Mara’s fingers brushed the edge of the map, its corners brittle with age. The scent of damp earth and old paper clung to her as she unfolded it beneath the flickering light of her lantern. Her father’s handwriting, jagged and hurried, traced a path through the forest that ended at a symbol she didn’t recognize—a spiral enclosed in a circle. She remembered the way he’d tucked this into her backpack before leaving, his hand lingering on hers. *Keep it safe*, he’d said. *But don’t open it until you’re ready.*
The wind howled outside her window, rattling the panes. Mara pressed a palm against the glass, watching the trees bend under the storm. Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind: *He didn’t run away. He couldn’t.* The words had been a comfort once, but now they felt like a lie. She’d spent three months searching for answers, and all she’d found was this map and the hollow ache in her chest.
At dawn, she packed her backpack, slipping the map into a waterproof sleeve. The forest greeted her with a damp chill, moss clinging to the roots of towering pines. Every step felt heavy, as though the earth itself resisted her intrusion. She followed the path marked on the map, her boots crunching over fallen leaves. The air smelled of pine resin and something else—something metallic, like blood.
“You shouldn’t be here,” a voice said. Mara spun around, heart pounding. A boy stood at the edge of the clearing, his dark hair plastered to his forehead by the rain. His jacket was soaked, his boots caked in mud. He held a rusted compass in one hand, its needle spinning wildly.
“Who are you?” she asked, stepping back.
“Name’s Jace. And you’re walking straight into a trap.” He tilted his head, studying her. “That map—it’s not just a map. It’s a warning.”
Mara tightened her grip on the backpack. “I need to find my father.”
“He’s not here,” Jace said. “He’s gone. But whatever he left behind… it’s still hunting.”)
