Brody's knees ached, pressed into the frost-crusted dirt, Jake's blood still warm under his palms. The air bit at his face, sharp with pine and the metallic tang of ichor, but he didn't move. Couldn't. Jake's hand lay limp in his grip, fingers curled inward, the knuckles scuffed from years of dumb stunts—like the time he'd punched a dent in Trent's locker after they'd rigged it with that stink bomb sophomore year. The memory flickered, a faint light in the dark, but it couldn't push back the weight crushing his chest. His lungs felt squeezed tight, his eyes stung, blurry with tears he couldn't stop. The System's words glowed in his vision—**[Human Soul Detected. Absorb? Y/N]**—mocking him with their cold, clinical light, floating there like a cruel reminder of what he'd lost. He shook his head, a small, desperate jerk, whispering, "No, no, no," as if the repetition could erase the prompt, rewind time, bring Jake back to life. Mia Torres stood over him, her shadow stretching long across the street, the tip of her knife catching the faint glow of a streetlamp flickering half-dead above. Her gray eyes didn't soften, didn't flinch from the mess—Jake's torn chest, the Skitterfang's steaming corpse, Brody's trembling hands smeared with blood and grime. She shifted her weight, boots crunching on the frost, and slid the blade into a sheath at her hip with a practiced flick, the motion smooth and automatic. "Get up," she said again, her voice sharper this time, cutting through the haze of his grief like a blade through cloth. It wasn't a request—it was an order, delivered with the tone of someone talking to a kid who'd fallen off a bike and wouldn't stop crying. "Leave me alone," Brody snapped, his voice hoarse, cracking on the edges like dry twigs underfoot. He didn't look at her—couldn't tear his eyes away from Jake's face, pale now, lips parted as if he were about to crack one last silly joke, the kind that always made Brody laugh even when he didn't want to. The rift pulsed behind Mia, purple-black and jagged, a low hum vibrating through the ground, rattling his teeth. It felt alive, hungry, and he hated it—hated the way it sat there, smug and waiting, like it knew something he didn't. Mia crouched down, bringing herself eye-level with him, her scarred cheek catching the faint light. The scar was thin, faded, a whisper of some old wound, but it made her look harder, older than her nineteen years. "You think this stops because you're sad?" Her tone was flat, stripped of pity, just stating a cold, hard fact. "More of those things are coming. You're bleeding, you're loud, and you're a beacon with that System awake in you. Stay here, you're done. Jake's gone already—sorry, but that's it. Move." Brody's jaw clenched, his teeth grinding so hard they ached, a dull throb pulsing up into his skull. "You don't know him," he said, his voice breaking, raw and ragged. "You don't get to—" He choked on the words, his throat too tight to finish, and swung a fist at her, clumsy and wild, fueled by a surge of anger he couldn't contain. She leaned back, effortless, letting it sail past her nose by an inch, then grabbed his wrist mid-air, twisting just enough to make him wince. Her grip was iron, her calloused fingers digging into his skin like she could snap the bone if she wanted. "I don't need to know him," she said, releasing him with a shove that sent him rocking back onto his heels. "I know what's hunting you. Skitterfangs—they're scouts. Bottom-feeders. Something bigger's ripping those rifts open, and it'll smell the mess you made. You want to die next to your friend? Fine. I'm not dragging your body." He glared at her, chest heaving, his breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. Blood and ichor dried sticky on his knuckles, cracking as his fists tightened. Then the whisper came again—*"Brody… don't let me go…"*—faint, like a radio signal cutting through static, tugging at the back of his skull. He flinched, hands flying to his temples, pressing hard as if he could squeeze it out, stop it from burrowing deeper. "You didn't hear that?" he asked, his voice trembling, eyes darting to her face. Mia's eyes narrowed, flicking to the rift for a split second before settling back on him. "No. What'd it say?" He hesitated, the words sour on his tongue, heavy with a weight he didn't want to carry. "Jake. His voice. Like he's… still here." His gaze dropped to the body, searching—hoping?—for a twitch, a breath, some flicker of life. Nothing. Just frost settling on Jake's lashes, turning them white, his chest still, his blood pooling dark beneath him. She stood, brushing dirt off her jeans with a quick swipe, and glanced at the rift again, her posture stiffening slightly. "Echoes," she said, her voice low, measured. "Happens sometimes when you're new. Souls don't go quiet right away—not with the System involved. Ignore it. It'll fade." "Ignore it?" He laughed, a broken, bitter sound that echoed off the pines, sharp and jagged in the cold air. "You're crazy. This—this thing in my head, this—" He gestured wildly at the glowing prompt still hovering in his vision, then at Jake's body sprawled in the frost. "He's not an *echo*. He's my friend." Mia's lips pressed into a thin line, a flicker of something—annoyance, maybe regret—crossing her face before it smoothed out, gone as quick as it came. "Yeah, well, your friend's gone, and that System's your ticket now. Absorb or don't, but decide fast. We're not safe here." Brody stared at the prompt, the blue light pulsing like a heartbeat, steady and relentless. **[Human Soul Detected. Absorb? Y/N]**. His stomach twisted, a sick churn that made him want to gag—Jake's soul, reduced to a yes-or-no question, like picking toppings at the QuickMart deli counter on a slow Tuesday shift. He imagined it: threads of light spiraling into his chest, Jake's laugh, his goofy grin, his loyalty snaking through his veins alongside that Skitterfang's primal hunger. It felt wrong—sick, even—but a part of him wondered, sharp and traitorously clear: *What would it give me? Strength? Speed? Something else? Could I keep him with me, somehow?* "No," he said finally, his voice trembling but firm, swiping at the air with a shaking hand as if he could smack the words away. The prompt faded, dissolving into nothing, and a hollow ache settled in its place, heavier than before, pressing down on his ribs. Jake's hand slipped from his, thudding softly into the mud, and Brody's throat burned, fresh tears cutting tracks through the grime and blood on his face. Mia nodded once, a quick, decisive motion, like she'd expected his choice. "Good. Human souls—they're messy. Stick to monsters 'til you know what you're doing." She turned, scanning the trees with a predator's focus, her posture tense, coiled like a spring wound tight. "Last chance, kid. Come with me, or I'm gone." The rift growled—a low, guttural sound that shook the ground, sending pebbles skittering across the asphalt. Shadows shifted inside it, indistinct but moving, too many limbs, too fast, a nightmare stirring awake. Brody's heart slammed against his ribs, adrenaline spiking through the fog of grief, jolting him out of the numbness. He staggered to his feet, his shoulder throbbing where the Skitterfang had clipped him, blood soaking his sleeve dark and sticky. "Where?" he rasped, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, smearing dirt and tears across his knuckles. "Somewhere they won't find us. Not yet," Mia said, already walking, not waiting to see if he'd follow. Her boots crunched a steady rhythm toward the forest's edge, deliberate and sure. Brody cast one last look at Jake—sprawled in the frost, hoodie shredded, eyes staring blankly at the sky—and forced himself to turn away, each step a knife twisting in his gut, sharp and unrelenting. The pines swallowed them whole, branches clawing at his jacket, needles brushing his face with damp, cold fingers that left trails of moisture on his skin. The air was thick here, heavy with the scent of sap and something sharper—ozone, maybe, like a storm brewing deep in the woods, electric and alive. Mia moved like she knew the path, silent except for the occasional snap of a twig underfoot, her knife back in her hand, its blade glinting faintly in the slivers of moonlight piercing the canopy. Brody stumbled after her, his legs shaky, sneakers sinking into the soft, loamy earth. Rusty's blood still crusted his laces, Jake's now smeared on his jeans—a map of loss he couldn't outrun, couldn't wash away. "What's an Awakened?" he asked, his voice low, barely cutting through the rustle of leaves overhead. He wasn't sure he wanted the answer—the question felt like stepping onto thin ice—but the silence was worse, pressing down on him like a physical weight, suffocating. Mia didn't slow, didn't turn her head. "Someone the System's claimed," she said, her tone clipped, matter-of-fact. "You kill, you absorb, you level up. Strength, speed, whatever it gives you. Started a few months back—rifts opening, monsters spilling out, people like us getting pinged." She tapped her temple with two fingers, a quick, sharp gesture. "You're not the only one, just the newest." "Then why here? Why me?" His voice cracked again, a thread of desperation weaving through it, the same question he'd asked himself a hundred times since the window shattered and Rusty's yelp cut off mid-breath. She shrugged, a quick roll of her shoulders, casual but tight. "No clue. Rifts don't explain themselves. Could be random, could be you're special. Doesn't matter—you're in it now." She stopped abruptly, crouching behind a fallen log, its moss slick and dark under her boots, and motioned him down with a flick of her hand. He dropped beside her, his breath fogging in the chill, and peered over the edge, his heart thudding against his ribs. Ahead, the trees thinned into a clearing—a circle of bare dirt, maybe thirty feet wide, the ground scorched black like a lightning strike had hit and lingered too long. At its center, another rift shimmered, smaller than the one on the street, its edges frayed and spitting sparks that hissed faintly in the quiet. Three figures moved around it—not Skitterfangs, but something else, something worse. They were humanoid, tall and lean, their skin gray and mottled like wet stone, arms too long, ending in hands with fingers like bent nails, crooked and sharp. Their faces were blank—no eyes, no mouths—just smooth, featureless planes that tilted as if they were listening, sensing the air. One carried a spear, its tip glowing a faint, eerie red; another cradled a bundle of writhing shapes—small, skittering things that squeaked and snapped, their tiny claws glinting like shards of glass. "Reavers," Mia whispered, her breath barely audible, a ghost of sound against his ear. "Collectors. They harvest—souls, flesh, whatever's left after the scouts clean up." Brody's stomach lurched, bile rising sharp and sour in his throat, burning its way up. "Harvest?" The word felt wrong, too clinical for the image searing into his mind—Jake's chest torn open, Rusty's body crumpled and still. "For something bigger," she said, her voice steady but tight, like she was holding something back. "Don't know what yet. Seen 'em drag bodies through rifts—people, dogs, anything with a pulse." Her hand tightened on the knife, knuckles whitening against the worn leather grip. "We stay quiet, we stay alive." One Reaver turned, its blank face sweeping their direction, slow and deliberate. Brody ducked lower, his heart pounding so loud he was sure they'd hear it, a frantic drumbeat echoing in his ears. The System pinged—**[Threat Detected. Level 2 Hostiles.]**—and he flinched, swatting at the air as if he could shoo the words away. Mia shot him a look, sharp and questioning, her brow furrowing for a split second, but she said nothing. The Reaver tilted its head, paused, then resumed pacing, its spear tapping the dirt in a slow, deliberate rhythm—tap, tap, tap—like a countdown. "We can't fight those," Mia muttered, more to herself than to him, her voice barely a breath. "Not yet. You're too green, and I'm not dying for you." She shifted, inching back from the log, her movements careful, controlled. "Backtrack. Slow. No noise." Brody nodded, his throat too tight to argue, and followed her retreat, crawling over roots and pinecones that dug into his palms, leaving shallow scrapes he barely felt. The forest closed around them again, muffling the rift's hum, but the tension didn't ease—it coiled tighter, a spring wound to the breaking point. He kept seeing Jake's face—wide eyes fading, blood bubbling on his lips—Rusty's crumpled body, the Skitterfang's dripping fangs. The images looped, relentless, carving deeper each time, a knife twisting in his chest he couldn't pull out. They stopped a hundred yards out, crouched in a thicket of brambles that snagged his sleeves, thorns pricking through the fabric. Mia pulled a canteen from her jacket, took a quick swig, then offered it to him, her gray eyes steady, unreadable. He shook his head, his hands trembling too hard to trust with it, fingers shaking like leaves in a storm. She capped it with a soft click, wiped her mouth with her sleeve, and studied him—really looked, like she was peeling back layers of skin to see what held him together. "You're not ready for this," she said, her voice calm, not cruel, just stating a fact as plain as the frost under their feet. "But you don't get a choice. System's in you now—means you're a target. Rifts, monsters, people who'll kill for what you've got. You'll learn, or you'll break." "I don't want it," he said, his voice small, cracking like it had when he was twelve and Trent locked him in the janitor's closet for an hour, laughing through the door while Brody pounded on it, trapped and helpless. "I didn't ask for this." "Nobody does," she replied, leaning back against a tree, her knife resting on her knee, casual but ready, the blade catching a sliver of moonlight. "First time I absorbed—Skitterfang, like you—I got sick for an hour straight. Thought I'd lose my mind, feeling it crawl inside me, all that hunger and rage that wasn't mine. Second time was easier. Third, I stopped counting. You'll get there." Brody stared at his hands—scraped raw, streaked with blood and ichor, heavier than they'd been yesterday, like they belonged to someone else. "And if I don't?" His voice was barely a whisper, swallowed by the rustling leaves. Mia's scar twitched as her lips curled, not quite a smile, more a grim acknowledgment. "Then you're gone, and someone else absorbs you. Circle of life, kid." A howl cut through the trees—low, guttural, echoing off the pines with a force that rattled his bones, deep and primal. It wasn't a Skitterfang, not a Reaver—something bigger, something that made the ground tremble faintly beneath them. Mia was on her feet in a heartbeat, knife up, her eyes scanning the dark with a predator's focus. The System flared—**[Level 4 Threat Detected. Run.]**—and Brody's pulse spiked, cold sweat beading on his neck, trickling down his spine. "Time's up," Mia said, grabbing his arm, yanking him up with a grip that bruised. "Move!" The forest erupted behind them—branches snapping like brittle bones, earth shaking with heavy, thudding steps, a shadow looming through the trees, too big, too fast, a nightmare given form. Brody ran, his legs burning, grief and fear tangling in his chest like barbed wire, Mia's grip tight on his wrist as they plunged deeper into the unknown, the dark swallowing them whole. The ground sloped downward, uneven and slick with pine needles, forcing him to stumble, his sneakers skidding as he fought to keep up. His shoulder throbbed with every jolt, the shallow gash from the Skitterfang's claw pulsing hot and wet beneath his sleeve. The air grew colder, sharper, the scent of sap giving way to something danker—moss, maybe, or rotting wood, a smell that clung to the back of his throat. The howl came again, closer now, a sound that vibrated through his ribs, made his teeth ache. Whatever it was, it was gaining, and the forest seemed to shrink around them, the trees pressing in tighter, branches clawing at his face, leaving thin scratches he could feel but not see. "Keep going!" Mia hissed, her voice low but urgent, pulling him harder as she veered left, ducking under a low-hanging limb. She moved like she'd run this path a hundred times, her steps sure even in the dark, while Brody flailed behind her, his breath ragged, his chest burning. The System pinged again—**[Threat Proximity: 50 meters.]**—and he stumbled, nearly falling, his mind racing to process the words. Fifty meters. Too close. Too fast. "What is it?" he gasped, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his own pulse, the snap of twigs underfoot. "Don't know," Mia shot back, her braid swinging as she glanced over her shoulder, her eyes glinting in the faint light. "Don't care. Bigger than Reavers, that's enough. Move faster!" He tried, pushing his legs harder, ignoring the ache spreading through his thighs, the sharp stab in his side with every breath. The forest blurred around him—pines and shadows melding into a dark smear, the ground a treacherous mess of roots and rocks. The thing behind them roared again, a sound that shook the leaves loose from the branches above, sending them drifting down like ash. It was closer—forty meters, thirty, the System's warnings flashing faster now, a relentless pulse in his skull—**[Threat Proximity: 30 meters. Run.]** Mia yanked him sideways, pulling him behind a massive pine, its trunk wide enough to hide them both. She pressed a hand to his chest, pinning him against the rough bark, her other hand clutching the knife, raised and ready. "Quiet," she breathed, her voice a thread of sound, her eyes locked on the dark beyond the tree. Brody held his breath, his lungs screaming, his heart slamming so hard he thought it might burst. The ground trembled beneath them, faint at first, then stronger, a rhythmic thud-thud-thud that matched the pounding in his ears. It came into view—a hulking shape crashing through the undergrowth, at least ten feet tall, maybe more, its outline jagged and wrong against the trees. It moved on four legs, thick and muscled, each step cracking the earth, sending up sprays of dirt and needles. Its head was low, broad, crowned with spines that gleamed faintly, like polished bone or metal, and its eyes—two glowing slits, crimson and unblinking—swept the forest with a predator's focus. The System flared—**[Level 4 Hostile: Bonecrusher. Strength +8. Agility +4.]**—and Brody's stomach dropped, a cold wave of dread washing over him. Bonecrusher. The name alone made his knees weak. It stopped, maybe twenty yards away, its massive head swinging slowly, nostrils flaring as it sniffed the air. Its hide was dark, mottled with patches of what looked like scales or armor, glistening wetly in the moonlight. A low growl rumbled from its throat, deep and resonant, vibrating through the ground into Brody's boots. He pressed himself flatter against the tree, the bark digging into his back, his hands shaking so hard he clenched them into fists to stop the trembling. Mia's eyes flicked to his, sharp and steady, a silent command: *Don't move.* Her knife gleamed in her grip, but it looked small, useless against something that size. The Bonecrusher took a step closer, its claws—each as long as Brody's forearm—digging into the dirt, leaving gouges deep enough to trip over. Its head tilted, the crimson eyes narrowing, and for a moment, Brody was sure it saw them, knew they were there, was just toying with them before it charged. Then—a sharp crack, loud and sudden, splintered the silence. Not from them, but from the right, deeper in the woods. A branch snapping, maybe an animal bolting, and the Bonecrusher's head whipped toward it, spines bristling. It snorted, a blast of air that sent leaves skittering, then lumbered off, crashing through the trees toward the sound, its bulk tearing a path through the undergrowth. The ground shook with each step, fading slowly as it moved away, the System's warnings dimming—**[Threat Proximity: 60 meters. Safe.]** Brody let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding, a shaky exhale that fogged in the cold. His legs gave out, and he slid down the tree, landing hard on his backside, the damp earth soaking through his jeans. Mia lowered her knife, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction, though her eyes stayed sharp, scanning the dark where the Bonecrusher had vanished. "Lucky," she muttered, sheathing the blade with a soft scrape. "That thing would've turned us into paste." "What… what was that?" Brody asked, his voice a croak, barely audible over the ringing in his ears. "Bonecrusher," she said, crouching beside him, her tone clipped but steady. "Mid-tier. Stronger than Skitterfangs, slower than Reavers. They don't scout—they hunt. Means whatever's opening these rifts is stepping up its game." She pulled the canteen out again, took a longer swig this time, then offered it once more. He shook his head again, too rattled to even think about drinking. "How do you know all this?" he asked, his hands still trembling, scraping at the dirt as he tried to ground himself. "The names, the levels—what are you, some kind of expert?" Mia capped the canteen, her lips twitching into that not-quite-smile again. "Not an expert. Survivor. Been running from these things since the first rift opened near my place—little town south of here, Calverton. Woke up to Skitterfangs tearing through my street, Reavers dragging my neighbors off. Got pinged by the System that night, killed my first monster with a kitchen knife and a lot of screaming. Learned fast or died. That's it." Brody stared at her, trying to picture it—some sleepy town like Willow Creek, torn apart overnight, this girl fighting back with nothing but a knife and grit. "How long?" he asked, his voice steadier now, curiosity cutting through the fog. "Four months," she said, leaning back against the tree, her braid brushing the bark. "Long enough to figure out the basics. Skitterfangs are cannon fodder—fast, weak, easy to kill if you're quick. Reavers are smarter, collect for whatever's on the other side. Bonecrushers… they're muscle. Rare, thank goodness, but when they show up, you run or you're done." "Four months," he echoed, the words sinking in slow, heavy. Four months of this—rifts, monsters, the System. He'd been pumping gas, sketching spaceships, feeding Rusty table scraps while the world was already breaking apart somewhere else. "Why didn't we hear about it? The news, the government—someone should've said something." Mia snorted, a dry, humorless sound. "They tried, at first. Saw it on TV—reports out of small towns, weird sightings, 'unexplained phenomena.' Then the big cities got hit, and it went quiet. Either they're clueless, or they're covering it up. Doesn't matter—rifts don't care about press releases." Brody thought of the CNN broadcast earlier, the harried anchor, the grainy footage of something scaly thrashing through a rift in Dallas before the feed cut out. It hadn't felt real then, just another headline to scroll past. Now it was here, in his backyard, in his blood. "So what's the plan?" he asked, forcing the words out, needing something to cling to, some thread of purpose. "Survive," she said simply, her gray eyes meeting his, unflinching. "Find others like us—Awakened. Figure out what's behind the rifts, stop it if we can. You're part of that now, whether you like it or not." "I don't," he said, his voice cracking again, the weight of it all pressing down harder—Rusty's death, Jake's last breath, the System's cold hum in his skull. "I just want to go home, wake up, have this be some dumb nightmare." "Yeah, well, home's not safe anymore," she said, standing, brushing dirt off her knees. "Your mom's there, right? We'll circle back, get her out, find somewhere to hole up. But we're not done running yet—Bonecrusher's still out there, and it's not alone." Brody nodded, slow and reluctant, pushing himself up on shaky legs. The thought of Sarah—still in the house, pacing with her spatula, waiting for him—gave him a flicker of resolve, a thin lifeline to hold onto. "Okay," he said, his voice firmer now, though it still trembled at the edges. "Let's go." Mia gave him a curt nod, then started moving again, slower this time, her steps cautious as she wove through the trees. The forest was quieter now, the Bonecrusher's roars fading into the distance, but the air felt heavier, charged, like the calm before a storm breaks wide open. Brody followed, his sneakers crunching softly, his mind racing—Jake's voice still whispering faintly, Rusty's blood sticky on his hands, the System's hum a constant drone he couldn't shake. They moved for what felt like hours, though the moon barely shifted overhead, its light filtering through the canopy in pale, jagged patches. The terrain grew rougher—slopes and gullies cutting through the forest, roots twisting up like gnarled fingers trying to trip him. His legs burned, his shoulder ached, and every breath stung, but he kept going, driven by the need to get back to Sarah, to make sure she didn't end up like Jake, like Rusty, like the neighbors Mia had lost. Eventually, Mia stopped, raising a hand to signal him. They were near the edge of the forest now, the trees thinning enough to see the faint glow of Willow Creek's streetlights in the distance, flickering like fireflies against the dark. She crouched low, peering out, her knife back in her hand, her body tense. Brody dropped beside her, his chest heaving, and followed her gaze. The street was different now—too quiet, too still. His house sat across the way, its windows dark, the front door ajar, swaying faintly in the breeze. The rift from earlier was gone, the air where it had been smooth and unmarked, but something felt wrong, a prickling at the back of his neck he couldn't ignore. "Mom?" he whispered, starting to stand, but Mia grabbed his arm, pulling him back down. "Wait," she hissed, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the shadows. "Something's off." Before he could argue, a shape moved—low and fast, darting from the bushes near the house. Not a Skitterfang, not a Reaver—smaller, sleeker, with a long, whip-like tail that lashed the air. Its eyes glowed green, sharp and predatory, and its limbs bent at odd angles, like a spider mimicking a dog. The System pinged—**[Level 3 Hostile: Stalkvine. Agility +6.]**—and Brody's breath caught, his hands clenching into fists. "Stalkvine," Mia muttered, her voice tight. "Ambush predator. There's more—look." She was right. Two more emerged, slinking from the shadows near the garage, their tails flicking, their movements silent despite the frost underfoot. They circled the house, slow and deliberate, their glowing eyes sweeping the yard like searchlights. Brody's heart sank—Sarah was in there, alone, with no idea what was coming. "We have to get her," he said, his voice low but urgent, panic clawing at his chest. "She doesn't know—" "I know," Mia cut in, her tone sharp but not unkind. "But we don't rush in blind. Three Stalkvines, Level 3—fast, tricky, like to pounce. You're Level 1, barely, and I'm not high enough to solo them. We need a plan." Brody nodded, swallowing hard, his mind racing for something, anything. The System hummed, a faint pulse in his skull, and he clenched his fists, feeling that strange weight in his hands again—stronger, heavier than before, a gift from the Skitterfangs he'd killed. "What do we do?" he asked, his voice steadying, a spark of determination cutting through the fear. Mia glanced at him, her gray eyes assessing, then nodded, a flicker of approval in her gaze. "We draw them out," she said, pulling a small stone from the ground, weighing it in her hand. "Split them up, take them one at a time. You've got strength now—use it. I'll handle the rest." "Okay," he said, taking a deep breath, the cold air stinging his lungs. "Let's do it." Mia tossed the stone, a quick, practiced flick of her wrist, and it sailed across the street, clattering against the mailbox with a sharp clang. The Stalkvines froze, their heads snapping toward the sound, tails flicking high. One broke off, slinking toward the noise, while the other two stayed near the house, circling tighter. Mia gave him a nod—*Go*—and slipped into the shadows, her knife gleaming as she moved. Brody gripped a fallen branch, thick and sturdy, his hands steadying as he crept forward, his heart pounding but his mind clear. The Stalkvine near the mailbox turned, its green eyes locking onto him, and he braced himself, ready to fight—for Sarah, for Jake, for Rusty, for whatever shred of himself he could still hold onto in this broken, monstrous world.