Teo walked until the stream sound thinned out behind him.
Not because he had a plan. Because staying near that bone charm made his skin crawl. The longer he stared at it, the more his brain started inventing reasons—shrine, trap, warning, bait—and none of them sounded any good.
So he moved.
The forest didn't open. It didn't ease up. It just shifted around him, wet leaves brushing his arms like fingers that didn't belong to anyone.
His boots sank just a little too often. Not enough to trap him, enough to make his heart jump.
He kept one hand near the utility knife clip, touching it now and then for some sort of assurnace.
It didn't make him safe.
It made him feel less empty.
His throat was sore from coughing mud. Water sat cold in his stomach, and the memory of those quick silver fish under the stream did not comfort him. If anything, it made the place feel more deliberate.
Life existed.
It just didn't want to be noticed.
Teo swallowed and tried to listen.
Nothing.
No birds.
No insects.
No wind.
Only his breath and the soft drag of his boots through leaf litter.
Esto no está bien…
He walked until his legs started trembling—part exhaustion, part adrenaline—and the thought landed again, sharp and simple:
Find somewhere to sit.
Not shelter. Not solutions.
Just sit. Just to stop the spinning in his head.
He found a fallen trunk half-covered in moss and dropped onto it like his body had been waiting for permission.
For a few seconds, he just breathed.
His head hung forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on the dirt between his boots. Mud caked into the tread like black frosting.
The silence pressed close.
It didn't feel like peace.
It felt like pressure.
Respira. Por favor.
His knee bounced on its own. He clenched his hands to stop it. That didn't help.
Sitting made his mind sprint faster.
Phone gone. Wallet gone. Keys gone. No sky. No road.
Estoy jodido.
He swallowed hard, throat tight, and forced his head up.
That's when he noticed the log wasn't truly quiet.
Something clung to the underside near his boot—flat and dark, like a lizard at first glance. Too still. Too thin. Its body hugged the wood like a pressed leaf.
Teo froze.
The creature didn't move.
It slowly rotated one glossy eye toward him—one smooth, dark bead—and held his gaze like it was counting his breaths.
Teo's skin prickled.
He didn't move. Didn't blink.
Then, without any sound at all, it slid along the underside of the log and disappeared behind the moss.
Teo let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Even the animals here acted like noise cost money.
He glanced up through the canopy.
The light under the leaves had shifted. Not much—just enough that the green glow felt thinner, grayer.
Time was running, and he didn't know how much daylight he had.
Sitting wasn't the answer.
Sitting was just waiting.
Teo pushed off the log and stood, legs stiff.
"Okay," he whispered. "Okay… move."
He started walking again.
No direction, just away from the stream and the bones. He picked ground that looked less glossy, less dark. He stepped over roots like they were tripwires.
Every so often he caught movement in the canopy—small silhouettes gliding branch to branch without the scratchy chatter he expected.
Once, something dropped from above and landed on a trunk with no sound at all.
Teo's head snapped down towards the trunk.
Nothing was there.
Or nothing he could see for long.
Chingado…
He walked into thicker ferns and nearly tripped when the ground dipped an inch. He caught himself, angry, and shoved leaves aside—
—and stopped.
Because the ground ahead looked wrong.
A large portion of leaf litter was flattened. Not torn up. Not scattered.
It seemed to be pressed down like something had walked there on purpose.
Teo stared at it.
His heart kicked.
Okay. Could be an animal. Could be—anything.
He stepped closer, crouched, and hovered his hand over the flattened leaves without touching them.
The path wasn't wide. Not a deer trail. Not a hiking path.
But it ran between two trees with a steady line, like it had intent.
Teo swallowed and stood.
He didn't know what he was doing.
But that strip was the first thing that looked like information.
So he followed.
It led him to a thick trunk with bark like old armor.
At about shoulder height, a patch of bark was missing—peeled away clean to reveal pale wood underneath.
Three short marks were carved into the exposed wood.
Not decorative.
Deliberate.
Teo's mouth went dry.
No mames… otra vez.
He looked around fast—brush, shadows, the dark spaces between trunks.
Nothing moved.
He leaned closer to the mark. The cuts were shallow but clean, like the blade that made them wasn't dull.
He touched the edge of peeled bark with one finger.
Damp. Fresh-looking.
His skin crawled.
Someone had done this recently.
Someone who didn't care if he saw it.
Or someone who wanted him to.
Teo pulled his hand back and forced a breath.
"Hello?" he tried again, softer than before.
No answer.
The flattened strip continued past the marked tree.
Teo followed, because turning back would be pointless, he was lost either way with no better option.
The ground started sloping downward. The air got wetter. And faintly—the sweet rot smell returned, hovering at the edge of his senses like a warning.
Teo slowed.
His boot scuffed a leaf.
A dry crunch popped broke the silence like a firecracker.
He froze, listening hard enough his ears hurt.
Nothing answered.
But the silence felt tighter for a second, as if it leaned toward him.
He swallowed.
Tranquilo…
He took another step and felt the ground shift under the leaves like a thin skin over something soft.
His stomach dropped.
He jerked back so fast he almost fell.
"Mierda—"
He grabbed a stick, snapped it, and poked the spot.
It sank too easily.
Teo stared at the hole the stick left.
Mud pocket.
Hidden under leaves like a trap for anyone who didn't know.
He backed up and stepped around it in a wide arc, poking twice like a scared man playing mines with a stick.
The flattened strip angled away from the soft ground—like whoever made it already knew where the safe steps were.
That fact bothered him more than the mud.
Because it meant the marker wasn't just a sign.
It was part of a route.
A path someone else understood.
Teo followed the strip uphill again. The soil firmed. Roots rose close to the surface. Stones appeared under the leaf litter, sharp edges catching dim light.
The green glow thinned toward gray.
Night was coming.
Teo's chest tightened.
He didn't want to sleep out in this open silence. He didn't want to close his eyes and wake up with something standing over him, face blank, pointing.
He needed shelter.
Something.
Anything.
The route led him to a ridge.
And across that ridge—
Bones.
Not scattered remains.
Placed.
Small pale bones set in the ground at uneven intervals, like a low fence worn down to a warning.
Teo stopped so hard his boot slid on dry leaves.
His mouth went dry.
A boundary.
That was the only word his brain offered.
On the other side of the bone line, the forest looked different—cleaner. Less undergrowth. More visible ground.
Like something moved there often.
Or like something had made sure nothing grew too thick.
Teo stared along the bones, searching left and right for an opening.
None.
Near the closest bone, a small stack of stones sat three-high. A flat stone lay beside it like a marker you were supposed to understand.
Teo frowned.
He didn't know what it meant.
But his body understood the vibe: This matters.
A beetle the color of wet ash crawled from the leaf litter toward the bones.
Teo watched it, oddly grateful for something normal.
The beetle reached the line.
Stopped an inch away.
Paused like it was thinking.
Then turned around and went back the way it came, as if it had hit glass.
Teo stared, throat tight.
The bones weren't decoration.
They were a rule.
A dry leaf crunched under his boot again.
The sound snapped through the silence.
Teo froze.
Nothing moved.
Nothing answered.
But the feeling returned—that the forest registered the noise. Like it had wrote it down somewhere.
He took a slow step back.
Then another.
He didn't cross the bone line.
Not because he was sure it was dangerous.
Because he wasn't ready to gamble on a rule he didn't understand.
He turned away and walked along the ridge instead, keeping the boundary in sight but not close enough to touch.
He found two trees growing close, their roots lifting the ground into a shallow pocket of dry leaves between them. Not a cave. Not safe.
But it was something.
A place to sit.
A place to be smaller.
Teo dropped into it and hugged his knees without thinking, staring out at the dimming forest.
His chest shuddered once.
Dios mío…
He didn't cry. He just breathed through the pressure in his throat until it eased.
He didn't know what the marks meant.
He didn't know what the bone line meant.
But he knew one thing with a clarity that made him feel sick:
Someone had been here before him.
Someone had left instructions.
And that night was coming.
Teo pressed his forehead to his knees and whispered, almost like a bargain:
"Tomorrow… I'll figure it out."
Si sigo vivo.