They leave the hospital at dawn.

  Not because they’re ready—but because Sir Dracks doesn’t wait for readiness.

  The swamp announces itself before they ever see it. The air thickens. Smells rot-sweet, like wet leaves and old blood. Every step feels watched. Danny swears the ground shifts under his boots, like it’s breathing.

  “This place hates us,” Shawny mutters.

  “It hates everyone,” Sir Dracks replies. “That’s why it still exists.”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The trees grow crooked here, bending inward like they’re listening. Fog coils low, brushing ankles, whispering things no one can quite hear clearly. Big B keeps one hand in his coat the entire time.

  Danny feels… off.

  Not weak. Not strong.

  Unsettled.

  The yellow energy inside him twitches, reacting to the land like two predators circling each other.

  “This swamp,” Sir Dracks finally says, stopping at the water’s edge, “is where discarded things go. Failed gods. Forgotten monsters. Skin thieves.”

  “…Skin thieves?” Danny asks.

  The answer comes as humming.