Chapter 2

Alena and Brian sat in their car, the girl lying silently across the backseat, wrapped in blankets that did little to hide the mud and blood. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but the road remained blocked by the fallen tree. Their other car could not pass through, so they waited in tense silence, hearts still hammering from the forest encounter. Every shadow near the treeline made Alena flinch.

Minutes later, headlights cut through the gloom. Their bodyguards had brought another car. Brian carefully lifted the girl into it, keeping her low, her weight surprisingly light. Alena climbed in after him, closing the door with a muted click, and they began moving again.

Somewhere in the shadows, two figures watched silently. Shapeless, like someone who shouldn't exist, shifted slightly, aware of everything happening in the car. They did not speak aloud, yet their argument filled the space like a whisper without sound.

“TSK.... she’s alive, and they took her,” one shadow said, sharp and cold.

“But shouldn’t you be happy that they took her?” the other replied, hesitant.

“I want her dead, to be honest,” the first shadow’s presence seemed to snap back.

“Come to your senses. She’s badly hurt because of us,” the second insisted.

“So what,” the first replied, flat and final.

Alena shivered, as if she saw something scary but there was no one. Only the tension in the air hinted that someone—or something—was observing, silent and intent.

The drive ended too soon. They arrived at the Emerson residence, the house quiet beneath the overcast sky. Brian rang the doorbell. Within moments, the girl was gently carried inside. Alena and Brian called the doctor immediately, explaining in hushed, urgent tones that she needed careful attention.

Minutes later, the doctor arrived. Alena and Brian hovered near the bed, watching every movement, every flicker of expression as he worked with calm precision. He checked vitals, examined wounds, and scrutinized the blood.

The front door opened suddenly, and a couple hurried inside.

“Why did you call us in such a hurry?” the woman asked, eyes wide with worry.

Without a word, Alena and Brian led the couple down the hall to the room where the girl lay.

Her parents froze the moment they saw her, shock replacing all words. The man’s hand went to his mouth; the woman leaned over the bed, trembling.

“What happened?” they whispered almost together.

Brian recounted everything—the forest, the rain, the fallen tree, the mud, the blood, how they had found her alone and unconscious, and immediately brought her home.

The doctor finally spoke. “Luckily, the blood isn’t hers,” he said, calm but measured. “That’s a relief, at least. But she is badly injured. It is impossible to predict when she will regain consciousness. It could be a day, a week, or even longer.”

A heavy silence filled the room. Relief mixed with fear. Her parents hovered, hesitant to touch the blankets, afraid of what they might discover.

Alena glanced at Brian. Neither spoke, but both shared the same thought: something about her—the forest, the blood, the night—was not adding up.

And outside, somewhere unseen, the two shadows shifted again, continuing their silent argument, aware of every heartbeat, every movement, every whispered word.

For now, she slept.

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