It’s been six months since Rob died. I was there. I saw it happen. And I did nothing.

Now, I’m walking through the frozen woods of northern Sweden with the only people who understand—Phil, Dom, and Hutch. We’re hiking Kungsleden in his memory, trying to find closure. But the trail feels wrong. The trees are too close. The silence is too deep.

Dom’s limping from a bad knee, and Hutch keeps pointing at carvings on the bark—runic, jagged, like something out of a nightmare. Earlier, we found that elk—gutted, hanging from a branch, eyes gone. No animal did that.

Phil says it’s scavengers. He doesn’t believe in curses. But I saw the way his hands shook when he looked at the symbols.

Now the fog’s rolling in, and the path behind us… it’s gone. Just trees. Endless trees.

Hutch turns to me, voice low: 'We shouldn’t have come this way.'

A whisper echoes through the pines—my name. Rob’s voice.

I know it is.

Something is watching us. Testing us.

And it knows what we did.