The cabin appeared like a ghost—sagging logs, moss-choked roof, single window dark. Door hung ajar, wind creaking it.

  They burst in, dripping, weapons raised.

  Empty. Dust and rot. Stone fireplace cold. One table, two chairs. Back room with a cot.

  Big B barred the door with a heavy beam. "Better than nothing."

  Fang shook water from wings. "No immediate void. But the woods… they're wrong. Shadows too long."

  Shawny slumped against the wall, blade across knees. "He's coming. Slow. Wants us to feel it."

  Danny paced, anomaly humming low. Flashes hit: cabin burning, crew dead, time resetting without them. He shook them off. "We rest. Patch wounds. Figure next move."

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Sir Dracks knelt by the hearth, coaxing embers from damp wood with golden grace. Fire sputtered to life—weak, but warm.

  They shared silence and meager supplies—rations from packs, water from rain barrels outside.

  Big B flexed his damaged arm. "Rig's fucked. Half power. But still got one good shot left."

  Fang perched on the table. "I can fly scout at dawn—if dawn comes here."

  Shawny met Danny's eyes. "We can't run forever. He'll find us."

  "I know." Danny sat beside her. "But we don't die quiet. We hit back. Harder."

  Sir Dracks stared into fire. "The Circle corrects. But you… you persist. That is our weapon."

  Outside, rain hammered. Wind howled.

  Then—silence.

  Too sudden.

  Fang's head snapped up. "Something's here."

  The door rattled—not wind.

  A low laugh rolled through cracks—grinding, amused.

  Rezok's voice, soft now: "Found you, glitch."

  Shadows seeped under the door—slow, deliberate.

  Big B stood. "Round two, asshole."

  Danny rose, fists clenched. Shawny gripped her blade. Sir Dracks drew sword. Fang spread wings.

  The shadows thickened.

  The cabin's walls creaked.

  And outside, in the dark woods, something immense moved closer—grinning wider than before.

  The fire dimmed.