Ash stood frozen in the creek, the icy water swirling around his legs.
Palo watched him carefully, chest rising and falling fast, eyes scanning the darkness where the copy had disappeared.
The forest around them was silent again.
Too silent.
Like the trees were holding their breath.
But that voice…
Ash swallowed hard.
Palo grabbed his arm.
"Ash. Did you recognize it?"
Ash hesitated.
Then shook his head.
But it was not a confident shake.
Not a clear refusal.
It was the shake someone gave when the truth terrified them too much to speak.
Palo's voice grew firmer.
"Ash. Look at me."
Ash forced himself to lift his gaze.
Palo searched his eyes.
"You knew that voice. Didn't you?"
Ash said nothing.
But the answer was written all over him.
His shaking hands.
His pale face.
The way he stared in the direction the sound had come from.
Palo softened.
"Who did you hear?"
Ash barely whispered it.
"…my mother."
Palo's heart dropped.
"That's impossible."
Ash nodded weakly.
"I know."
Palo shook his head instantly.
"No, Ash—I mean it's literally impossible. She's—she's gone. There's no way—"
"I know," Ash said again, louder this time, voice cracking.
"But it was her. I heard her. Exactly like before she left. The same tone. The same way she said my name."
Palo felt cold wash over him.
Not from the water.
From fear.
From uncertainty.
From the realization that nothing about this place was behaving like reality should.
Palo grabbed both of Ash's shoulders.
"Listen to me. Your mind is in shock. He pushed you. He tried to manipulate you. He could have mimicked her voice—"
Ash cut him off sharply.
"No. He didn't mimic her. He reacted to it. He was surprised. He didn't expect it."
Palo stopped.
Ash pressed a hand to his forehead, breathing unevenly.
"I've never heard him sound like that. He was—afraid."
The word hung in the air like a weight.
Palo whispered,
"Ash… what could scare him?"
Ash shook his head slowly.
"I don't know."
---
A Disturbance in the Trees
The creek rippled softly, the moon shimmering over its surface.
Palo finally pulled Ash out of the water, guiding him up the bank.
"We can't stay here. If he comes back, we won't have protection from the signal. We need cover—somewhere he can't track us."
Ash nodded numbly, looking over his shoulder.
But his voice remained faint.
"What if the voice wasn't real?"
Palo didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
And that terrified him.
They moved deeper into the forest, dripping wet, footsteps muffled by leaves and mud. Ash kept glancing toward the trees, expecting the copy's pale silhouette to reappear at any moment.
But nothing moved.
Nothing breathed.
Nothing followed.
Until—
A soft rustle to their left.
Palo froze, hand going out instinctively.
"Ash. Stay close."
Ash's pulse thundered.
"Is it him?"
Palo listened carefully, every muscle tense.
The rustling grew louder.
Once.
Twice.
Then stopped.
Palo lowered his voice.
"I don't think it's him."
Ash swallowed.
"Then what—"
A figure stumbled out of the bush.
Ash recoiled.
Palo stepped forward.
And then stopped dead in his tracks.
Because the figure wasn't moving like the copy.
Wasn't silent or controlled.
It was shaking.
Breathing hard.
And holding their side as if injured.
Ash's voice barely rose above a whisper.
"Who… who are you?"
The figure stepped forward into the moonlight.
Not the copy.
Not Ash's mother.
Someone else entirely.
A teenage girl—around their age—mud-soaked, trembling, and terrified.
Her eyes lifted weakly to meet theirs.
"You have to hide," she choked out.
"You both have to hide."
Palo stepped closer.
"Hide? From who?"
The girl stared at Ash with shaking fear.
"From him."
Ash felt his stomach drop.
"The copy?"
Her voice faltered.
"No. Not him."
Palo stiffened.
Ash's breath hitched.
The girl whispered,
"From the one who created him."