Prey & Pine

The woods have eyes. And they haven't blinked in three summers.

I took the job at Camp Briarnest to pay for tuition. It was supposed to be easy: fresh air, campfire songs, and keeping a bunch of kids from eating poison ivy.

But the forest feels wrong.

It’s too quiet. The birds don’t sing. And every time I turn my back to the treeline, the hair on my neck stands up.

I’m being watched.

I find footprints in the mud that are too big for a human, but too heavy for a wolf. I find my cabin unlocked, my clothes stolen, and "gifts" left on my pillow—smooth river stones, bird skulls, and wildflowers crushed by a massive hand. The other counselors think it’s a prank. I know it’s a hunt.

Then the storm hits. The power dies. The roads wash out. And the thing in the woods finally steps into the light.

Holt. He is a mountain of muscle and scars, a feral beast wearing the skin of a man. He hasn't spoken to another human in years, but he knows my name. He knows my scent. He’s been waiting for me to be alone.

Now, the camp is empty, and the game has begun.

Holt doesn't want to kill me. He wants to catch me. He wants to chase me through the rain, pin me to the pine needles, and show me exactly why you never go into the woods alone.