Emily wandered off. Fifteen yards, no more.
She didn't scream.
By morning her hammock was empty, and on a leaf as wide as a hand, three drops of blood.
Five of them went into a forest no one comes back from. They had a weather window, eighteen days, and one certainty: science can explain anything.
The forest has a certainty of its own. It lives above their heads. It lets down threads you never see. It takes the voice first, and the body after.
Soon it will start speaking in the voices of their dead.
Don't look up.