The Whistling Man

Specters and Circuitry Anthology Episode 3

CHAPTER 1

In the mountains of the highest, where the sun touched nothing but forrest, lived a wizard who granted a wish to whoever could reach the height on which he lived. The villagers knew the stories well. They’d tell them by firelight as the wind scraped the windows, whispering like an old man who’d lost his way. No one dared to climb anymore. Those who did—never returned. They told themselves they were wise for staying. But the truth was simpler: they were afraid. So they starved quietly, fighting over crumbs, pretending their fear was patience. They convinced themselves they were “only human,” as if humanity were an excuse for the cages they built in their own minds. They had forgotten that the mountain didn’t just kill—it tested.

One day, a boy rose before dawn and said he would reach the top. The villagers laughed the way only cowards can—loud and certain. But the boy didn’t answer. He ran into the mountains. The sound of rushing wind turned to a low whistle, like someone unseen was calling his name. The villagers called it the whistling man—the sound that marked where the living ended and the lost began. But the boy pressed on. He met the silver goats that roamed the cliffs, their eyes like mirrors.  He solved the riddles carved into root, bled on the altar of dawn, and learned to listen to the mountain. At last, in a clearing of glass and snow, he found the wizard. The old man was waiting.

“State your wish,” said the mage, his voice quiet as a flame behind glass. The boy bowed. “My wish is for the people of the village to end their wars and thrive as one.” The mage studied him for a long time. His smile was thin as breath. “I can grant this,” he said. “But to do it right—to make it true—will require something they are not ready to give up. A burden you will have to carry” The boy frowned. “What can’t humanity give up? What burden are you speaking on?” The mage laughed softly, the sound echoing like whistling through a hollow cave. “What do you mean?” the boy asked. But the old man said nothing more. The mountain groaned. The wind screamed. And then—silence.

CHAPTER 2

Ten years later, the boy came down from the mountains. The villagers had built him a grave to remind themselves what happens to those who climb too high. When they saw him walking down the ridge, they fell to their knees. He was changed. His eyes were deeper than the sky, and when he spoke, it felt like a memory resurfacing in the human heart. “What did you wish for?” they asked. He smiled faintly. And he let out a whistle. It wasn’t loud. It was thin and clean, like a reed flute across water. The sound slid along the eaves, threaded itself through hair and cloth, and kept going—far past where the houses ended, up into the timberline where the dark collects. The villagers went still. Chickens blinked. A dog lay down without being told. It felt like the air had agreed to hold its breath. From the ridge came answering howls—at first scattered, then drawn tight, harmonies nested inside harmonies until the hillside seemed to be singing back. Faces turned toward him. His eyes took the light and kept it; his skin shifted, not painted, but washed through—river-blue under moon. An old man in the crowd stepped forward. No coat. No shoes. He moved as if someone far away had tugged a string tied around his heart. “Papa,” his daughter said, catching his sleeve. He kept walking. “Papa—” She pulled harder; he wrenched free and her hands slipped. She stumbled, went to her knees in the dust. There was no anger in him; only distance, like a man listening to a music no one else could hear. Then an older woman, hair silvery as the goats that haunted the cliffs, pressed a palm to her chest and smiled like she’d finally remembered a name. She turned toward the mountains and followed. The whistling thinned to a thread, then doubled, then split into thirds. The howls found it and braided themselves around that thread until the night stood dressed in melody. A young man in a wheeled chair reached down—almost curious—and set his hands to the earth. He paused, testing a body that had refused him for years. Fingers to dirt, a breath, then another. He rose—awkward, shaking, but upright—eyes wide with a child’s terror and awe. Someone cried out to him; he didn’t turn. He stepped. Then another step. By the third, he had the rhythm. By the fourth, he had the road. Others came—those long called frail, those set aside, those the town had learned to walk around. Not hurried, not frantic. It wasn’t a march. It was a procession, quiet as river stones, each person catching the same far-off tune and aligning their feet to it. “Stop this,” a woman whispered to the man who had once been a boy. He did not answer. The whistle wasn’t from his mouth anymore; it seemed to rise out of his ribs and the cracks of the street and the split bark of the trees. You could close your ears and still hear it behind them. A child ran forward and wrapped both arms around his grandfather’s leg, digging in heels. The old man reached down, rested a hand on the child’s hair, gentled him aside, and kept going. Lanterns wavered. Doors opened and stayed that way, throwing rectangles of honey light into the road that stretched like invitations no one accepted. The procession thinned the town the way a tide pulls shells from sand—quietly, methodically, without argument. Far up the slope, the silver goats appeared: a few at first, then more, stepping out from between the pines, hooves clicking like beads on glass. They didn’t lead the people. They kept to the ridgeline, still as witnesses—like the mountain itself had stepped out to watch.

Some prayed. Some cursed. Some tried to name what was happening and found no word that fit. You could feel it, though—the old story slipping its mask, the wish standing naked in the road. Mercy, or something that looked like mercy from far away. By the middle of the night, the line had thinned to a thread of silhouettes on the switchbacks—elder after elder, the injured, the forgotten, the ones who had waited the longest. No one ran. No one screamed. The song made panic impossible; it put a hand on the throat of fear and held it still. When the moon tipped and the dark began to blue, the whistling softened until it wasn’t sound anymore but a pressure, a hum inside bone. The last of the procession rounded a stand of fir and was gone. What remained of the village sagged where it stood. Some sank gently to the grass, as if invited to lie down by someone kind. Others folded in doorways, palms still open. Sleep took them fast and deep, like wells without rope. By dawn, half the town lay in the fields, faces toward the mountain, breath slow. They looked emptied, not harmed—like vessels poured out after holding too much for too long. The ridge was quiet. No more goats. Only the thin seam of trail where feet had passed. The man who had whistled stood on the dirt road. No apology. Just the after-silence of his whistle.

CHAPTER 3

Years later

He called himself The Chosen One. Those of us who remember call him the Whistling Man. There are no elders or sick folk. The night of the whistle took them—porch chairs facing the ridge still dented at the seat, blankets fossilized in the shape of knees. The canes lean where they were left. Wheel ruts in the dust go a few feet and stop like a sentence with the last word missing.. When decisions come due, there is no cough from the back, no slow voice saying Wait. The town is loud with youth and middle-age and the quiet where wisdom used to sit. The Build Week by week, he redrew the ground. He sketched grids in dust with a stick. “Road. Clinic. Market.” Saws answered. Poles rose. Stone wagons groaned. Tag cords—blue, red, white—knotted at the collarbone. Work by whistle: start, change, stop. By month’s end, walls had the stubbornness of facts. He called it the Promised Land. On the maps we never see, it’s still a town. The Wish at Work With his wish—and whatever the mage taught him—things moved too fast to argue. A ditch cut at dawn ran with water by dusk. A road penciled at breakfast had truck lights by dark. A schoolhouse opened in three days; the windows blinked like they were thinking.Rules bloomed on doors: WORK • WALK FORWARD • KEEP SILENCE AT WHISTLE We learned the rules by how the notes sliced the air.And yes, people still go to the mountain. Not in a line, not with music—just that pull you feel in your chest at dusk. We don’t write it down. We look around: the lamps come on, the pump hums, the clinic board is clean. If the systems run, the town says everything is fine. We count lights, not names.

Shopkeeper: “I run scans and ration limits now. I like the quiet when everyone freezes. You learn the rhythms or you get written up.”

Stone crew (Valdez): “Direction is simple. He points, we raise. He nods, we set. Face north when the note lands. The street covers whatever was here before. That’s the job.”

Factory supervisor: “The plant powers the grid and pays most mortgages. Intake at dawn, purge at dusk. If the stacks breathe heavy, the city hits target. If someone goes home coughing, HR flags it. We don’t keep sick people.”

Clinic intake nurse: “Night admissions are closed. If you’re short of breath after dark, check in before the final whistle.

Ms. Yazzie (civics): “Before the clinic, our history fits on one page: the mountain, no faces. Inside the lines is safety. Beyond the lines is witness only. Jurisdiction isn’t a suggestion.”

 He wears a black coat and stands on the cart with open palms. “Walk forward,” he says. “Follow me.” Always “walk forward.” People repeat it the way you repeat a rule you want to believe you wrote. A lot of the loudest praise comes from the same mouths that laughed when the boy laced his boots. Volume does its best work where memory is thin. Did he come back a god? No. He came back playing one. And the stage loves a steady hand. Still— no denying how much changed. Everyone said the whistle was mercy, but we’d learned the sound came only when someone had grown too slow for the shift. Roads where mud was. A clinic where mourning sat. A school where there was none. Coughs stop mid‑breath when that tone passes; people wait to see if the other note will answer. Mothers hush their children to it. Work crews time their breath to it. No goats come down anymore.

CHAPTER 4

Twenty years on — a new voice “Our little mountain town,” Ms. Yazzie told the freshmen, “wasn’t always like this.” Chairs creaked. The lights hummed. A truck rolled by slow enough you could feel it in the floor. “Twenty years ago we didn’t have a clinic. No paved roads. When the bridge washed out, we waited. On maps we were a blank between lines. No jurisdiction, no services. Our neighbors—other tribes—had support on paper.” She held up the state map—thin, slick, already tearing at the folds. “Paper is power. The people outside drew lines. We stopped being counted.” She let that sit, head tilted like she was listening for something only she could hear. “Then The Chosen One made his wish,” she said, softer. “And our people got something new: a way to walk forward.” Through the window the clinic flashed clean. The road hummed. If you kept your eyes there long enough, you could also catch the north fence: low markers with names, no dates. A hand went up halfway. “Ms. Yazzie… were you here—like, for the night? The first… whistle?” Her smile came slow and a little sideways. Stabilized kookiness—warm, not quite steady. “I was in my mother’s yard,” she said. “Wind in the cedars. Smelled like metal. I remember… pieces. A line of folks heading up like they’d just remembered something urgent. I remember a note I could hear even with my hands over my ears.” She tapped each ear, once. “Dream-memory. You wake up and it’s still on your tongue, then it’s gone.” She flipped the map closed. “Listen: History is not a parade of inventions. It’s a jurisdiction problem. Who draws the line, who gets services, who waits. Don’t let the roads make you forget the map. After that night, we stopped calling it sickness,” she added. “We called it being chosen. Easier that way.” A few kids shifted. Someone’s pencil clicked too many times. Outside, a noon whistle—just the factory one—cut through the room. Two students flinched anyway. “Founders’ Day is next week,” Ms. Yazzie added, pointing at the flyer—white line climbing a black triangle. “Bring your brains and your shoes. ‘Promised Land’ is a name. Names do work. So do silences.” She stepped to the glass and traced the clinic’s roofline with a fingertip, steady as a ruler. “Look out there. See the clinic. Hear the road. Now shift your eyes. See the fence.” They did. “History isn’t simple,” she said, closing the book. “It’s a bargain. Make sure you know what was traded.” Her head tilted again, listening for that not-quite-there note. “Some trades echo.” The bell rang. Chairs scraped. Backpacks swung. The room tipped toward the door. Kai stood last. He glanced at the window, then the flyer, then the north fence—like he was lining them up. Tino shoulder-bumped him. “You look haunted, bro.” “Just thinking,” Kai said. Liliani waited in the doorway, one hand on the frame, watching Ms. Yazzie wipe the board clean and leave one word untouched: JURISDICTION. They stepped into the hall river. Kai leaned in, kept his voice under the crowd. “It’s not a big leap,” he whispered. “The Chosen One didn’t just lose them that night. He killed them.” Tino stopped walking. Liliani’s eyes flicked to the ceiling speaker where the whistle never came from, then back to Kai. “Say it quieter,” she murmured. They moved in the shuffle—lockers slamming, shoes squeaking, laughter bouncing off tile. Not defeated, just thinking. If the story of the wish was true, then somewhere beneath the concrete and painted lines, something else was buried— and none of us were sure what our land was really built on.

CHAPTER 5

Tino’s walk home had that wet-cold that gets into your wrists. He counted the mailboxes he always counted, checked the living-room window without turning his head. Lights off. He stood on the porch a second, key at the lock, wondering if his dad would be home or if the house would just be the kind that answers you with a refrigerator hum. Me—Kai—I was already fed up with Senior by dinner. He had a month or so left before retirement from his work, after dedicating his whole life to the Cause and the Chosen One’s vision. He hates when I call him the Whistling Man. I do it anyway. He slams the table; Mom rolls her eyes. “Here we go again.” I push him just enough to see how red he gets. Don’t get me wrong—I like my dad. He’s proud. He puts dinner on the table. But sometimes it’s like there’s no room in him for a thought that isn’t already stamped APPROVED. “Half our community drifted toward the mountain to die—” I say. “If that’s what this town was built on, don’t you think it’s worth bringing up?” He grips his fork like it might run. “We walk forward—that’s the rule.” he says. “On what?” I ask. He doesn’t answer. Knife down. Plate forward. The discussion ends the way it always ends: with gravity. I clear my dish. Go to my room. No dessert. After the old man threw his little fit, I lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling fan until the blades turn into a single gray coin. The story I’ve been told my whole life—about the people who lived here before us—says they were “violent,” “feeble,” “unworthy,” depending on who’s talking. Or maybe the mountain swallowed them. Or maybe that’s just the lie the Whistling Man told so no one would ask why the porches went empty. It dawns on me. I grab my phone and text the group chat Tino named “your mom.” No one ever bothered to change it. Kai: Hey. Brilliant idea after dinner with the fam. Liliani: What kind of idea? And does it involve food? I watch the three dots pop up under Tino’s name. They vanish. Kai: I think we should take a trip up to the mountain and see if there’s such a thing as a wish. Liliani: Okay, but we should bring snacks. The dots show again under Tino. We wait. Nothing. Kai: Hope Tino’s not too chicken to go this weekend. (no reply) I drop the phone on my chest and reach up toward the fan, fingers grazed by the moving air. The window’s cracked; the night pushes a small, thin sound through the screen. It isn’t a whistle. Not exactly. But it remembers how to be one.

CHAPTER 6

Morning Morning came gray and thin. Kai packed his backpack like laying out a plan on a table—flashlight, coil of paracord, pocket notebook, cheap lighter, a clean bandana. He remembered Liliani’s snack obsession and slid in a Ziploc: cookies, turkey jerky, two granola bars, plus the last of the gummy bears, sealed with a prayer. By the front door, near Senior’s keys, a folded twenty rested under the mail. Kai took the bill, left the keys, and slipped out before the floor could complain. The air tasted like iron. He cut behind the clinic, crossed the road where gravel still remembered being mud, and headed for Tino’s park.

Tino’s door They knocked on the thin door of the mobile home—Kai’s knuckles made a soft, hollow thud. No answer. He checked his phone: three unread texts to Tino stacked like unanswered prayers. “I don’t get it,” he told Liliani. “He saw the messages.” The door opened. Tino’s mom filled the frame—robe tied tight, hair pulled back, kind eyes gone glassy like sleep kept missing her. “Morning, kids,” she said, polite because that’s the last gear that still works. “Come in.” They stepped into a tidy room that felt used to being kind to people. A TV remote lay face down on a folded blanket. A mug with a tide line of tea. On a shelf, three carved animals made of driftwood watched the window. The place smelled like lemon cleaner and rain. She moved to the kitchen—black-and-white tiles checked like a game board—and filled two cloudy glasses at the sink. Rain ticked the tin roof. It sounded like a thousand small fingers trying to get in. Liliani’s leg started its quiet shake. Kai set a hand just above her knee; the tremor softened, kept time with the roof. Tino’s mom set the waters down but didn’t sit. She opened her mouth, closed it, breathed once like testing a cold pool with a toe. “You see, kids… Tino’s dad’s been trying to hide it. From all of us.” She touched her temple like the sentence hurt. “Lately it’s gotten… noticeable. He got sick.” Kai felt the shape of the conclusion arrive before the words did. Something in his throat went cold, like wind passing through him. She went on, words careful as stepping stones. “This town—what we’ve been given—I’m proud. We all are. The Chosen One takes good care of us.” Her eyes wet instantly, no build-up, just a spill. “But Hue—” she said his name like she might cut herself on it, “—he wasn’t getting better. He had to. But he wasn’t.” She twisted the dish towel without noticing. “We didn’t take him to the clinic because… well.” She glanced at the window, at the rain writing fast on glass. “Because sometimes the walls have ears.” The room heard her. The roof kept time. Liliani’s voice came soft. “Where is he?” Tino’s mom looked at them—kids, not really. “Up there,” she said, chin lifting toward the ridge no one could see from inside. “In the mountains.” Kai and Liliani didn’t speak. “There aren’t official laws up there,” she added, quieter. “No jurisdiction. No one to count what doesn’t want counting. If he rests a while—if he gets stronger—he can come back on his own feet. I told Tino to take a tent. To keep the fire small. To listen for weather and stay off the trails that sing.” “The trails that… sing?” Kai said. She nodded once, quick. “You’ll know them if you hear them.” Her eyes reddened at the rims. “I’ll check on them soon. But please—don’t say anything. I knew you two would keep asking till you found it. Now you’ve found it.” Liliani slid one of the waters closer. “We won’t tell,” she said. Tino’s mom’s mouth shook. She set a hand on the back of a chair to steady it—or herself. “Thank you.” She glanced toward the hallway where Tino’s room sat closed. “He didn’t want you to worry.” Kai’s jaw worked once, no words. He pictured Tino’s sneakers by the door, a space where they weren’t. He put his pack on. “We should go,” he said, not unkind. “We’ll… bring him a message, if we see him.” Her chin dipped. “Tell him—” She stopped, tried again. “Tell him his mother knows how to boil water and wait.” They nodded. At the threshold she added, almost to herself, “Up there, the lines they drew on paper don’t reach. That’s all I’m saying.”

Both Kai and Liliani were about to leave the house when Lil pulled out her phone and texted the group chat. “Tino, we just stopped by your place. We’re coming out your way soon.” Send. From down the hall, a ringtone went off—Tino’s favorite theme from his show, Invaders of the Spaceship. The chime was unmistakable. Liliani’s head snapped up. Her breath thinned. Why would Tino leave his phone? “Excuse me, may I use the restroom before we head out?” she asked. Kai straightened his posture, bracing himself. Whatever was going on with Tino, he was going to fix it. “Of course, dear,” Tino’s mom said warmly. “Just down the hall.” She walked Liliani toward the bathroom, then turned back into the living room with Kai. No way Tino would just leave his phone, she thought, catching herself in the bathroom mirror. What is going on here? Why isn’t she speaking clearly to us? Tino’s mom is hiding something. Her heart started to race. She reached into her jacket, feeling a little off-balance, and took a long inhale from her medication. The edge came down. Her breathing settled. She pulled her phone back out and texted one more time. “Tino?” From the hallway, that same ringtone answered. She flushed the toilet—never used—and ran the tap so the water covered any sound. Voices drifted from the living room: Kai talking with Tino’s mom. If she moved fast, she could make it into the bedroom next door. Her body decided before her brain did. She slipped out of the bathroom quietly, leaving the faucet running. She watched the rhythm of the conversation in the other room, waited for the right moment, then slid into Tino’s room and shut the door behind her. She was in. The room carried him in its corners—show posters curling, socks like small moons, the phone stranded on the dresser, like it had been placed there and abandoned mid-thought. None of this made sense. Why would he leave this here? And if his dad’s sick, why would his mom let him just go up there alone? She slipped the phone into her jacket. On the nightstand, there was a small framed photo of her and Kai. She stopped, thumb brushing the corner of the frame. “Aww, I love you too, Tino,” she whispered. “We’re coming for you.” A sound from the living room—chairs shifting. She froze, then moved. She peeked into the hall, judged her timing, then darted back into the bathroom. She shut off the running water, unlocked the door, and walked out like nothing had happened. By the time she hit the living room, Kai already had his jacket on. “Ready?” Kai asked. “Yeah,” she said. “We should go if we’re gonna make the best use of the light.” Tino’s mom watched her a little too closely. “You find everything you need, dear?” “Me?” Lil blinked, all innocence. “Yes. Thank you. I just really had to go.” “Okay then,” Tino’s mom said, warm again, smiling. She walked them to the door. Outside, the air hit immediately—thin drizzle, the kind that never really turns into rain but still settles in your clothes. The cold tasted like iron and cedar. The leaves had already turned—rust red and deep orange splashed along the ditches, wet and stuck to the gravel. The sky sat low. The whole stretch of land felt quiet and held, like hands cupped around a candle.They called these lands “blessed,” a word that kept the questions quiet. Kai leaned in close once they were off the porch. “Hey, did that feel weird back there?” Lil shrugged. “What do you mean, Kai?” “Why did she make Tino do this on his own? She knows his old man’s not well.” Liliani looked at him. “You know what else felt weird back there?” Kai’s face shifted. He thought she was about to drop something big. He tilted toward her. She pulled Tino’s phone out of her pocket.“Tino would never—ever—leave his phone behind.” she said. Kai stared. “Whoa. You’re right. She was hiding something.” “You sure we shouldn’t call your dad to come give us a ride out there?” Lil asked. Kai actually laughed. “Are you kidding? The old man would be LIVID if he knew we were about to go outside jurisdiction to find our friend and see if there’s actually such a thing as a ‘wish’ or a ‘whistling man.’” He pulled the crisp twenty from his pocket. Not even five minutes later a cab rolled up, tires hissing on wet gravel. The driver looked mid-forties, hair brushed back, tired droopy eyes that didn’t match the restless energy under his skin. “Hello,” he said as the window came down. “Name’s Andy. I’ll be your cab driver. Where can I take you two lovely people today?” They climbed in. The cab was warm, close, smelling faintly like old coffee and pine air freshener. “A small dashcam under the mirror blinked a steady red; Andy tilted it a hair lower. ‘Insurance,’ he said.” “Hi,” Kai said. “I’m Kai, and this here is Liliani.” “Or Lil, for short,” she added. “Okay,” Andy nodded. “So Kai and Lil-for-short.” He paused, raised an eyebrow at her like he was teasing, then smiled again. Kai leaned forward between the seats. “We need to head out toward Glacier Parks.” Andy gave a low whistle. “You two want to go out that way? That’s right at the edge of the town lines. No service out there. You know that, right?” Liliani and Kai looked at each other and nodded. Mission was already decided. “Yes,” they both said. Seatbelts clicked. The car rolled out. The music hummed easy and low. Rain thinned to patter, then to nothing but damp road hiss under the tires. Kai’s head drifted back, and in a few minutes, he was asleep. Liliani slid Tino’s phone into her lap. Four-digit code. She didn’t hesitate: 6-7-6-7. Unlocked. Maybe there’s something here, she thought. “I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t life or death.” She opened his Notes. Folders: – Art Projects – Secret Crushes – Music – Life Goals – Vault (Secret Folder) “Secret Folder?” she whispered. Another passcode prompt. She tried 6-7-6-7 again. The phone buzzed back at her. “Too easy,” she muttered, then tried 7-6-7-6. Eureka. The first file: Dad’s Sickness – Oct 2, 2028 It read: So it’s been about 68 days since Dad let the family know he wasn’t getting any better. Too bad, considering he spent his whole life dedicated to the “Cause.” He did well to provide for us. Now what does he have to show for it? I shouldn’t feel so bitter about it, but what was the point of all those years in service to these lands? Next entry: Dad’s Sickness – Oct 5, 2028 You know at this point there really is no helping him. Mom’s been going nuts watching Dad turn into a corpse. She’s trying all these unconventional ways to nurse him back, but I know the truth. There is nothing that is going to make him better. I’ve been thinking about what Ms. Yazzie’s been teaching us in class. If I’m supposed to believe the Whistling Man made a wish that blessed these lands, it came at a cost. The factory Dad was working at apparently brings the stuff home. Like being around someone who smokes. So am I gonna get secondhand sickness? This is so messed up. I can’t tell Kai and Lil about this. I’ll just worry them and get them in trouble. If Dad were to go in at this point, Mom says they’d just put him down. Beyond the point of no return. Unless a wish does exist that could turn this around. Outside the jurisdiction. Next: Oct 11, 2028 Mom and I have been talking. Dad’s wheezing has gotten so bad, he’s got maybe only a few days. We could let him die like this… or I can go to the mountains and get me that wish. It’s not fair for this to happen to my dad. He was a good man. Never once yelled at my mom. Never beat her like the neighbor kid’s dad. My dad doesn’t deserve this. None of this is fair. Can’t even tell my friends about any of this. What for—drag them into danger? If I make this wish, it’ll be for all of us, though. Liliani swallowed, backed out of the phone, and slid it into her pocket. She fixed her eyes on the windshield and the gray stretch of road ahead. “Everything alright, Lil?” Andy asked without looking away from the road. “Not really, Andy,” she said. “I’m sorry to hear that.” “Andy,” she said quietly, “do you believe in wishes?” He took a slow breath, hands steady on the wheel. When he answered, his voice dropped into something honest. “Liliani,” he said, “I do believe in wishes. I believe in all of the magical things—if we’re speaking only truths here.” She couldn’t help it. She smiled. Just a little. It helped. The hum of the tires shifted as the gravel started under them. They’d reached the border—where the town’s paved mercy ended and the raw land began. The car rolled for a few more moments, then eased to a stop. Kai blinked awake. “Thanks for the lift, Andy. You’ve been a great help.” Kai leaned forward and handed him the crisp twenty. Andy folded it into his jacket pocket. “Now hey,” Andy said, glancing between them, “I don’t know how long you’re planning to be out here, but it’s beautiful out this way. I can enjoy myself a few hours—smoke, read my book. Go do whatever it is you’ve got to do.” Liliani and Kai both smiled, full of gratitude. They stepped out into the cold air. They watched the cab settle back, headlights dimming but not leaving. Then they turned toward the tree line and started up the mountain trail.It didn’t feel ominous—not like the old stories or the schoolbooks promised. They moved deeper into the mountainside. Trees rose tall enough to scrape the low gray sky, branches layered so thick the light came down in pieces. The dirt under their shoes kept giving way to soft pockets of mud. Liliani was the first to break the quiet. “While you were nodding off in the cab,” she said, “I managed to find something interesting in Tino’s phone.” Kai stopped. “Liliani—how could you go through his phone?” “I know, but it’s an eme—” “How could you go through it without waking me up so I could help?” he snapped. She laughed, because that was him. “Anyway,” she said, “what I read in Tino’s notes raises some concerns. He was trying to keep all of this as secret as possible.” “Probably because he knows that if word got out,” Kai said, “they’d just end up putting his dad down like an old dog.” “I thought that too,” she said. “But there was more. Tino said maybe his dad’s illness was contagious. Like secondhand smoke. Be around it long enough, and it starts to get in you.” Kai’s jaw flexed. “So he was trying to keep us out of it. Classic Tino—thinking he doesn’t need help. We always end up where we need to be anyway.” Liliani nodded. They watched the light the way you watch a wick, measuring how long it had left. “In the notes,” she said quietly, “he said he was coming up here to the mountains to find the wish.” They started climbing harder now. The trail tipped up and the mud thickened, but both of them had come prepared. Good shoes. Layers. Nerves half-set, half-shaking. They reached their first ridge and both exhaled at the same time. The sun sat low. Two hours, maybe less. “Sure was nice of Andy to wait down there for us,” Kai said, looking back toward the tree line below. “But we might be out here longer than he’s got in him. These lands are really outside our jurisdiction. I don’t see why that’s such a big deal. This used to be ours anyway. Belonged to our people.” He dug into his pack and handed her a snack. She bowed her head in thanks before taking it. “The strange part,” Liliani said between bites, “is that every school textbook we’ve ever had warned us how dangerous these mountains were. The Chosen One even cut off help to this side, like we weren’t allowed to come here. But why so much fear if this was always part of our land?” “It’s almost like the story doesn’t line up,” Kai said. “Like we’ve been lied to our whole lives. Or at least not given the full truth.” “Why the cover-up, though?” she whispered. “Our town has overcome so much. But if even one part of this story isn’t what it seems, then maybe the whole thing falls apart.” Kai nodded once. “The lore says the very first Chosen One was a mage who lived in these mountains. He had the power to move mountains, grant impossible things, even bend reality. Any wish, for the taking. When our founder climbed up here, he made his wish. But it came at a cost.” He looked out over the trees. “The whistle took everyone who wouldn’t be able to ‘prosper’ in the new town,” he said. “The mountain swallowed them.” Liliani swallowed. “And he did it all with a whistle.” Tino’s mom’s voice curled back into her ear. “She said something,” Liliani murmured. “Back at the house. She told us to stay off the trails that sing.” Kai frowned. “You think she meant the whistling?” They drank water and finished off a strip of jerky from Kai’s pack. Then they kept going. The trail itself wasn’t confusing—there was really only one main path to follow—but every step pushed them deeper into land that was no longer marked on any map. Past jurisdiction. Past help. The farther they went, the more it felt like walking off the page. Time mattered now. Tino’s dad didn’t have much left. If the sickness took him, there wouldn’t be anything to save. That urgency hummed in both of them. They worried for Tino. For different reasons. To Kai, Tino was a brother. To Liliani… it was maybe a little more than that. Either way, love sat at the center of why they were still walking. They reached the second rise. “Phew,” Kai said, hands on his knees. “We’re actually pretty good hikers, you know that? I’m gonna take a quick pee around that bend. One minute.” “Sure thing,” Liliani said. She found a decent-sized rock and sat. The view opened up just enough to pull the breath out of her. Trees spread below like a quilt—reds and burnished oranges smeared against the darker green. The light had that late-day gold on it, the kind that only lasts an hour and then it’s gone. She could barely make out the edge of the forest and, far beyond that, the thin hairline of the road that would take them back home. For a second, it almost felt safe. “Kai?” she called. “Everything good?” “Liliani,” he yelled back, voice sharp, “holy crap. Check this out.” “Okay, but put it away first,” she called back automatically. “Just hurry,” he said. “You are not going to believe this.” She followed his voice through a screen of brush. The air felt different here—colder, quieter. The light thinned. The sound of the forest seemed to pull back, like even the insects were listening. “What is this place?” she whispered. They had stepped into a clearing. All around them: stones. Not random. Arranged. Some large, some the size of a hand. Each one was marked—etched, carved, lined with symbols neither of them had ever been taught. Runes. Old language. Older than what they were given in school. Had that much really changed in only three generations? Maybe that was the true power of the wish. Not just roads and clinics. Erasure. “I think…” Kai swallowed. “I think these are all the people the whistle took. The night our village changed forever.” Liliani stared at the stones. “This was the cost. They all came here to die. Everyone who wouldn’t ‘fit’ into the new town.” Her eyes caught on a cluster near the base of a stump—tiny stones grouped together, each one marked with a smaller, careful hand. “Kai,” she whispered. “Even the children. Even the ones who were… different.” Kai’s mouth tightened. “Your doubts about our town’s history,” she said softly, “they’re not just doubts. You were right.” “Oh yeah,” he breathed. “When I get back, I’m gonna let my old man know I was right. The Whistling Man—the Chosen One’s wish—it all came at a cost, and we’re still paying it.” “There’s something else,” Liliani said. “In Tino’s notes—he said the factory where his dad worked is what made him sick. That place employs half our town.” Kai let out a low, angry sound. “Our town looks prosperous, but it’s a scam. And the Chosen One knows. He thinks nobody’s gonna figure it out.” They started taking pictures of the stones—wide shots, then close-ups of the carvings. Proof. Evidence. Anything they could bring back that couldn’t be argued away. “This mission hasn’t been a complete bust,” Kai said quietly. “At least we found something real.” Liliani nodded. That’s when they heard it. The quiet clatter of loose rock somewhere uptrail—a few hundred feet off. Movement. Not wind. They froze, then moved toward it. “Maybe it’s Tino,” Kai whispered. They stepped around a curve in the trail and saw it. At first it didn’t look real. A flash of pale metal slipping up a near-vertical slope like it was nothing. A creature climbing with total ease, hooves clicking softly from ledge to ledge. It paused long enough for them to see its eyes—wide, luminous, silver-blue, alert in a way that felt almost human. A second one appeared, stepping out from behind a boulder and joining the first. Both watched the kids without fear. “Silver goats,” Liliani breathed. “That part is true. Just like the stories.” Her voice had a tremor in it now—fear and awe braided together. “Which means,” she said, “if the legends are right, we’re close to the wishmaker.” “Kai,” she whispered. “What do we do? The light’s almost gone. If we’re lucky, Andy’s still waiting for us down there.” Kai watched the goats until they slipped higher, out of sight. “I was hoping to find Tino today,” he said. “But we’re no use to him if we get ourselves lost or twisted out here in the dark. Let’s head back to my place. We’ll come out first thing in the morning. We know the route now. We can do it faster with sleep.” He pulled out one last Ziploc from his bag—chocolate chip cookies, almost forgotten at the bottom. They split them, laughing a little at how good something that stale could taste. The goats stayed at the ridge as they started back down, like sentries. Watching. By the time they made it to the drop site, both of them were mud up to the calves and bone-tired. The sky had gone from gold to steel. Andy was still there. The cab sat tucked just off the road. Driver’s seat reclined. Andy jerked upright when they opened the back door. “Whoa,” he said, rubbing his face. “Good to see you two. I was just taking a quick nap.” “Thanks for waiting for us, Andy,” Liliani said. “You’re a real one.” “Oh, shucks,” he said, grinning. “I enjoyed my time out here. Nature really sings up here. Plus the nap was a delight.” The ride back was smooth and quiet. Kai and Liliani leaned back, eyes half-closed.. When Andy dropped them off, Kai shook his hand with gratitude. “No problem,” Andy said. “Call me again if you need a lift out there. You two shouldn’t be all the way out there by yourselves anyway.” He pulled away. Kai and Liliani stood in the settling dark for one last moment, both of them holding what they’d found. Then they went inside Kai’s house.

We had barely made it through the door before it started buzzing on the table, like it was trying to remind us what we were doing here. I flipped it face down. That’s when Senior noticed the boots. He didn’t say anything at first. He just stood there in the entryway, eyes flicking from the front mat to the trail of half-dried mud leading toward the kitchen. His jaw tightened. Senior had always been loyal to the town. Loyal to the work. Loyal to the Chosen One’s “vision.” He wasn’t one of the factory guys, either—not like Tino’s dad. Senior had an office badge and a button-up shirt and a way of talking that made him useful to people with clipboards. I called it being an “office shmooze.” I’d tell the guys that just to get a rise out of him. He took himself too seriously. Tonight I was about to push him right up against that edge. The house smelled good. The light in the dining space was low—just the hanging bulb above the table and the stove light from the kitchen. Shadows pooled in the corners. Our place wasn’t fancy or anything like that, but we weren’t hurting. Senior worked hard for that. That was the part I never said out loud. He worked his ass off. Which is why he worshiped this town. Why he’d get heated at holidays and start in on what we “owed” the Chosen One. How the wish built everything we had. How we were blessed. No, Dad, I always thought. You did that. You. Not him. Hana was already setting the table. “Oh my goodness, would you look at you two,” she said, half-laughing, half-scolding. “So muddy. After dinner you’re welcome to wash up, Liliani. The guest towels are the blue ones.” “Aw, thank you, Hana,” Lil said. “You’re so kind.” “I’ll call the Home,” Hana added, smoothing a hand over Lil’s shoulder. “Let them know you’re with us so they’re not worried.” Lil loved being here. She’d never say it, but I could tell. Our house felt soft around her. Quieter than the Home. Safer. The Home was supposed to be a girls’ dorm for parents who bailed or “went up the mountain,” which everyone pretended wasn’t the same thing. This wasn’t that. The door opened again. Senior walked in. Stocky. Tie still on. Hair thinning at the crown. He wasn’t tall, but he moved like he liked the room knowing he was there. “Oh! Liliani. So good to see you.” His smile hit quick. “Wow. Look at you two. Must’ve had a whole day.” His gaze dropped to the boots by the door—torn-up mud, dried to a cracked red along the soles. His eyes stayed there a beat too long. Hana was already sliding his jacket off his shoulders, pulling him down by the tie just enough to kiss him soft on the mouth. “So good to see you,” she whispered. “Dinner’s almost ready.” I keep telling myself I’m happy for them, and it’s basically true. They’ve still got something good between them, even after everything this town burned out of everybody else. But then he grabbed her hip on his way past and squeezed and I almost choked. GROSS, I thought. That’s my mom. You weirdo. The smell from the kitchen got heavier, richer. Meat, root vegetables, something roasted slow. “Did you make my favorite?” Senior asked, already knowing. “Your favorite stew,” Hana said. “I went with bison this time.” The table felt warm for a minute. It was almost nice. Which meant it was about to go bad. We sat. Hana set a heavy bowl in front of each of us—stew thick with dark meat and squash and wild rice, steam curling up in slow, damp ribbons. Next to that: skillet cornbread, split and buttered, with a deep blue crumb that broke under your thumb. “Alright,” she said softly. “Help yourselves to as much stew and cornbread as you’d like.” “So,” Senior said, casual like a test. “What exactly were you doing today, son? And aren’t we missing one? Where’s Tino?” Lil looked at me over her bowl, eyes wide, spoon halfway to her mouth. She didn’t say anything. “This stew is delicious, Hana,” she whispered instead. “Really hits the spot.” “Oh, I’m so glad, hun,” Hana said. “There’ll be plenty left over for you to take back to the Home.” I stalled with cornbread. Bought myself a few chews. Then I looked up at my dad. “Dad,” I said, “I’m gonna tell you something, and I need you to promise me you won’t freak out.” Senior leaned in, elbows folding onto the table. The overhead light caught the lines in his face, sharp and tired. “Kai,” he said, voice steady, “I won’t freak out. But I can’t promise I won’t be upset if you did something you weren’t supposed to. You know the rules we follow in this home.” He reached for the bottle of red sitting at the center of the table. Poured a glass for Hana. Poured one for himself. “Cheers, sweety,” he said, lifting his glass toward her. Then, to me: “Alright, Kai. Out with it.” “Fine,” I said. “But you should already have an idea of where I’m going with this.” His eyebrow shifted, just a hair. “Oh really?” “It’s about this town,” I said. “Everything they taught us in school. Our dedication to the Chosen One’s big vision.” I made air quotes around “Chosen One,” because I was past pretending. “Dad, this whole town—sure, it’s given us everything we could want. I’ve been grateful to a point. But what if it all came at a cost? What if we weren’t supposed to have all of this?” Silence wavered across the table like heat. I watched him. Hana watched him. Even Lil slowed down. Lil took a bite of cornbread, partly because it was insanely good, partly because chewing gave you an excuse not to talk. “Kai,” Senior said finally, “we’ve been through this. Our town is where it is because of the Founder’s vision. The Chosen One’s vision. This infrastructure, these schools, the hospital, the stability—we have this because of him.” Same serious expression, same reverence. He took a long sip of wine. “Now enough of this nonsense,” he said. “You’re upsetting your mother.” “Kai,” Hana said quietly. “Don’t you play that card right now.” She wasn’t talking to me. Her tone hardened. She only called him by his first name when she meant it. Now you listen to your son, Kai. “Now you listen to your son,” she said, eyes on him. “He hasn’t told us everything yet. You don’t cut him off before you’ve heard the whole story.” Lil took another spoon of stew and followed it with cornbread. She was on her way to full and she looked like she hadn’t felt full in a while. I sat up straighter. “Dad,” I said. “I appreciate the work you’ve done. I do. You’ve done everything you can to provide for us. But I never once credited the Chosen One for that. You bust your ass every day.” He stared back, face unreadable. “But at least you’re safe,” I said. “I don’t think everyone that works under this town’s machine is okay.” The air thinned. Senior’s mouth tightened. He took another fast drink. “Now, Kai,” he said, warning in his voice. “That is enough.” He slammed his palm down once on the table. The bowls jumped. “My own son,” he said, louder now. “I come home after a long day of work, and you sit here blaming the same system I’ve dedicated twenty years of my life to. And you do it in front of a guest? Liliani, sweetheart, you shouldn’t even have to hear this.” Here it comes, I thought. “Would you stop interrupting me?” I said. “You asked about Tino earlier. You wanna know where we were today?” His eyes flicked up, sharp. “We were out there looking for him,” I said. “Outside the border. His dad—Hue—is sick as a dog. And by what Tino’s mom said, he’s as good as dead soon.” Senior’s face shifted. “What are you talking about? Hue was doing fine a few months ago. He just retired.” “Yeah, well, Old Man,” I said, “this is what I’ve been trying to tell you. The town isn’t perfect like the Chosen One wants you to believe. Something else is going on.” Lil spoke for the first time, soft. “It sounds like whatever work his dad was doing got him really sick. But only after he left. Like it followed him home.” I nodded. “Tino’s mom didn’t want anybody to know. And I think you know why, Dad.” Senior stared down at the rim of his glass. He didn’t answer. The room went so still it almost had a sound. For a second, it felt like the silence in the dining room had weight to it—like if you breathed too hard, it would shatter and cut everyone open. I went back to eating because at least that gave my hands something to do. Scoop of stew. Bite of cornbread. Chew. Swallow. My heart was going hard. “Take your time, Senior,” I muttered. Hana reached over and laid her hand on his shoulder, thumb slow against his shirt. “Is everything okay?” she asked. “Is there something to what our son is telling us, Kai?” By then Lil was on her second bowl. She didn’t even pretend to be delicate about it. She needed it. Her face had color again for the first time since afternoon. Senior didn’t look at either of them when he asked, “Kai, where were you today?” His voice sounded different. Not angry. Just tired in a way that made the skin around his eyes look older. “Lil and I went out to the border,” I said. “We went looking for Tino. Trying to find clues about this ‘wish.’ Trying to figure out what our town really is.” “Kai,” he said quietly, “I really wish you wouldn’t have gone out there without telling me. You know if you get hurt out there, no one will come for you.” “Well, we didn’t get hurt,” I said. “And you know what else? There are graves out there, Dad. Lots of them. Too many. I think that wish that everyone worships is still taking people. I think it’s still feeding on us. I think it’s making people sick.” He shot me a look then. Frustrated, but something else under it. Something like fear. Lil stuffed her third piece of cornbread into her mouth and washed it down with the soda water Hana had poured her like it was medicine. Senior swallowed hard. “Where is Tino now?” he asked. “We couldn’t find him,” I said. “We got as far as seeing some silver goats—like from the stories. We had to turn back because it was getting late.” I knew what I’d just admitted. Leaving the border without permission. Crossing into no-service land. Coming back caked in mountain mud. I was grounded, easy, for the next three months if he decided to play it that way. But none of that mattered anymore. My friend’s dad was dying. My friend might already be gone. Losing Hue would hurt, but losing Tino—Tino—that would break something in me and in Lil that wouldn’t fix. I looked straight at him. “Will you help us find him tomorrow?” The room held its breath. Hana slid her hand down from his shoulder and folded it over his knuckles. That tiny touch loosened something in his posture—like a knot letting go. Senior exhaled slowly. “Alright, Kai,” he said. His phone buzzed; he thumbed a quick reply and smiled like a box just got ticked. “You’re right. Maybe there is something going on here. At the very least, we’ve got to get out there and find your friend. Find Tino. First thing in the morning.” Hana smiled—a relieved, grateful smile—and leaned in to kiss his cheek before moving back toward the kitchen. The tension in my chest broke enough that I could actually taste my food again. “Thanks, Dad,” I said. “That’s all fine, Kai,” Senior said, pointing a finger at me. “But you still broke at least three rules today. We’re talking about that after we get Tino and Hue back. And if we have to, we’ll wrangle a few neighbors to help us.” Lil’s eyes jumped wide. “No,” I said immediately. “You can’t do that. If anyone finds out Hue is sick—or that Tino’s out there—they’ll both get in trouble. His whole family will.” Senior rubbed his forehead. “Kai, that’s a lot of ground to cover.” He blew out a long breath. “I’ll plan logistics tonight. Go get washed up. You use our shower,” he said, looking at me. “Liliani can use the one upstairs.” The rest of dinner blurred after that. About an hour later, after hot water and clean clothes, Lil and I were in the game room. We sat on opposite ends of the oversized couch, legs stretched out, the TV off. The only light in the room came from the hallway, so everything had that low amber edge. You could still smell stew in the air, just faint, mixed now with laundry soap and the sharp trace of Hana’s cedar tea cooling in the next room. “Dinner went better than I thought,” Lil said. “You’re telling me,” I said. “I was sure he was gonna lose it when I went at the Chosen One again. But I guess… after what you and I saw out there, it was enough to finally shake him.” “Yeah,” she said, softer. “He looked pretty surprised when you said ‘gravesite.’” “And how about those goats?” I said. “The stories are real. But is the magic real? Is there actually a wish?” Lil thought about what Andy had told her in the car. Andy, a grown man, still believing in magic like it wasn’t something to age out of. “Magic is for sure real,” she said finally. “And as long as we believe in it, so is that wish.” The house had gone quiet around us. Too quiet. No TV. No footsteps upstairs. No hum of Hana cleaning dishes. No clink of glasses. Just the low, distant pressure of night settling in. If you held still enough, you could almost swear you heard something under it. Not a sound exactly.. Like a note that hadn’t started yet, but was already there in the air. Waiting.

CHAPTER 7 The sound of Tino’s ringtone cut through the dark. “We are Space Invaders, the toughest in all the galaxy—Space Invaders, yeah!” Normally that would’ve cracked Liliani up. At 2:44 a.m., it just made her stomach knot. Caller ID: Mom. If she answered, Tino’s mom would know she had his phone. Liliani let it ring. Then the messages started. I know you took his phone. Lil stared at the screen. Was she talking to her? How could she know? The ringtone started again. Liliani silenced it fast. The room was still dark, her heart wasn’t. She sat up slow and whispered into the receiver. “Hello?” At first there was nothing. Just breathing on the other end. Too quiet, then deeper, like whoever was there had just remembered how to pretend to be human. “Ms. — Tino’s mom? Are you there?” Lil tried. The answer came back low and warped. “Why did you take—take—his phone, you little bitch.” The voice was hers and wasn’t. Something was sitting inside it. “I let you into my house and you rob me,” it said. “When I get my hands on you, you’re going to end up there in the cemetery with the others.” Liliani froze. It felt like the voice was coming from inside the room, not the line. “Kai,” she hissed, louder now. “Kai, wake up.” No answer. Her chest tightened. Kai was supposed to be on the couch. He wasn’t. “Kai?” she tried again. Nothing. The tension in the air shifted. It wasn’t just fear. It felt like being watched. Like the dark itself was paying attention. She slid off the couch and made her way down the stairs into the main living space. The house was almost entirely dark, lit only by the gray-blue spill of night through the windows. Everything sat perfectly still: the hanging plants; the stack of sports magazines on the coffee table; the old grandfather clock breathing its soft tick. She paused at a framed painting on the wall — a woman lifting a baby up toward the mountains, oil worked in dark pastels and buried light. “This one’s a little too weird for me,” she whispered, because her voice felt too loud in her own head. Then Tino’s phone lit up in her sweater pocket. She hadn’t even felt it buzz. The new message wasn’t from “Mom.” Unknown number. There was a video attached. Lil thumbed it open. The footage was of her and Kai walking into Tino’s house that morning. Angle low, like someone had filmed from across the street.“In the upper corner, a tiny red blink pulsed in a steady rhythm—exactly like the light on Andy’s dash.” “What is this?” she breathed. “Someone’s been following us?” Another video loaded — them hiking up into the mountains, the trees around them, Kai laughing once when he slipped in mud, completely unaware he was being filmed. “No, no,” she whispered. “This isn’t good.” A third clip. Them stepping through Kai’s front door, tracking mud into the entryway. “Whoever this is,” she said, swallowing hard, “they know where we are.” Her pulse kicked. She tried to breathe her way down — like Hana had shown her sometimes, in through the nose, count to four, hold — but her hands were shaking now. Someone had followed them. Watched them. Recorded them. And now wanted them to know. The camera work was close. Personal. Like whoever held it had been standing only a few feet away. Liliani forced herself toward the kitchen. She checked the back window and saw the moon hanging low and bright over the yard, too big, too white. A cold draft slid through the cracked frame. She shut it, locked it, caught a brief glimpse of herself ghosted into the glass. Somewhere upstairs: water running. Her stomach dropped. “Kai?” she called, louder. “Kai?” Footsteps. He stepped out of the bathroom and she jumped so hard her hand flew to her chest. “I didn’t know I was that scary,” he whispered, eyebrows up. “Don’t do that,” she whispered back. Her voice was shaking now, and he heard it. The joke left his face. “What happened?” She held the phone up between them and scrolled through the videos. He watched, jaw set. “This isn’t good,” he said quietly. “Why would someone care enough to follow us unless we’re getting close to something they don’t want us near?” “There’s something else,” she said. “I got a call. It said it was from Tino’s mom, but… it didn’t sound like her. She sounded angrier. Not normal. More like—” She swallowed. “Like something else was talking through her.” They moved fast after that. They rushed down the hall to Senior and Hana’s room. Kai didn’t bother knocking; he pushed the door open. Empty. No Hana. No Senior. No note. No voices in the bathroom. No water running in here. Just the bed still warm, the curtains half-open and moving in the draft. Kai stared for a second, like his brain wasn’t catching up to what his eyes were seeing. Then, quietly: “My folks are missing,” he said. “In the middle of the night.” Lil looked at him, then at the open doorway, then back at him. The fear in her finally had a shape. The car was still in the garage. They hadn’t driven anywhere. Someone — or something — had come into this house and taken two adults out of their own bed without a sound. Her phone buzzed again. Another unknown number. She and Kai read it together. the Whistling Man is coming back. Another message, immediately after: Rejoice, a new era to prosper. A final attachment. Video. Lil played it. Tino, on-screen, up in the mountains. The light said late evening. He had a small burner going, heating something in a dented pot. His shoulders looked wrecked with exhaustion. Coughing bled in from off-camera — harsh, wet, older. Hue. Tino ducked into a tent to bring something warm to his dad. Came back out rubbing his face like he hadn’t slept in days. He coughed then, too. Deep. Wrong. Not a cold kind of cough. The kind that sounds rooted. “Must be catching some kind of cold,” he muttered to himself, voice shredded. The video ended. Last message from Unknown: Abandoning a friend up on those hills. Some friends you are. They don’t have much longer. The room felt smaller after that. Lil and Kai just looked at each other. Whatever game this was, someone else was setting the rules. “I’m going,” Kai said. “I’m not letting you go alone,” Lil shot back immediately. “This might be a trap,” he said. “Feels more and more like a setup. But if we get to Tino — if we get to the wish — before they do, then there’s still a chance.” “Trap or not,” she said, voice low and steady now, “Tino is family.—we go. We’re not leaving him up there. And I’m not letting you play hero by yourself.” She tried to punch his shoulder lightly, like this was still normal and they were still just them. The contact shook a little. Kai moved. He headed for the kitchen, grabbed the keys from the little clay tray Hana always kept by the fruit bowl, and they slipped into the garage. Lil hesitated. “Kai, you only have a learner’s permit right now.” “Yeah,” he said, unlocking the driver’s side. “But this is an emergency.” He tried to grin. “Besides, I can almost drive this thing without stalling.” “Stalling,” she repeated, looking down at the clutch. She blinked at him. “Oh, Kai. You’ve got to be kidding. You don’t drive stick.” “I do,” he said. “Just… not often.” The car lurched out of the driveway in violent little bursts — jerk, stall, breath, restart, jerk, stall — until finally he found the rhythm and the engine caught. They rolled forward. The neighborhood lights slid away behind them. Houses dark. Streets empty. No witnesses, no watchers — or maybe only watchers. By the time they neared the border, there were no more porch lights. No more town glow. Just the road, the dark, and the two of them.Everything familiar fell back; the road ahead felt wrong the way it does when the border’s behind you and the only rule left is walk forward. They hit the road—moon hanging fat and pale above the black ridge, mountain air threading cold through the car’s vents. Tires whispered over damp asphalt; here and there, leaves skittered across the lane with a dry, papery scrape. Twenty minutes to the town’s edge if the engine held and Kai kept the stalls away. “Are you sure about taking your dad’s car?” Liliani asked. “What other choice do we have, Lil?” Kai kept his eyes forward, hands tight at ten and two. “There’s no time—Tino’s up there, and now Senior and Mom are missing. This town knows we’re close to cracking it open. Someone—or something—knows what we’re doing.” She watched his jaw work. The lie of calm. The throb of fear. Her fingers worried the zipper on her jacket, metal teeth clicking softly. “There was a call,” she said. “Back in the house. It said Tino’s mom, but then it… it sounded like a monster. I think she’s sick too.” Kai nodded without looking away from the road. “Like a monster,” he echoed. “If the town found out, they’d put the whole family down. No sickness here—that’s the rule. What else, Lil?” “That’s just it,” she whispered. “They would put Tino’s whole family down. I think this town has rules about who gets to stay, and that’s why there’s no sickness. The ones who get sick… disappear.” The zipper stilled. She swallowed. “I think the Whistling Man took my mom when she got sick.” Kai’s hands tightened on the wheel. “I was little,” Liliani said. “She told me the treatment would work. She had faith—the kind that makes you gentle even when you’re in pain. She believed the Chosen One would take care of her. That the ‘fruit of this town’ would help.” Outside, the shoulder narrowed, brush closing in, the night pressing closer to the glass. “When she didn’t get better,” Lil continued, “she got up from the hospital bed. I tried to stop her.” Her voice thinned, but it didn’t break. “Please, Mom, don’t go,” she said softly, as if the car could carry the words back in time. “I pulled at her leg, but I was just a kid.” The melody had started quiet, far away—everyone always said that part the same. A line of sound you could almost mistake for a draft under the door. Then it gathered itself, drew nearer, and arranged into notes. Into a whistle. “In the hall,” she said, “other patients started walking. The sickest ones. And not just sick—people the town calls ‘unique,’ the ones who don’t fit easy. They moved like they’d heard their names from far off.” The wipers scraped once, clearing a mist that wasn’t there. Kai’s breath fogged faint on the windshield before the defrost caught it. “It felt like a dream,” she said. “No—like a nightmare that knew my name. In the morning, the nurses told me my mom had passed in the night. But now I think that was one more lie this town paints over the truth. I think I saw what really happened.” The car hummed, steady now. Moonlight silvered the hood; the road unspooled like a ribbon tugged from a dark throat. Kai exhaled through his nose, low. “We’re going to find Tino,” he said. “And if there’s a wish—if any of that is real—we use it before the town uses us.” Liliani nodded, small and final. Outside the windows: branches crowding close, the crunch of blown leaves, the world narrowing to twin beams and the next turn. The town’s edge was coming. So was whatever waited beyond it.

CHAPTER 8 A cab idled at the mouth of the estate, headlights bleaching the iron gate. Andy leaned out his window and jabbed the call button. “Hey—let me in already. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t worth your while.” A beat of static. Then the intercom: “This had better be good.” The gate slid open. Andy parked the cab outside the main steps. He raised a fist to knock; the door opened first. The man in the frame was tall, jaw tight, eyes so steady it felt like they’d been watching longer than anyone had been alive. “Chosen One,” Andy said, already angling for a grin. “Thanks for seeing me. This’ll be worth your time. It’s about those brats I mentioned earlier. You got the messages?” “Of course,” the Chosen One said. “And I congratulate your… dedication. But a couple of kids leaving our wonderful town is their problem, not mine.” He let a smile slide over his face like a shadow and turned.Andy fell in a step behind him. “I trust this isn’t the only reason you’ve bothered me this late,” the Chosen One added. “It’s not.” Andy’s voice sharpened. “Those kids—went back outside the border. They believe the legends. They actually think there’s a wish. And they’re looking for it. Went out again tonight. I think they’re getting close. All because that kid Tino’s old man didn’t die in one of our hospitals like he was supposed to.” He exhaled, jaw ticking. “So… is this wish real?” They reached a low-lit sitting room. The Chosen One uncorked a cut-glass bottle—dark orange liquor—and poured two short measures. He handed one to Andy. “You did the right thing coming,” he said, studying Andy over the rim. “You asked if there’s such a thing as a wish. I’ll answer that for you.” He set his glass down, stretched once like a man easing into a coat. The ease dropped from his voice. “Why don’t you take a hike now, Andy.” Andy blinked. “What did you say to me?” The Chosen One whistled—just a few notes, quick and precise. Then silence. Andy’s anger drained. His shoulders slackened. He turned without a word, walked back through the open door, and stepped into the night as if following a thread only he could see. A phone began to ring on a side table. The Chosen One answered. “Hello. I’m in the middle of something.” He paced into the kitchen, listening, eyes on the dark window. “I was already headed that way,” he said at last. “I’ll see you soon.”

.CHAPTER 9

Kai pulled onto the gravel road as it turned to dirt and parked the car. They sat a beat in the dark, listening—the tick of the cooling engine, their breath, the wind slipping through the trees. The lot felt watchful without giving a reason.

They stepped out. The only sounds were their breathing and the wind as it rustled the trees. Kai and Liliani found the trail. Their movements were quicker, the flashlight catching each step before they took it. Switchbacks arrived sooner than they remembered, cairns came early, and the spaces between landmarks felt folded, as if the mountain wanted them through.

They arrived at their first summit. “This is still faster than when we were out here earlier,” Liliani said. “I noticed that too,” Kai said.

They kept going and soon reached the place they had found before—near where the silver goats watched and the burial ground began. “This is it, Liliani. We made it,” Kai said.

Stillness.

“Yeah, but do you hear that?” she whispered. She placed a finger on Kai’s lips, shushing him.

They heard a cry, and coughing. They followed it into a thick fog that lay across the mountainside, watching their steps as they entered the grounds of the dead. “Hello—Is somebody there?” Kai called. “Tino? Is that you?” Liliani asked.

The cry continued, and so did the cough—then stopped.

A lull.

“Liliani, stay close,” Kai murmured under his breath.

He stood there in the fog, inhaling and exhaling, the cold of the night in his chest.

The crying stopped. “Kai, Liliani?” the voice whispered back.

They recognized it anywhere. It was Tino. His eyes were droopy, spent—the look of someone the mountain had scraped thin. Tears tracked the edges of his face. Relief flickered when he saw them, but it was already late. He sniffled, then coughed—a rough, wrong cough that hadn’t been there at school last week.

“I’m so happy to see you two,” Tino said.

Liliani wrapped him up. Kai stepped in. The warmth of it held for a breath, then something colder settled around the edges.

“Tino, what happened out here? Why are you crying? Where’s your dad?” Kai asked.

At the word dad, Tino’s eyes filled again. “Oh, Kai… he was sick. He isn’t now—because he’s dead. The mountain is keeping him now, it’s not fair. I should’ve kept him off the trail”

Liliani wiped his cheeks with her sleeve.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything,” Tino said. “I thought if I came out here and made a wish, I wouldn’t have to drag you into this.”

“We wandered the trail, stayed outside jurisdiction,” he went on. “Dad was supposed to get better. Before we left, Mom told me to stay off the trails that sing. Like a whistle in the night—he followed it. Once he heard it, there was no stopping him. He came to this burial ground, and the land took him. He breathed once more, and that was it.”

“I don’t even know what I’m going to say to Mom,” he whispered. “I don’t know if her heart can bear it.”

“Tino,” Liliani said, cutting in, “Kai and I are here with you. We’d already planned to come out here before we even knew about your dad’s sickness. We would never turn our backs on you.”

“She’s right,” Kai said. “There still might be time. If the wish is real, maybe we can stop the whistle before it takes anyone else.”

Tino swiped at his face. “I love you two. Thanks for being with me.”

Kai patted his back, hand heavy.

“I don’t think we have much time,” Liliani said. “Someone might have followed us. We can’t forget those messages—they’ve been watching.”

“In my time out here I figured something out,” Tino said. “Something that might help us stop the Chosen One—and whoever’s with him.”

“Kidding me?” Kai said. “That’s huge. I should’ve known you’d crack something with the time you’ve had. Smart as ever.”

“Don’t celebrate yet,” Tino said. “Follow me.”

He set his palm on his father’s burial, then led them down a narrow path off the main trail. At first: only more trees, leaves, dark. Then—a sound.

“This is it,” he whispered. “We’re on the other side of the mountain.”

The goats appeared—silver, luminous. A small herd. Their presence felt like pressure and light at once.

“They’re so beautiful,” Liliani breathed, her eyes slipping toward a gentle trance.

“Yeah,” Tino said. “It’s the only herd I’ve seen, but they watch the whole mountain.” He led them farther. The goats turned away, as if deciding the kids were no harm.

They came to a shrine carved from a living trunk and slipped into the dark.

“Try not to get spooked,” Kai said, “but I think there’s someone there.”

A figure sat with a black robe draped over its head, the darkness making it hard to tell who hid beneath. Tino held back while Kai and Liliani edged forward. Kai flicked his light.

A skull stared back.

“Not every day you see a skeleton in a robe,” he exhaled.

“Looks less like Death and more like a warning.”Liliani said.

“Not quite,” Tino said. “Not in the traditional sense.”

He pointed left. Kai swept the beam across the wood.

Carvings.

People from another time—native to the land. Then the earth failing, not enough to eat. The beam moved right: fighting within the village, their own against their own. Then the dead among famine and war. A cross-like mark. A boy climbs the mountain. He makes his wish. Musical notes cut into the grain—the Whistling Man’s tune, the Chosen One’s power.

“That’s it,” Kai said. “What does it mean?”

“It means the power is real,” Liliani said. “Which means the wish has to be real too.”

“Kai, shine higher,” Tino said.

At the top: a child at an altar; a goat offering its magic.

“That’s it,” Tino said softly. “The wish is real—and it isn’t free. It comes at a price. A sacrifice.”

“A sacrifice?” Liliani asked. “Like dying?”

Tino started coughing harder, something dark in his hands. “If we’re going to jump at stopping the Whistling Man, it’s going to cost something.”

“We’re betting everything on carvings, Tino?” Liliani asked.

He coughed again, weaker. “Listen—I’m as good as dead anyway.”

“What if this doesn’t work?” she asked.

“I think it always has,” Kai said. “The man in the robe—he was the last sacrifice. The Whistling Man, the Chosen One—the cost is a life, and it’s more than that.”

“The Whistling Man dies, and a new one is born,” Liliani said.

Tino’s face changed—pieces clicking into place. “Then it’s in their eyes. You have to make the deal with the goats.”

Cold gathered. A voice threaded the dark.

“This way, Kai! Kai, can you hear me?”

Kai looked between Tino and Liliani. “That’s my dad. No doubt. He’s okay—he found us. Dad, we’re over here!”

He shouted. The goats kept watching.

They met Kai’s father in the trees—Senior—silver light from the herd still faintly on everything.

“Kai, you had me worried,” Senior said. “Liliani, I should’ve known you’d be here too.”

“Dad, we looked for you, but you were gone,” Kai said. “There’s something else—the Whistling Man, the Chosen One—he’s the same person. The whistle still takes people. Our town… our town is a lie!”

“Kai,” Senior said, low, “what did I tell you about shitting on our town? There’s a reason we have so much. The Chosen One provides. My work gave us that house, the car you stole tonight, the college you’re going to get, and it’s paying for your mother’s and my retirement.”

“Dad, this town is making people sick on purpose. And you’ve always known, haven’t you?”

“We’ll talk later, son. For now we’re going home.” He glanced at Liliani. “I’m disappointed you came out here with him. I expected better.”

“That’s not fair, sir,” Tino said. “It’s my fault. They’re out here because of me.”

Senior grabbed Kai’s hand and pushed past.

“Are you even going to listen to him?” Kai said, yanking free and stopping in the trail.

“I don’t have time for this, Kai,” Senior said.

“The wish is real,” Tino pleaded. “Please—listen to them. They’re telling the truth.”

He stepped in front of Senior—close, face to face—and just when it seemed Senior would answer, he kept walking.

Right through him.

Like a ghost.

Liliani and Kai looked from Senior to Tino.

“Dad—Tino’s right there,” Kai said, panic rising. “You see him, right?”

“Tino,” Liliani whispered.

Light slid across his skin—thin, translucent. His lungs heaved. He bent, coughed, glanced at his reflection in a puddle. He looked like he had died a day ago.

They looked up.

Tino was gone, he simply vanished. 

Senior had never seen him at all.

Chapter 10

“Dad, you never stop to listen to me,” Kai said. “It’s like you don’t have ears.”

Senior stopped. For a moment he really looked at his son—saw himself there—and instead of getting angry, he laughed.

“You’re still grounded when we get back,” he said.

Behind him, Kai caught Liliani pointing toward the silver goats. The herd watched—almost expectant. He noticed the smallest one. If they ran, it would be easy to reach.

He could make the wish. Change everything. He understood the price.

“Senior, is that you?” a voice called.

“Yeah,” Senior answered. “Thank you for coming out.”

The Chosen One stepped from the dark. He looked at Kai. “So this must be why I call your dad Senior,” he said, like a joke meant to impress.

“And you must be the reason people go missing,” Kai shot back, anger riding the grief in his eyes.

Liliani began to cry.

“And this must be—” the Chosen One started.

“That’s his friend, Liliani,” Senior said quickly. “A good kid, just like Kai.”

The Chosen One knelt—still tall enough to tower over her. “Dear, why do you weep?”

“My friend Tino,” she said. “He was stolen. He got sick. His dad brought it home.”

“And you’re the cause of all this,” Kai said. “You were supposed to take care of the people. Now our friend is gone.”

The Chosen One arranged his face into concern. The goats watched, listening, waiting.

“I see your concern,” he said softly, tracing a cross over his chest. “I feel deeply for your loss. I am truly sorry. Senior, I have a question for you.”

Senior straightened. “Yes, sir. What is it?”

“We’re outside the town’s jurisdiction, aren’t we?”

“Yes. Sir?”

He turned to the kids. “Did you pay attention in school? The jurisdiction—the lines—they exist for a reason. Three reasons. What are they?”

They stared at him, unwilling to play along.

“Save the lesson; I’m not your student.” Kai spat.

The Chosen One clicked his tongue. “Very rude—and unoriginal.” His eyes slid to Liliani. “You seem like a smart girl. What are the three reasons we have these lines—these borders?”

Liliani’s breathing spiked. She dug for her inhaler, gasping—heavy, quick. Panic rose.

“She needs her inhaler,” Kai said.

“Did I scare her?” the Chosen One murmured. “No inhaler needed. I can calm her.”

A quick note darted from his lips. Liliani’s body softened; her breathing steadied. She sank to the ground.

“Now,” he said, turning back to Kai, “I think we’ve misunderstood each other. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I came to make a deal with you, son. I want out. I’m done. I don’t want to live. I’ve been watching you for some time. I know everyone’s business—this is my town, and you are the kid I want for this job”

He breathed, tired. “I don’t want this anymore. I’ve had families—wives across different times. I’ve traveled outside and seen the sights. I’ve watched people I love die. No one is grateful for this job. If you think you can do it better, then by all means.”

“I want my friend back,” Kai said. “Bring Tino back to us”

A small smile flickered and vanished. “I’m afraid even these powers can’t bring back the dead,” the Chosen One said. “Not here, outside the safety of our town. The rules we have? I put them there for a reason. They aren’t arbitrary. They uphold safety and value, yes—but these borders also keep us separate from the fate of those who rest in these mountains.”

He gestured toward the ridge. “Your friend Tino, his father who passed here, everyone else who passes up here—they become part of the mountain. These goats aren’t just wishmakers; they’re gatekeepers between us and those who’ve moved on.”

“I saw him,” Kai said. “My friend was here.”

“I have no reason to lie to you,” the Chosen One replied. “I want out. I’m ready.”

“I’ll make the deal,” Kai said. “I’ll become the new Whistling Man.”

The words rang in the night, in the Chosen One’s ears—the words he’d longed to hear.

“That’s splendid,” he said, brightening. “Isn’t that splendid, Senior?”

“My own son—the next Chosen One?” Senior beamed. “I couldn’t be more proud. See? I told you he would agree. ‘Do you think all those civics talks and “walk forward” drills were for nothing? I made sure the right people saw you.’”

The words dropped into Kai like a stone. “You knew he wanted this?”

“This is the honor of a lifetime,” Senior said. “I only kept it from you until now.”

“You could never tell me the whole truth,” Kai said. “Always fragments.”

Senior drew breath to snap back, but the Chosen One cut in. “Your father has the town’s best interest at heart,” he said. “That’s why he chose you. That’s why I’m choosing you. I trust this choice. It’s what you want, isn’t it?”

For a moment Kai looked at Liliani—sleeping, breathing slow—to make sure she was okay. “I agree to the deal,” he said, suddenly certain.

“Fantastic,” the Chosen One said. “You’ll do a fine job. I believe in you.”

“I agree,” Kai said, “but I want to see Tino one more time. You can do that, can’t you? What good is this power if it can’t even do that?”

The Chosen One weighed it, so close to handing off the burden. “I’ll do this for you,” he said at last. “What the hell—of course I can.”

The goats stood like sentries, waiting.

Kai and Senior watched, barely breathing.

“How exciting,” Senior whispered. “We get to see him work up close.”

The Chosen One went very still. The night held. He whistled. The tune was melancholy and slow. Wind carried it. The goats’ eyes slid to silver static.

Senior froze—perfectly still.

“What are you doing to him?” Kai asked.

The whistle threaded the dark.

“Stop,” Kai shouted. “Let him go!”

It continued. Senior began to wither, his body puckering as if the whistle were drinking him dry.Then he collapsed inward—clothes folding into a quiet pile on the ground.

“Dad!” Kai cried.

The whistling stopped.

“What did you do to my dad?”

“I did what you asked,” the Chosen One said calmly, “and brought your friend back. Everything comes at a cost, Kai.The mountain never grants without taking a name. You’ll learn this.”

He pointed behind Kai.

A tiny silver goat stepped forward, nudged Kai’s hand—bright, beautiful, one he hadn’t counted.

Kai stared into its eyes. “Tino?”

The goat licked his hand.

“See?” the Chosen One said. “I brought back your friend. Quite the honor—to return like this, in that form. It’s eternal.”

The forest watched. The herd stood entranced, ready for what was coming.

“Are you ready, Kai?” the Chosen One asked. “Look into your friend’s eyes. Make the wish. Bring prosperity to the people and live in richness. Say it: ‘I choose to become the Whistling Man.’ That’s all you have to do.”

Kai locked onto the goat’s gaze. The head dipped—Tino still remembered him. Silver eyes like static. The forest light drifted toward purples and pinks.

“I choose—” he began.

The Chosen One’s smile stretched wide, ready to welcome death at last.

“I choose to become—”

He threw his arms to the sky, laughing. “Yes, Kai. Make the wish. Send me to that eternal slumber.”

“I choose to walk forward without becoming you.”Kai said.

The Chosen One stopped. “What did you say to me?”

“Your services are no longer needed,” Kai said evenly. “If they ever were.” Kai had made his wish.

Startled—and somehow pleased by the boy’s defiance—the Chosen One faltered. Moments later, he collapsed into bones.

Kai ran to Liliani and shook her gently. Her eyes fluttered open.

“You’re okay?” she asked. “And Tino?”

“He’s right here, Lil,” Kai said, tears bright.

Tino nudged her hand. She held his head close. “Oh, Tino. I’m so sorry. We were too late.”

“It’s okay,” Kai said softly. “Tino will stay here in the mountains, keeping watch. We need to get back inside county lines.”

Tino joined the rest of the herd—no longer static-eyed, just soft light, bright illumination humming from their bodies.

Kai held Liliani as they turned toward the trail. “Goodbye, Tino,” he said.

He wiped his tears and started down the mountain.

Chapter 11 Epilogue

Morning light slid across the windows, catching a city that had learned how to gleam—new schools, clean glass on clinics, fresh roofs along streets that used to be dust. The bell rang.

Students spilled into their seats, backpacks thumping, paper shuffling. A few groaned. A few grinned. Several dug for what they hoped they hadn’t forgotten.

“Good morning, class. Thank you for being here,” Ms. Liliani said. “I trust everyone did their assignments and is ready to present.”

She paused. “Can anyone tell me why we’re presenting today—and what makes this day special?”

Hands rose. She nodded toward the front. “Daniel—go ahead.”

“Today is New Founders Day,” he said, proud. “It’s a day in recent history that let our town be recognized as Iron City. Only because of the New Founders Council’s decision to start over has our city been able to prosper.”

Another hand. “Soni?”

“It’s also important to remember why they started over,” she added. “After discovering the factories that powered our town were the same ones making people sick, the Council shut them down.”

“Very good, both of you,” Ms. Liliani said. “The Chosen One who came before had his own set of rules, and we suffered for it.”

The room quieted. Eyes fixed on her.

“It’s important to understand history,” she went on. “It helps us understand human behavior. In the end, even the strongest institutions crumble.”

A boy in the back raised his hand. She nodded.

“Does that mean Iron City will crumble one day?” he asked.

She smiled, considering the faces in front of her. “No,” she said gently. “Our institution is different from the rest. We have something the rest of the country doesn’t have.”

She looked out the window. Beyond the glass, the city moved with a low, technological hum—precise, practiced, running on the quiet discipline of a few short years under the New Founders Council. Everything operated meticulously.Policy carried the weight now; not notes.

Epilogue continued…

A cab pulled up to the estate as winter settled in. Snow began to fall in soft, steady flakes.

“It’s good to see you, sir,” the driver said as Kai slid into the back.

He still carried the whistle; the New Founders Council ran the city, and the town had never once heard it from him.

“It’s good to see you too, Andy. Outside city lines.”

“I suspected you might be going that way today, of all days.”

Kai smirked and looked out the window at icicles dangling from black branches. Andy drove carefully but without fear; snow didn’t bother him. Gravel became dirt. The cab eased to a stop.

Andy cracked the window and lit a smoke.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” Kai said. “I won’t take long.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Andy replied. “I’ve got nothing going on the rest of the day.”

Kai waved and headed up the trail.

An open meadow waited—thin birdsong, then mostly quiet.

He pulled off one glove, pressed two fingers to his lips, and sent out a quick note.

He only ever let the note live out here—beyond jurisdiction, for the mountain and the goats.

Hoofbeats gathered behind him.

A silver goat pressed its head against his torso.

“It’s good to see you, buddy,” Kai said, stroking the warm forehead. He pulled out the apple he’d brought and let the goat take it, the crunch loud in the cold.

“I have a favor to ask,” he said softly, meeting the animal’s gaze—those eyes like silver static.

The meadow held still: breath, snow, and the small sounds of winter carrying across the blank field