The morning sun barely filtered through the dense canopy of the forest, casting muted light over the battered outpost. The survivors moved with quiet efficiency, their exhaustion pushed aside by the urgency of preparation. Every piece of debris was repurposed into barricades, and every weapon was checked and rechecked. The remnants of their earlier battle were still visible: blackened patches of earth, splintered wood, and hastily covered graves.
Mia sat at the edge of the outpost, her fingers idly tracing patterns in the dirt. The whispers in her mind had subsided, leaving behind an unsettling silence. She felt as if something was waiting, watching, just beyond the edges of her consciousness. Zoe approached, her footsteps deliberately soft as she sat beside her.
"You need to rest," Zoe said, her voice carrying a tone of concern she rarely allowed herself to show.
