The forest of Aokigahara didn't whisper; it breathed.
As we stepped off the silent, electric transport that had met the Gulfstream at a private airstrip, the air hit me like a physical weight. It was cold, damp, and smelled of ancient moss and something sharp—industrial chemicals.
"Stay close," Reid murmured. He wasn't wearing his suit anymore. He was in tactical black—a high-tech windbreaker, cargo pants, and a pair of boots that made no sound on the needle-strewn floor. He looked like a shadow come to life.
I checked the pulse on my wrist. It was erratic, a frantic rhythm against the gold band of my ring. I was wearing the same charcoal gear, the "Gable Fire" in my eyes masked by the HUD goggles Reid had insisted I wear.
"We have twenty-four hours, Reid," I whispered, the countdown from Adriana's video echoing in my head. "If we don't find the entrance to the Nursery—"
