Page 6

Faces of all ages stare back at me, some blurry from old cameras, some clear from recent ones. Names, dates, and locations are written beneath them; all connected by lines of string to spots on maps where they were last seen. At least a dozen have the word FOUND scrawled across their notes in red ink; others have nothing at all.

I spot Mark Hasting’s photo near the center—it’s the one from his ID badge, the computer printout crooked, as if someone stuck it up in a hurry and never straightened it.

Last seen: North Ridge trailhead parking lot.

Personal vehicle abandoned. No evidence of foul play.

No evidence of anything, to be completely honest. I came here knowing the previous ranger had gone missing, knowing there were hikers who never came home, kids who didn’t show up for dinner after parties in the woods, and campers who walked out of their tents and were never seen again. I knew all of that. But reading about it is different from seeing its massive scale.

“This is why I’m glad you’re here,” Reyes says after watching me carefully. “I don’t have the manpower to put boots on every trail every day, and Tom can’t do what he used to. We’ve had more missing person reports in the last five years than in the twenty before that combined. Some turned out to be runaways who wanted to be found; others…”

I watch as his jaw tightens. “Others didn’t,” I finish quietly.

He nods. “I don’t like unsolved things. So, if you see anything out there that doesn’t fit, I want to know. I don’t care if it’s a weird campsite, a car parked where it shouldn’t be, or a gut feeling. The woods are your territory more than mine, and I have to rely on that.”

The weight of that responsibility settles next to the rest of the baggage I’m already lugging around. I suppose this is better than moping around and being depressed about an ex who betrayed you in the worst way.

“You’ll know,” I say with a nod. “If somethin’s off, I’ll tell you.”

After a while, we talk logistics—radio channels, emergency response procedures, and contact points between departments. Parker cracks a few jokes in between, loosening the air enough that no one suffocates on seriousness.

Before we leave, Reyes hands me a few of the recent missing persons files, and we thank him before leaving. Outside, the sun has climbed higher, the day already getting warmer, but the wall of faces sticks behind my eyes as we cross Main Street again.

“You good?” Parker asks, glancing sideways as he swings his keys around his finger.

“I’m fine. It’s just… a helluva lot when you see it spread out like that,” I admit.

He grimaces. “Yeah. My mom refuses to drive past that building now—says it’s cursed. Jonah and his friends were the last ones up there; her house was the first one they stopped by after leavin’ the woods.”

The mention of my nephew pulls my head out of the sheriff’s office. “How is he? I’m stoppin’ by my sister’s tonight for dinner. We only texted a little, but she didn’t really mention what happened.”

Parker’s mouth twists. “He’s… different since that camping trip. He barely speaks and is a lot more withdrawn. We both know Jonah is not a quiet or withdrawn guy. I’ll let Mel tell you the whole story, but just know he’s not the same kid he used to be when you left—he even put college on hold.”

The unease ratchets up my spine again, and this time it has a personal edge. Jonah was the kind of kid who talked nonstop about everything that crossed his mind. He used to beg me to take him on hikes that were probably too long for his little legs, and had been planning his escape to college since he was fourteen. The idea that he’s refusing to speak, and that college is on hold, just doesn’t sit right.

I suppose I’ll see what happens tonight.

3

Onyx

I have walked these woods for so long that even the oldest redwood feels young beside me.

There are places beneath the ridge where the ground has changed shape three times since I first knew it. Rivers have moved, stone has split, fires have come through and stripped the land bare enough that I watched new growth rise from the black earth and become forest again.

Humans built their roads where animal paths once ran. Then widened them beneath a hard black stone that smells wrong when the sun heats it. They built their towns farther south—first small enough that I could cross from one side to the other without waking a sleeping human. Then they grew larger each generation until their lights began staining the dark.

I remember when none of it was there. Before the first houses, before the first roads, before human voices carried this far into the mountains. I was already old when they began settling close enough for their smoke to reach my territory. I have watched them from my trees. Sometimes they saw me; most did not—that was always by design.

The forest knows how to hide what belongs to it, and I belong to the forest more deeply than the roots at my feet. When I want eyes to pass me by, they do. Human sight slides away from me on command. Even animals understand this. Once, this pleased me. Now it is simply another part of my hollow existence.

Before sunrise, my feet carry me through the northern wood without purpose. There is no need to patrol far today, as nothing has entered my territory that requires killing or driving away. The elk have already moved toward the higher slopes, and wolves crossed the eastern boundary three nights ago, caught my scent, and turned back without challenge.

Still, I move. The hollow in me demands movement, even when movement offers nothing. Earth Mother Aestrata made us to endure, though sometimes I wonder whether she understood what endurance becomes after enough time has passed.

I remember her more clearly than I remember my own kind. Her memory is not sight or sound; it lives deeper, pressed into the same place where instinct lives. We came from the earth already knowing territory, hunger, protection, and solitude. She gave us no need for packs or crowds. We were made to stand alone, each bound to land that recognized us until we returned to it.

Morning has already broken over the ridge, though little sunlight reaches me here. I move because there is little else to do. Hunger does not guide me this time, as I already fed before dawn—roots from beneath wet ground and mushrooms from beneath a fallen cedar. I also spotted berries high along the western slope, dark and sweet, where no human hand had reached them.