"Why did you bring them back, Rehan?"
The voice was clear. Calm. Tired.
But it wasn't a question.
It was a verdict.
Rehan took one step toward the porch, but the fog curled tighter around the figure. Not quite hiding him — but not letting him be fully seen either.
Sameer placed a hand on Rehan's shoulder.
"Is that really…?"
"I don't know," Rehan said quietly.
But his fingers were clenched.
Because a part of him — somewhere deep and unwanted — believed it was.
---
The figure didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stood there, like part of the forest.
"You were supposed to forget," the voice said. "That was the deal."
Rehan's heart skipped.
He didn't remember a deal.
But his body did.
His knees felt weak.
His mouth dry.
Ayaan stepped forward. "He doesn't remember anything."
"You do now," the figure said. "The names on the walls. The journal. The symbols."
The ground beneath them pulsed — just once. Like a warning.
Sameer spoke, firm. "We didn't choose any of this."
But the figure in the fog finally stepped closer — just enough for the light to catch the edges of his face.
It was Rehan's father.
Older.
But not aged.
Like time had stopped remembering him.
"You didn't choose," he said. "But you agreed."
---
Inside the cabin, the photo changed again.
Now all three boys — Sameer, Ayaan, Rehan — were standing in front of the cabin.
Alone.
No adult behind them.
Just the forest.
The door to the cabin open behind them — and something dark just barely visible through the crack.
Something watching.
Ayaan turned. "This place—this photo—it keeps rewriting itself."
Sameer looked at Rehan. "Tell us the truth. Whatever you remember. Say it now."
Rehan's voice came out like gravel.
"There was a night. My father… he brought me here. I wasn't supposed to wander. But I did. I found a shack — this shack. And inside, there were others. Not people. Just… shadows."
He closed his eyes. "They whispered. Said I wasn't the first. That kids like me used to come here, brought by others. That the forest kept a memory of each one."
He swallowed.
"They offered me a way out. But the cost…"
He looked at them both.
"I never remembered the cost. Until now."
---
Sameer took a breath. "What was it?"
Rehan opened his mouth — then froze.
Because the fog behind his father had shifted.
And a second figure stood there now.
Not adult.
Not shadow.
A child.
Barefoot. Thin. Hair covering her face.
A quiet voice floated out.
"You made the trade."
---
Rehan backed into the cabin. "I don't know her."
But the girl stepped forward.
She lifted her face.
Sameer's voice cracked.
"That's the girl from the mirror."
Ayaan recognized her too.
Not from memory — from feeling.
The same presence from the journal.
The one that never spoke to them, only watched.
The girl reached the porch steps.
"You asked to forget," she said to Rehan. "But the forest doesn't forget. It just waits."
A sudden wind slammed the cabin door shut behind them.
The photo fell from the wall.
Glass shattered.
A new photo was underneath.
This time, the cabin was empty.
No figures.
No trees.
Just the door.
And a phrase scratched across the bottom.
"You left it open."
---
Back in the city…
Naira's phone buzzed again.
A new number. No name.
Just a message:
"He's not who you think he is. Check the old hospital records."
Her heart dropped.
She was already on the way home — but she rerouted, took a turn, and headed toward the clinic where Rehan's father had been reported missing years ago.
Somewhere in her chest, something told her —
They didn't just bring something back.
They left someone behind.
---
Back at the cabin…
Sameer looked at the others. "We can't keep running from this."
The girl nodded.
"Then stop running," she said.
"Start remembering."
She pointed to the floor.
Another trapdoor.
But smaller. Older.
Covered in symbols — some burned in, some smeared in red.
And in the center:
A wooden key.
Sameer reached for it.
His fingers hovered just an inch away.
A sound rumbled beneath them.
Not growling.
Not movement.
Breathing.
---