"There," I said.
The word came out low.
Controlled.
But it didn't feel that way in my chest.
Malek didn't ask what I saw.
He just followed my line of sight.
"Which way?" he said.
I pointed along the shoreline.
"It moved toward the rocks."
A beat.
"Fast."
Torvin let out a breath through his nose.
"Of course it did."
"We follow it," Malek said.
Not a question.
"We don't know what it is," Torvin replied.
"We barely know what anything is right now."
"Exactly," Freya said.
"Which is why we don't let it disappear."
That settled it.
We moved along the edge of the water—
slower now.
More deliberate.
The ground shifted underfoot from packed dirt to damp sand.
Each step left a mark.
Each mark felt like a mistake.
"Stop," Freya said quietly.
We froze.
She crouched near the ground—
brushing her fingers just above the sand.
"Tracks," she said.
I stepped closer.
They weren't right.
Too deep in some places.
Too light in others.
Like whatever made them—
didn't carry its weight the same way twice.
"It's adjusting," Freya murmured.
"To what?" Torvin asked.
"Movement," she said.
"Balance."
"Us."
That didn't sit well with anyone.
The black residue appeared again—
thinner now.
Stretched.
Like it had been dragged.
Or shed.
"It's not just walking," I said.
"It's… leaving something behind."
"Or losing it," Torvin added.
"Or spreading it," Freya said.
That was worse.
The further we went—
the quieter it became.
Even the water seemed to pull back.
No birds.
No insects.
Just us.
And the sound of our steps.
It felt like we weren't following it anymore.
It felt like we were being led.
"Stay sharp," Malek said.
His voice was steady.
But tighter now.
"There," I said again.
This time it wasn't movement.
It was what was left behind.
A sheep lay near the rocks.
Or what used to be one.
Its body was intact.
No torn flesh.
No bite marks.
But its eyes—
were completely black.
And its chest—
barely moved.
"This is one of the sheep from our village... isn't it?" Freya said pointing to the tag on it's ear.
"Yeah, that is definitely one of ours." Malek responded.
"It's still alive," Torvin said quietly.
"No," Freya said.
A beat.
"It's not."
I stepped closer—
slowly.
The air around it felt wrong.
Heavy.
Like something had been pulled out of it—
and hadn't quite left the space behind.
"It took it," I said.
"Not the body."
"The rest of it."
"And left this," Torvin muttered.
"A shell," Freya said.
No one liked that word.
A sound cut through the silence.
Not loud.
Not sudden.
Controlled.
We all turned.
It stood further down the shoreline.
Closer now.
Watching.
Its head tilted slightly—
the same way Lysa's had.
But this time—
there was no confusion in it.
Only awareness.
It didn't rush us.
Didn't attack.
Just… waited.
"We take it now," Malek said.
He stepped forward.
"No."
That stopped him instantly.
"Look at it," she said.
"It's not reacting to us."
"It's watching."
Not watching.
Measuring.
The creature took one step back.
Slow.
Intentional.
Then another.
And then—
it was gone.
Malek didn't move after that.
None of us did.
Because we all understood the same thing at the same time—
We weren't tracking it anymore.
It had just finished tracking us.
No one spoke on the way back.
Not because there was nothing to say.
Because none of us knew where to start.
The shoreline fell behind us slowly.
The water quieter now—
or maybe we were just listening differently.
I kept glancing over my shoulder.
Not expecting to see it.
Just not convinced it was gone.
The village came into view the same way it always had.
Low structures.
Smoke from dying fires.
Stillness.
But this time—
something felt off before we even reached the square.
"Do you feel that?" Torvin muttered.
"Yeah," I said.
Freya didn't answer.
She was already scanning.
The gate was open wider than we left it.
Not broken.
Not forced.
Just… open.
Malek slowed slightly.
Not stopping—
but noticing.
"We closed that," he said.
No one argued.
We stepped into the square together.
Same formation.
Same spacing.
But it didn't feel like our village anymore.
It felt… rearranged.
People were there.
But not where they should be.
A few stood near the well.
Too still.
Others sat near the longhouse—
not talking.
Not interacting.
Just… watching.
Not us.
Each other.
"Rorik!" Malek shouted.
No answer.
That alone was wrong.
"Don't move," Freya said quietly.
We froze.
"Look at their spacing," she added.
I did.
And then I saw it.
They weren't scattered randomly.
They were… positioned.
Like they'd been placed there.
One of them turned.
Slow.
Controlled.
Not startled.
Not reactive.
Intentional.
"Erik," Torvin said under his breath.
I didn't answer.
I was already seeing it.
Their eyes weren't black.
Not completely.
But something in them—
was wrong.
Too focused.
They weren't like Lysa.
They weren't gone.
They were… changed.
"Stop."
The voice came from behind us.
We turned.
Rorik stood near the longhouse entrance.
Alive.
Standing.
But even from here—
something felt off.
His posture was the same.
His voice was the same.
But his eyes—
lingered too long.
Like he was studying us.
"You took longer than expected," he said.
Malek frowned slightly.
"We had to track something."
"I know," Rorik replied.
A beat.
"We felt it."
My stomach dropped.
"Felt what?" I asked.
Rorik's gaze shifted—
not just to me—
to all of us.
"You moving," he said.
No one spoke.
Because that didn't make sense.
Not unless—
It wasn't just Joren anymore.
It wasn't just outside.
It was here.
"What happened while we were gone?" Freya asked.
Rorik didn't answer immediately.
His eyes moved across the square.
Across the people.
Then back to us.
"We adapted," he said.
That word hit harder than anything else.
Because it wasn't survival.
It was change.
And standing there—
looking at the village we had just left behind—
I realized something worse than losing it.
It wasn't ours anymore.
No one moved.
Not toward him.
Not away.
Rorik stood where he was—
just inside the longhouse threshold.
Watching us.
The same way the others had been.
"You're staring," he said.
His tone was steady.
Familiar.
That made it worse.
I wanted him to sound wrong.
I needed him to.
But he didn't.
"Something's changed," Malek said.
No accusation.
Just truth.
Rorik's gaze shifted to him.
"Yes," he said.
Too quickly.
Freya took a step to the side—
not toward him—
around him.
Changing the angle.
"What changed?" she asked.
Rorik didn't turn immediately.
Then—slowly—
he adjusted to keep all of us in view.
My chest tightened.
He wasn't just looking at us.
He was tracking us.
"What was the last thing you said to me before we left?" I asked.
The words came out before I could second-guess them.
Rorik looked at me.
A beat.
"I told you that I needed someone who could think" he said.
Correct.
Too correct.
No hesitation.
No searching.
Just… retrieval.
"And Joren?" Freya asked.
"What would you have done with him yesterday?"
That one mattered.
Rorik's expression didn't change.
"Yesterday?" he repeated.
A pause.
"I would have killed him."
The room tightened.
That wasn't wrong.
But it wasn't right either.
There was no weight to it.
No hesitation.
No conflict.
Just… decision.
"You didn't," Malek said.
Rorik's eyes shifted back to him.
"No," he agreed.
Another beat.
"That was inefficient."
Silence hit the square like a blow.
Inefficient.
Not wrong.
Not dangerous.
Not human.
That wasn't Rorik speaking.
Not fully.
"Alright, I don't like that," Torvin muttered.
"At all."
"What's my name?" I asked.
It was a stupid question.
A pointless one.
But I needed to see it.
Rorik looked at me.
A flicker—
something almost like annoyance.
"Erik," he said.
Still right.
"Ask him something he doesn't expect," Freya said quietly.
I hesitated.
I kept looking at him—
waiting to see it.
The black.
The ink.
Something.
But there was nothing.
Not on his skin.
Not in his breath.
Whatever had taken Sten…
this wasn't that.
Not yet.
Then—
"What are you feeling right now?"
"Focused," he said.
Freya's expression hardened slightly.
"That's not a feeling," she said.
Rorik's head tilted—
just slightly.
The same way Lysa's had.
The same way the creature had.
"It is now," he replied.
Malek stepped forward instantly.
"Stop," Freya snapped.
He froze.
Barely.
He wasn't gone.
But he wasn't alone in his head anymore.
And whatever was inside him—
was learning how to sound like us.