Rissa’s POV

The shape moved.

Not imagination. Not shadow. Movement.

Mark’s hand closed around my wrist, firm and grounding. “Back,” he whispered.

We stepped away from the treeline together. Slow. Controlled. The figure did not follow. It stood half hidden between trunks, just visible enough to prove it was real.

Watching.

My pulse climbed. “Do you see it?”

“Yes.”

No hesitation. No doubt. Relief flickered through me. I was not alone inside my own head.

A branch snapped ...