She hadn’t thought it possible to feel more shaken than she already was, but her husband’s observations only deepened the fear beginning to take root in her heart. Gently, she brushed her cheek against his, seeking a fleeting moment of comfort. But they couldn’t just stand there. He seemed to have a plan, and so she followed, her steps quick and anxious.

What was happening? What was wrong?
The questions spiraled in her mind, urgent and unrelenting.

They descended in silence. Still, the world around them remained unnervingly quiet. Never had she hated the silence as much as she did now. This was their home—their sanctuary, their future. The thought of it being tainted, or worse, taken from them, was unbearable.

At last, they reached the river, the one that meandered through the mountains like a silver thread. So many memories lived here: splashing through the shallows, fishing, laughing, holding each other close beneath the sun. But now, standing at the bank, she scanned the familiar landscape and felt only unease. Nothing appeared out of place, yet everything was. The silence, the absence of birdsong or breeze, it was all wrong.

And still, she couldn’t name the reason why.

She glanced at her mate, searching his face for a different perspective. Maybe they were just being paranoid. But the tension in his eyes told her he felt it too. She worried her bottom lip, then murmured, This doesn’t feel right.