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ASH

The first time I saw them—eyes like molten amber watching from the treeline—I convinced myself they were nothing but sun-drunk hallucinations bleeding through pine needles.

The second time, those impossible golden eyes tracked my movement through the forest scope, and when I blinked, they blinked in perfect synchronization—predator recognizing predator.

The third time—well.

The third time started a story that chose me. No one would have dared warn me. No one could have prepared me. I wouldn’t have believed them anyway.

Because when those ancient eyes met mine, the forest went silent—every bird, every insect, every whisper of wind holding its breath. And in that crystalline moment, I felt the weight of recognition settle into my bones like a homecoming I’d spent twenty-eight years running from.

The third time, I realized they’d been hunting me long before I knew I was the prey they’d been waiting for.