They said nothing good ever came from crossing the red line. Camdyn was about to find out.

  He crouched beside the improvised barrier at the Southern Perimeter just before dawn, his heart racing in his chest.

  The fence wasn’t much, just a barricade thrown together in the early days of the apocalypse. Corrugated steel, chain-link, and warped beams with a touch of barbed wire woven throughout the framework, more decorative than practical. The conglomeration groaned in the wind held together more by stubbornness than structure. A single red stripe had been painted across the front faded but still visible. A line you weren’t meant to cross.

  Above the main gate loomed the old water tower, rusted and tall, still functional enough to collect rainwater but now doubling as a lookout post. The tank bore the peeling emblem of the colony. A symbol that had once stood for unity. Behind the slatted panels near the top, a sentry paced with a crossbow slung over one shoulder, his silhouette sharp against the pale sky.

  Camdyn waited, counting the seconds as the sentry’s eyes swept the horizon. The tower was the colony’s best vantage point, but the sentry’s focus was outward more concerned with what might break in than what might slip out. The other sides of the Perimeter were watched by foot patrols, constant and meticulous, but here, the guard’s attention was predictable. And predictable meant vulnerable.

  He pressed himself flat against the barricade’s shadowed edge. When the sentry rounded the corner, Camdyn moved, quick and quiet. The shutter on the gate creaked as he gently pried it loose, revealing a narrow crack. A hidden gap known only to a few.

  Growing up, it had been a rite of passage: slip through, stand on forbidden ground for a few seconds, then rush back before anyone noticed. The memory of Roenen showing him the passageway for the first time warmed Camdyn’s chest—briefly—before settling into that familiar, hollow ache. He willed the thought away, slipping through the gap.

  —---------

  He held his breath for a moment after breaking through to the other side, half-expecting something terrible to happen the instant his boot touched the grass. The wail of a horn. A well-hidden trap. A monster waiting just beyond the line.

  But nothing came.

  The tension in his shoulders slowly eased. He took a cautious step forward, fingers brushing the hilt of the old hunting knife at his side. Although he had the skill, he lacked the nerve to use it. Still, it served as a kind of tether. Something familiar in a place that felt anything but.

  Drawing in a steady breath, he pushed onward. Away from the barricade. Past the last torchlight. Into the unfamiliar.

  The sky began to lighten, sunlight brushing the treetops first before dripping onto the awaiting forest floor like warm honey. Camdyn stood still, watching the golden spill stretch toward him, slow and deliberate, as if the forest itself were waking just to greet the light. In that moment, the fear that had clung to him loosened its grip. The strange landscape no longer seemed threatening. It was alive, vibrant, and impossibly beautiful. His fingers dropped away from the knife. For the first time since crossing over, he wasn’t thinking about turning back.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Drawn forward by the light, Camdyn moved deeper into the woods. The trees here were different. Taller, older, and their mossy trunks twisted in ways that felt more intentional than wild. Vines draped between branches like delicate threadwork, some budding with hues he couldn't quite name.

  He dropped to a crouch beside a low-growing plant with broad, silver-veined leaves and tiny, bell-shaped flowers that shimmered faintly in the morning light. Reaching into his pack, he pulled out a worn leather journal and a stub of pencil. He sketched quickly, noting the plant's structure, the texture of its petals, the faint scent—sweet, fresh, and slightly minty.

  Every few minutes he’d stop again at a cluster of fanning mushrooms that glowed faintly beneath the shadow of a fallen log, at the spiraling patterns etched into bark that oozed iridescent sap, at ferns whose leaves rustled melodically in the wind like chimes. The deeper he went, the more the forest revealed itself, as if it had been waiting for someone to notice.

  He was bent over another cluster of flowers, this time a soft blue, with petals that were near-translucent, delicate like dragonfly wings, when something shifted at the edge of his vision.

  A flicker between the trees.

  He straightened, breath caught in his throat.

  Had he imagined it?

  Then—there. Just beyond the shifting branches. A shape. Swift. Silent. Almost gliding.

  Sunlight caught on earthen skin and hair that tumbled around her shoulders in a cascade of mossy green, tangled and wild as the forest itself.

  And just as quickly, she was gone.

  He barely processed what he had seen. He didn’t know anything human to live out here. Especially not ones with green hair. He doubted himself for a second, but in his gut, he knew better. It pulled him forward. He needed to know who she was. Or maybe what was the appropriate question.

  He pressed deeper into the woods, brushing aside low-hanging branches, the journal forgotten in his hand. The forest around him shifted, growing ever-denser. Every time he caught another glimpse of her—a heel vanishing behind a tree, the faintest whisper of movement, a flash of her emerald eyes—she was already gone again. She moved with a sturdy grace as if the forest itself bent to her will.

  And then she was gone entirely.

  He stood in a sudden stillness, breathing hard, eyes scanning the empty trees. The quiet now felt different. Not serene, but watchful. The realization struck him slowly: he had wandered too far. The plants here were different, darker and twisted. The ground seemed sickly, dusted in patches of soot in some places. The same substance he’d spotted earlier at the Perimeter.

  That’s when he heard it. A strained, guttural grunt, warped and wet, coming from somewhere just beyond the brush.

  Camdyn froze.

  The creature finally stepped into view. It had once been a large stag, but now it was something else—mutated and rabid. Its head hung crooked on its neck, and its coat was patchy and matted, blackened with disease and decay. Its eyes locked onto his hollow and haunting. Even the ground seemed to rot under its tread.

  He’d seen it before. Once. With his brother. The creature wasn’t the same, but the sickness was.

  The fear was instant. His heart thundered in his ears, drowning out all thought. His fingers curled around the knife at his side but they didn’t move. Couldn’t.

  The screams still pierced his skull. The blood, just as vivid as if it had spilled yesterday.

  The stag lowered its head. It wheezed a ragged, broken sound that scraped down his spine. Camdyn knew what would happen next. He’d lived it before.

  This time, he feared he wouldn’t be so lucky.