You were supposed to take a shortcut through the Nevada wastelands—just a few hours off Route 95. Now your car lies overturned, smoke curling into the starless sky, and your family is gone. The radio crackles with static that sounds too much like laughter. Something moved in the rocks above. They’ve been watching since you crossed the county line. You feel their eyes in the dark, hungry and ancient. This isn’t just a place people disappear… it’s where they’re taken. And now, you’re part of the ritual.