Sleeping was difficult after Snow returned. Even the ones who tried only managed minutes at a time, jerking awake at every sound. The camp had been tense before, but now it was something else—tightened to a point where even breathing felt loud. The knowledge sat in the air like smoke. It was real. It was coming. And it was close.

  Gravel didn’t waste time with speeches. He didn’t try to inspire anyone. The moment Snow finished speaking, he was already moving, already pulling people into groups, already giving orders that came out sharp and practiced.

  “Everyone up,” he barked. “Now. You two—perimeter. You three—supplies. Sheath, take a squad and reinforce the east line. Five, you’re with me. Wrighty, keep people calm and keep ‘em moving. Snow, you stay on watch. If you see it again, don't wait to tell me. Where’s Eerie? He should be scouting too.”

  Snow nodded once, face pale, eyes hard. Eerie was nowhere to be seen at all.

  The boy stood near the edge of the crowd, listening. His ribs throbbed with every inhale. The pain had become constant, a low pulse that didn’t fade even when he tried to stay still. His chest felt heavier too. That inner weight pressed like a stone beneath his sternum, stubborn and silent. The boy’s hand drifted unconsciously to his chest. A reminder that he still didn’t have what he needed.

  People scattered to follow orders. The camp erupted into movement, but it wasn’t the frantic scrambling of panic it was controlled yet wild.

  People moved quickly but kept glancing over their shoulders. Hands shook as they tied straps. Someone dropped a bundle of supplies and cursed under their breath. Another person snapped at them to hurry. A third started crying quietly and was dragged away by a friend who refused to let them interrupt the process with tears.

  Gravel and Five knelt in the dirt near the center of camp. Gravel drew lines with a stick, mapping the terrain as best as he could. Five watched the map like he was memorizing it, eyes calculating angles and distances.

  “She said it’s moving straight,” Five murmured.

  Gravel nodded. “Which means it ain’t huntin’. It’s migratin’.”

  “That could change how we approach this. I just hope it passes us by,” Five said.

  Gravel nodded as he continued to map.

  The boy watched Five’s face as he spoke. Five looked calm, but his calm wasn’t comforting. It was the calm of someone watching a fire spread and already deciding which parts of the house were worth saving.

  Gravel stood, dusting his hands off.

  “We don’t fight it head on,” he said loudly enough for the nearby groups to hear. “We don’t know what it is. We don’t know what it can do. We do not play heroes.”

  Some people looked relieved. Some looked offended. The boy nodded his head, that’s a smart play. Simply avoiding it would be best. But what if it’s tracking us? Then all we would be doing is running and expending energy just for it to continue to chase us, this would be easier to deal with if one traveled by themselves. But with this big group it is impossible for us to evade the damn thing if it actually wants to eat us right now.

  Sheath stepped forward, sword already in hand. “So what, we run?”

  Gravel stared at him. “If we have to.”

  Sheath’s jaw tightened. “That thing killed an entire expedition. If it comes here, it’ll kill everyone.”

  Gravel’s expression didn’t change. “Not if we move first.”

  That word hit the camp like a slap. Abandon the only shelter they’d managed to build.

  The boy felt something twist in his stomach. The camp wasn’t home. None of them remembered home. But this place was the closest thing they had to safety, the closest thing they had to stability. Losing it felt like losing progress. Like admitting they were still helpless.

  Wrighty moved through the crowd, staff in hand, trying to keep people organized.

  “Alright, alright, line up! No pushing! If you trip, I’m not carrying you!” His voice sounded calm but the boy could see his nerves slip a little through the small details of his face.

  Wrighty passed the boy and grabbed his shoulder briefly. “You good?”

  The boy nodded.

  Wrighty didn’t believe him. He looked at the boy’s ribs, the way he held himself slightly off-center, then looked away.

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  “Try not to die Doc, it’s hard to have a funeral for someone without a name.” Wrighty muttered.

  The boy’s mouth twitched. “I’ll do my best.”

  Wrighty snorted once and moved on.

  Shiela sat near the fire pit, hands trembling. Her shields flickered around her palms like weak candlelight. She was trying to hold them steady, trying to force them into something stronger. The hexagonal patterns formed, cracked, vanished, then formed again.

  Her breathing was fast. Five passed her and paused.

  “Don’t waste your energy,” he said calmly.

  Shiela looked up at him. “What?”

  “You’ll burn out before it arrives,” Five replied. “Save it.”

  Shiela’s eyes narrowed. “And what if I can’t do it later?”

  Five stared at her for a moment. Until a sudden voice spoke out and answered her question.

  “Then you die,” Eerie said simply. He was leaning on a tree with a dull expression on his face. He then left and seemed to disappear into the shadows once again.

  Shiela went pale. Five nodded and walked away like Eerie hadn’t said anything at all. I guess he agrees, thought the boy. The boy watched him go, jaw tight.

  Gravel returned to the perimeter with Snow and Knell. Knell stood still, head tilted slightly, listening. Her eyes were unfocused, like she was looking through the trees rather than at them.

  “…it is closer,” she murmured.

  Gravel didn’t say anything, he simply nodded.

  Snow’s fingers tightened around her bow. “We should leave now.”

  Gravel glanced toward the jungle. The morning light was pale and weak, filtered through thick canopy. The forest looked the same as always. That was a big problem.

  You couldn’t see the threat until it was already on you.

  “We leave at first tremor,” Gravel said. “Not before. We need supplies packed. We need order. We leave too early and we lose people to panic and lack of proper supplies or preparation.

  Sheath scoffed. “And if we leave too late, we lose everyone.”

  Gravel had no response.

  The boy’s ribs throbbed again, sharper this time. He sucked in a breath and winced. It felt like something inside him shifted slightly—bone grinding against bone. Pain crawled up his side.

  Shiela spotted his uneasy movements and rolled herself towards him.

  “You’re worse,” she whispered.

  “I’m fine,” he muttered automatically.

  Shiela shook her head. “Stop saying that.”

  The boy sighed and just ignored the comment, he had no intention of admitting weakness as that could change his worth in the game of survival. Even the off chance that he was a little weak due to his ribs meant that they would leave him to die or try to take advantage of him was a chance he wouldn’t take.

  The day crawled forward. Hours passed in tense preparation. People moved supplies into ready piles. Gravel paced the perimeter, checking lines, whispering to scouts, staring into the jungle like he could force it to reveal what was coming.

  Every so often, the boy thought he felt something beneath his feet. A low rumbling underneath the soil.

  The birds stopped singing by midday.

  At first no one noticed. The camp was too busy. Too loud and anxious. But the boy noticed. He realized it when he looked up and saw the canopy still. Not silent—never silent—but missing something important. No chirping. No calls. No flitting wings.

  The only sound was of insects. And the distant sound of leaves shifting.

  Wrighty noticed a few minutes later.

  “…Why is it quiet?” Wrighty muttered. The boy gave a shrug in response which made Wrighty frown.

  Knell’s head tilted sharply.

  Then she stiffened.

  “…it is here,” she whispered.

  Gravel’s body tensed like a drawn bow. Snow raised her bow instantly, arrow already prepared and her hands shivering like she was in the arctic. Sheath stepped forward, sword angled outward.

  The boy’s heart slammed in his chest. His ribs screamed. His inner weight pressed harder than ever, like something inside him was waking up. Then— A tremor. Small at first. Barely more than a vibration. The dirt beneath their feet shivered.

  Someone gasped. Another tremor followed, stronger. The camp froze. Then the sound came. Not a roar. Nor a scream.

  It was a deep grinding noise that was getting louder and louder. Trees in the distance shook. Leaves fell in a sudden rain. A flock of bird like creatures exploded from the canopy far away, frantic and scattered. Then the trees began to bend and the ground started collapsing.

  Gravel’s voice cut through the camp.

  “MOVE!”

  The camp erupted. Panic finally snapped loose. People grabbed packs, stumbled, shoved. Someone screamed. Someone dropped their bag and fell to their knees. Gravel grabbed them by the collar and hauled them up.

  “No stopping!” Gravel roared. “NO STOPPING!”

  The boy ran with the others, ribs flaring with every step. Pain ripped through his side so violently he nearly collapsed. His breathing turned ragged instantly. Wrighty grabbed his arm.

  “Keep up!” Wrighty shouted.

  “I’m trying!”

  The tremors grew stronger. Behind them, the jungle cracked. A tree snapped like it was made of straw. And then the boy saw it. For a brief moment, between the trunks there was a pale, massive curve.

  Flesh? Shell? Something wet and shining, moving like a living wall.

  It slid forward, crushing roots and stone, leaving a gouged trail behind it. The earth sank under its weight. The boy’s stomach dropped. It wasn’t just big. It looked disgusting and vile, it was a grub. A creature that should have been small, harmless, disgusting at worst. But this—This was a calamity wearing the shape of a worm.

  And it was coming straight for them.