Chapter 72
Cal woke screaming.
It tore out of him sharp and raw, the kind of sound that bypassed thought and went straight for instinct. I was on my feet before I was fully awake, fog surging reflexively—then stopping just as fast when I felt it pull the wrong way.
Not toward me.
Toward him.
Claire was already there, hands on Cal's shoulders, trying to hold him still as he thrashed against the ground. His eyes were open but unfocused, pupils blown wide like he was staring into something only he could see.
"Cal," she said urgently. "Cal, it's a dream. You're here. You're safe."
He gasped, chest heaving. "No—no, it's awake."
The fog tightened, shivering like a disturbed surface.
I knelt beside him and forced myself to keep the connection thin. Every instinct screamed to take control, to stabilize, to smooth the edges before something broke.
I didn't.
"What do you see," I asked.
Cal's head snapped toward me. For a moment, recognition flickered—then something else slid over it, colder and more precise.
"Pressure," he said. "Everywhere. Like standing under water that doesn't let you drown."
Claire froze.
"That's not how you describe a dream," she said.
Cal swallowed hard. "It's not a dream."
The fog pulsed, defensive.
I felt it clearly now—anchoring. Not acting through Cal, not yet. Pressing in just enough to test whether he would hold.
"How long," I asked.
He blinked. "How long what."
"Has this been happening."
Cal's jaw tightened. "Since yesterday. Maybe earlier. I thought it was nerves. Or… you."
The fog recoiled slightly at that.
Claire looked at me. "You didn't tell me."
"I didn't know," I said. "Not for sure."
Cal dragged a hand down his face. His movements were shaky now, human again. "It's like something's standing behind me," he said quietly. "Not touching. Just… waiting."
I felt the fog lean in response, eager despite itself.
"No," I said sharply.
The word wasn't for Cal.
The fog stilled.
Cal exhaled slowly. "It doesn't like that."
Claire's breath caught. "You can feel it reacting."
"Yes," Cal said. "When he talks to it. When he pushes back."
My chest felt hollow.
"Can you fight it," I asked.
Cal met my eyes, and for a moment the answer was there before the words arrived. "I don't think it wants to fight me."
That was worse.
Claire shook her head. "Then what does it want."
Cal hesitated. "It wants… room."
The fog surged instinctively, trying to bridge the gap between us, to reassert the old pattern. I cut it down hard, thinning it until the pressure in my chest burned.
The pull toward Cal intensified.
Claire felt it too. She flinched. "Raven—"
"I know."
Cal pushed himself upright, breathing steadier now, too steady given what he'd just been through. He looked down at his hands, flexed his fingers.
"They move easier," he said. "Like I already know where they're supposed to go."
I swallowed.
"That's not you," I said.
"No," Cal agreed softly. "But it's using me like I am."
Silence settled over the camp, heavy and fragile. The fire crackled, oblivious. The forest didn't react.
Claire broke first. "We don't let it do this."
I didn't answer immediately.
Because I didn't know if that was something we could decide anymore.
The fog hovered low between us, thin and patient, like it had already accounted for our resistance.
And as the night stretched on and Cal stared into the dark with a look that wasn't entirely his own, one truth settled in, cold and unavoidable:
The fog hadn't chosen Cal because he was strong.
It had chosen him because he was close.
And it was running out of time.