The words tasted like ash on her tongue, but Abu’s grin spread wide, relief washing over his face. “I knew it,” he whispered. “You were always the only one who could see.”
He turned back to the table, flipping through the journals with frantic energy. “The entries say the balance resets with every cycle. One night. One sacrifice. After that, the forest loosens its grip… for a time.” His finger jabbed at a passage scrawled in the margins of one book. “But if the hunters fail to give it what it wants, the forest takes all of them.”
Ameera’s chest tightened. One night. One sacrifice.
Abu glanced at her, his smile thinning. “So, we choose. Tonight. Before the moon fades. And you’ll stand with me when the time comes… won’t you?”
His question lingered, sharp as a blade.
Ameera forced a calm smile, though her mind raced. If she played this carefully, she could learn who he meant to sacrifice. Maybe even find out if Mariam and Farruk were still alive. But one wrong word, one flicker of doubt, and Abu would turn the knife she hid against her.
Outside, the wind howled through the trees like a warning.Abu bent over the journals again, muttering to himself, lost in his fevered obsession. Ameera used the moment to let her eyes drift across the room.
The cabin was more than rot and paper. Beneath the table, half-concealed by a fallen beam, something glinted faintly.
She shifted her weight, crouched, and reached out as silently as she could. Her fingers brushed metal. Carefully, she pulled it free.
A tin box. Rusted, its lid dented, but still shut tight. She pried it open just enough to see inside.
Notebooks. Smaller than the ones on the table, pages brittle and yellowed with age. She flipped one open under the table’s shadow. The handwriting was steadier than the frenzied scrawls Abu adored — almost clinical.
“Experiment 12. Subjects show accelerated paranoia within three nights. Symbols carved into trees appear independently of human effort. Whistling confirmed as auditory lure. Recommendation: evacuation and containment. This place is not forest — it is construct.”
Ameera’s breath caught. Construct?
Before she could read more, Abu’s voice snapped her back. “What are you doing down there?”
She shoved the notebook back into the tin, slid it out of sight, and straightened, forcing a thin smile. “Checking for supplies. If we’re staying the night, we’ll need them.”
Abu studied her for a long moment, suspicion flickering. Then he chuckled, though it held no warmth. “Good. That’s the spirit.”
But the word construct burned in her mind. The forest wasn’t just hungry. It was designed.
And if that was true, survival wasn’t about balance. It was about breaking the rules.
Abu hunched over the journals again, flipping pages with a trembling urgency. His muttering filled the cabin like a swarm of insects, giving Ameera cover.
She edged away, pretending to study the shelves. Her fingers trailed across splintered wood, dust, broken glass. Then — something strange. A seam in the wall where the boards didn’t quite line up.
She pressed gently. The panel shifted. A hollow space.
Her pulse quickened. She slid the board aside and found a bundle wrapped in rotting canvas. Inside were more notebooks — these different. Bound in black leather, stamped with a faded government seal.
Heart hammering, she opened the first. The neat script was chillingly precise:
“Site 7B Observation Log. Forest perimeter stable. Subject rotation continues as expected. None have breached beyond mile radius. Anomaly persists: subjects believe in ‘choice’ and ‘balance.’ Reality suggests controlled parameters are directing outcomes. Recommend continued monitoring.”
Ameeraa’s throat went dry. This wasn’t just a cursed forest. It was a controlled experiment. A trap.
Another entry, scrawled in darker ink, caught her eye:
“If any subject discovers this record, they must not be allowed to leave.”
A floorboard creaked. She slammed the book shut, shoving the bundle back into the hollow just as Abu’s shadow fell across her.
“What did you find?” he asked softly. Too softly.
His eyes gleamed in the dim light, suspicion razor-sharp now.Ameera turned slowly, schooling her face into something measured. The knife pressed cold against her wrist beneath her sleeve, but she didn’t reach for it. Not yet.
“I found something,” she admitted, keeping her tone steady. “Not supplies. Not food. Records. From before us.”
Abu’s brows furrowed. “Records?”
She nodded, letting just enough truth slip out. “Someone was here before. They wrote about… patterns. How the forest controls us. How it feeds.” She let her gaze sharpen, testing him. “But they didn’t talk about balance, Abu. They talked about control.”
For a moment, silence stretched between them, thick as the shadows pressing in from the trees outside.
Then Abu laughed. Low, harsh, unhinged. “Of course you’d say that. Of course the forest would show you something different.” He stepped closer, his face inches from hers, his voice dropping to a hiss. “That’s its trick — make us doubt, make us turn on each other.”
His hand shot out, gripping her arm with startling strength. “But I see clearer than ever. Balance is the truth. One sacrifice, one escape. And if you’re with me…” His eyes narrowed. “…then you already know who the sacrifice will be.”
Her stomach dropped. He wasn’t asking her. He was warning her.
Behind him, something creaked — a shadow shifting outside the window. The masked figure was still there, watching.
Ameera forced the tension in her body to ease, even as Abu’s grip dug into her arm. She made her voice quiet, almost submissive.
“You’re right,” she murmured. “The forest twists things. Shows us what it wants. I won’t let it turn me against you.”
For a heartbeat, Abu studied her, searching for cracks. Then his grip loosened, and he exhaled with a shuddering sort of relief. “Good,” he whispered. “I needed to know I wasn’t alone.”
He stepped back, pacing the cabin like a man rehearsing a sermon. “The sacrifice must be deliberate. It’s the only way the forest accepts it. The journals… they prove it. And we don’t have to wait for it to choose.”
Ameera’s pulse thudded in her ears. “Who?” she asked softly, feigning curiosity instead of dread.
Abu stopped pacing. His smile spread — slow, deliberate. “Mariam.”
The name hit her like a blow.
“She was the first to break,” he continued, eyes shining. “Always doubting, always rationing, always whispering when she thought no one was listening. She’s weak. And weakness feeds the forest. But if we give her up… the rest of us walk free.”
Ameera clenched the knife hidden in her sleeve so tightly her hand ached. Mariam was alive. Somewhere close. And Abu was ready to kill her.
Outside, the masked figure shifted again in the shadows, as though waiting for Ameera’s next move.
Aksara