familiar, I watched Tessa's whole posture change.

She didn't jump.

She didn't gasp.

She went rigid, like her body had decided to stop being soft.

Luke's hand went to the satellite messenger again, and this time, I didn't blame him.

That little device had always felt like insurance.

In that hollow, it felt like a target painted on us in bright paint."

The whistle came again, two notes, and then I heard the heavy movement deeper in the brush.

Slow, methodical cracking like something huge shifting its weight.

It wasn't running.

It wasn't panicked.

It sounded like it owned the ground.

Tessa grabbed my sleeve and pulled, guiding me toward the creek as if she wanted to keep us moving, keep us from becoming statues.

Don't answer, she mouthed.

But Luke did answer, not loudly, not bravely, but reflexively, because humans are wired to respond to human voices.

Hello?

He called back.

The moment the word left his mouth, Tessa squeezed my arm hard enough to hurt.

Her eyes flashed with a kind of anger that wasn't really at Luke, more at herself.