Even the birdsong that had echoed faintly before had vanished. Evelyn felt it like pressure in her chest: something was near. Suddenly, the bears stopped again. This time, they stepped apart, clearing her path forward. The gesture was deliberate. Evelyn slowed, scanning the forest floor, unsure what she was supposed to see—until the shape revealed itself. A clearing.
At its center stood the remnants of a campsite. A collapsed tent, frayed ropes, blackened firewood. The fire had long since gone cold, but there was no mistaking what this place was. Someone had been living here. Alone.
Evelyn stepped closer, boots crunching over leaves and scattered debris. A rusted pot. A backpack torn down the side. A pair of binoculars still hanging from a tree branch by its strap. The campsite looked abandoned—but not forgotten. It looked left behind.
Evelyn stepped carefully through the remains of the campsite, the bears hanging back at the tree line like silent guardians. The ground beneath her feet was uneven, layered with pine needles and overturned dirt. Everything looked disturbed—like whoever had been here had left in a hurry, or worse, hadn’t left by choice.