Ranger’s posture changed instantly. His body angled toward the tree line, fur bristling along his spine, and a low growl rolled out of him that felt less like sound and more like vibration.
Silas, still on the phone, heard it and looked up just as Juniper noticed the prints—fresh boot marks cutting across damp leaves in a pattern that circled the clearing rather than approached directly, as if whoever made them had taken their time.
“There’s someone here,” Silas said into the phone, and although he tried to keep his tone level, the dispatcher heard the shift.
“Stay where you are,” she instructed quickly. “Units are en route. Do not approach anyone. Can you describe them?”
Juniper didn’t answer because a shape had emerged between the trunks, not fully visible, just a darker silhouette against pale fog, moving with deliberate slowness; she tightened her grip on the makeshift bandage and forced her voice to carry. “We called 911,” she said, projecting more confidence than she felt. “Stay back.”
