Silence lingers after the Howlers retreat. Aunt Maggie’s knuckles are white around her pistol grip.
She slowly exhales. Kyle stands beside her, the anklet crushed in his fist so tightly his fingers have gone pale.
They blink.
Disoriented.
Like surfacing from deep water. Maggie holsters her weapon with deliberate control. Checks her combat watch.
MAGGIE (low, steadying herself):
“We were out, maybe three minutes.”
Kyle shakes his head.
KYLE:
“Felt like longer.”
MAGGIE:
“Yeah.”
She scans the treeline again.
Nothing moves.
Only sunlight now.
Ordinary birds.
Ordinary wind.
But neither of them believe it’s ordinary.
MAGGIE:
“They’re gone. For now.”
She looks at him fully now.
Not dismissive anymore.
Not skeptical.
Focused.
MAGGIE:
“Tell me everything you know.”
Kyle swallows.
Still trembling.
They start moving.
Half walking. Half running.
Back toward his apartment.
Both of them glance over their shoulders every few steps while Kyle fills her in. The treeline moves naturally.
But it feels like it’s watching.
Kyle opens his fist.
The anklet glints in the sunlight.
He squeezes his fist closed again.
Tight.