The door slammed shut behind Gréta.
Outside, the fog wrapped the house in a thick wall, swallowing the forest—swallowing Gréta's figure too.
Emma stood frozen for several moments, the spiral pendant clenched tightly in her hand.
The air inside the house shifted—grew heavier, denser, as if even time had begun to move slower.
It was Jessica who broke the silence first.
"We have to go after her," she said hoarsely, her voice trembling.
Nóra looked up from the book resting in her lap, her eyes red from holding back tears.
"What if it's already too late?" she whispered.
Emma closed her eyes.
She took a deep breath.
The pendant pulsed against her palm, like it was trying to warn her.
"We can't leave her alone," she said softly. "It doesn't matter how angry we are. It doesn't matter if we're afraid. She's our friend."
Jessica nodded.
Nóra hesitated, then slowly gave a nod as well.
Emma opened the door.
The fog rushed inside instantly, its cold fingers brushing their cheeks.
They stepped onto the porch.
The forest was silent.
Too silent.
No wind. No birds. Not even the distant hum of insects—just the all-consuming fog.
Gréta was nowhere in sight.
Jessica pulled her coat tighter around her.
"Which way?"
Emma bent down, trying to follow the footprints in the damp leaves.
But the fog, the moisture—everything had blurred.
It was as if Gréta had simply… vanished.
Nóra pointed toward the trees.
"She went that way."
Emma nodded and began to walk.
The others followed closely behind.
Their footsteps thudded dully against the forest floor.
Each tree trunk melted into the fog like faceless shadows.
Emma thought of the spiral.
Of the book, the journal beneath the house.
Of the whispers.
And she knew: what they were searching for now might no longer be fully human.
The fog thickened—like they were walking into a living mass.
She heard Jessica panting behind her.
Nóra cried out softly whenever a branch scratched her face.
The world had narrowed to a few meters of shifting gray.
And the trees… they seemed to move at the edges of their vision. But when they turned—only stillness.
Then Emma stopped.
Something lay on the ground.
Jessica almost walked into her.
Emma crouched down.
Among the leaves, a dark stain had spread.
It was wet to the touch.
Red.
Blood.
Jessica let out a small scream and covered her mouth.
Nóra took a step back.
Emma fought the nausea as she looked closer.
Near the edge of the bloodstain was a torn piece of fabric.
A scrap from Gréta's coat.
The spiral pendant in her pocket burned like an ember.
Emma stood up.
"We keep going," she said, her voice rough.
Jessica shook her head.
"No! What if—"
Emma met her gaze.
"If we turn back now, we lose her forever."
Jessica trembled but nodded.
Nóra followed without a word.
As they moved forward, the fog began to thin slightly.
Ahead, something black emerged in the mist.
A tree.
A massive, diseased tree, its trunk twisted inward like it was trying to swallow itself.
Spirals were carved into its bark.
Everywhere.
Between the spirals—something hung.
Emma froze.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Something swayed from a rope among the spirals.
A doll.
Not human.
More like a grotesque figure made of rags, hair, and splintered bone.
Branded into its chest—
A spiral.
Beneath it, a handwritten note:
"One of them is already mine."
Jessica screamed.
Nóra began to sob.
Emma's head spun.
The world tilted around her.
And then—from beyond the fog—came laughter.
Not human.
Not animal.
Something else.
Something that didn't belong in the world of the living.
Emma knew:
This was only the beginning.