The forest was too quiet.
Taryn moved carefully, her boots crunching softly against the leaf-strewn ground. Around them, twisted roots and gnarled trees stretched upward like skeletal hands, clawing at the dim light filtering through the canopy. The usual forest sounds—rustling leaves, distant bird calls—were absent, leaving a suffocating silence in their place.
She glanced over her shoulder at Lucien, who followed a few paces behind, his expression unreadable. "Doesn't feel right," she muttered, her hand hovering near the hilt of her blade.
Lucien gave her a crooked smile. "Maybe the forest just appreciates my charm."
Taryn snorted softly, but her eyes never stopped scanning the dense undergrowth. "Unlikely."
They continued in silence, the tension between them mirroring the oppressive atmosphere. The further they ventured, the more the forest seemed to close in around them. Taryn's instincts screamed at her to stay alert, to be ready for anything.
