Page 8

8

LANDON

L andon had always loved the woods.

Not the manicured trails with gravel laid down for tourists and selfies.

The real woods—where the trees grew so thick you could lose the sky, and silence had texture.

Where time bent and you felt small in the best way.

But standing at the base of Pine Hollow Ridge with his hands in his hoodie pockets and the fall sun slanting across the ground, he was pretty sure he’d never been more aware of how much of an amateur he was out here.

Sonya showed up like she belonged in the damn wilderness.

She moved like part of it—fluid, quiet, that white-blond hair pulled back in a loose twist, her boots already streaked with dirt and her jacket half-zipped over a worn gray tee.

She gave him a once-over like she was trying not to smirk.

“You wore canvas sneakers,” she said.

“I didn’t know there’d be a test,” Landon replied, then looked down.

“Okay, yeah. Not my finest choice.”

Sonya arched a brow, stepping past him and tossing a glance over her shoulder.

“C’mon, city boy. Trail’s this way.”

“I grew up ten miles from here.”

She snorted.

“And yet, still wearing street shoes into a pine forest. Bold.”

Landon chuckled and followed her, the brush crunching underfoot.

He was used to feeling grounded out here.

But around Sonya? The air felt.

.. sharper. Like his senses were dialed just one notch higher.

They walked the main trail for all of five minutes before she veered left, ducking between two leaning trees like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“No signage?” he asked, glancing back toward the path.

She grinned. “I said hike. I didn’t say tourist loop. Trust me.”

And, God help him, he did.

They slipped into thicker woods, where the sun broke through in golden shards, painting the forest floor in stripes of shadow.

The air cooled the deeper they went, heavy with moss and the faint smell of cedar.

“So,” Sonya said after a stretch of silence, “you said your aunt raised you?”

“Yeah. Kind of,” Landon replied, brushing a low-hanging branch aside.

“I mean, she didn’t raise me exactly. I bounced around a lot. She was more like... my anchor point. The one who sent birthday cards and emergency checks when shit got real.”

Sonya made a small noise in her throat, prompting him to go on.

“My mom died when I was five,” he said.

“Don’t remember much about her, just flashes. Smells. Her laugh. No dad in the picture. Not even a name.”

“None at all?”

“Nope.” Landon paused, stepping over a fallen log.

“Just a space on my birth certificate. Clean slate.”

Sonya walked beside him, unusually quiet.

He glanced at her. “You’d think that’d bother me more, right? Not knowing who I am. Where I came from. But honestly... I think maybe it’s a blessing.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I get to choose who I am,” he said.

“No ghosts. No family name hanging around my neck like a damn chain. Just me.”

She looked at him for a long moment, expression unreadable.

“What about you?” he asked.

“You said you’re from here, right?”

Her posture shifted slightly, more guarded.

“Yeah. Grew up not far from here.”

“What’s your family like?”

Sonya hesitated.

“Strict. Traditional. My mom’s a historian, my dad’s on the council.”

“Council?”

She cursed under her breath.

“Town. Zoning stuff. Small-town politics. You know.”

Landon caught the deflection, but didn’t push.

Something about her answers—smooth, polished—felt like she’d practiced them.

A lot.

Still, he didn’t want to ruin whatever this was.

The ease. The way their hands kept brushing as they walked.

The way her laugh had started to feel like his new favorite sound.

They came to a clearing surrounded by massive pines, and Sonya paused, her gaze lifting toward the canopy.

“This place feels different,” Landon murmured.

“You feel it too?” she asked.

He nodded slowly. “Like the trees are... watching.”

She stepped forward, brushing her fingertips across a bark-carved knot.

“Some places are older than memory. You don’t visit them. You step into them.”

Landon moved to stand beside her, the hair on his arms rising despite the mild air.

Something about this spot made his chest tighten.

Then it happened.

The whisper.

It wasn’t a voice exactly.

Not out loud. But it cut through the quiet like wind through leaves.

Wake.

His breath caught.

He stumbled a step back.

“Landon?” Sonya’s voice snapped him back.

“Did you... hear that?”

She blinked.

“Hear what?”

“I...” He shook his head.

“It was like—someone was whispering. Not words. Not really. Just... pressure. In my head.”

Sonya stared at him, wide-eyed.

“That happen often?”

“Lately? More than I’d like. But usually when I am sleeping. Not like… this.”

She looked like she wanted to say something, but instead she took a step closer.

“You okay?”

He nodded, though his heart was racing.

“Yeah. Just got dizzy for a second.”

They stood there, tension humming, the world narrowed down to just the two of them.

And then she touched his arm.

Just lightly. But the contact lit something in him—something warm and tethering.

Their eyes locked.

He didn’t know who leaned first. Maybe both.

Her breath hitched, her face tilted up toward his, those eyes flickering to his mouth.

They were close enough to feel the static in the air between them.

Then, just before their lips touched—she pulled back.

“Shit,” she hissed, pressing her hand to her temple.

“Sorry. Migraine. It just... hit.”

Landon stepped back, guilt washing over him.

“I didn’t mean to push?—”

“No,” she said quickly.

“You didn’t. I just... I get these sometimes. It’s not you.”

He didn’t believe her.

Not fully.

But he nodded.

“Okay. You need to sit?”

She exhaled shakily.

“Yeah. Just for a sec.”

They sat in the clearing, shoulder to shoulder but not touching, as silence stretched out again.

Landon stared at the treetops, heart heavy with something he couldn’t name.

And as much as he wanted to believe it was just a headache.

.. a part of him knew it wasn’t.

Sonya was hiding something.

And he didn’t care.

Because whatever it was, he already knew one thing for sure, he wasn’t walking away.