If you've never been chased by a motivational poster, you've never lived on a military base.
Mine was taped right outside the shower room. It showed a smiling soldier sprinting through rain like he was auditioning for a toothpaste commercial. Underneath, in bold letters, it said:
PAIN IS WEAKNESS LEAVING THE BODY.
Which is funny, because most mornings my pain wasn't leaving anywhere. It was moving in, unpacking, and asking if it could stay forever.
I stared at the poster while I tied my hair into a knot that would last approximately three minutes. My hair hated being contained. It was the one thing in my life that refused to follow orders, which made it my favorite part of me.
Behind me, the shower pipes rattled and the water pressure did that thing where it went from "gentle drizzle" to "angry firehose" with no warning. Somebody in the next stall yelped. I heard a slap and then the kind of silence that said, I will be thinking about this betrayal for the rest of my life.
I finished getting dressed in the fastest, least graceful way possible.
Uniform. Socks. Boots. The boots were always cold, like they spent the night thinking mean thoughts.
My wristwatch said 0512. The sun outside was still pretending it didn't exist. The air in the hallway smelled like disinfectant and the faint desperation of teenagers who were awake before they should be.
That was my school. Military school, to be specific. Not the secret kind with underground labs and people sprinting faster than physics allows. Just the normal kind where you learn math and history while also being told you are a disappointment to your posture.
I lived in the dorms during the week and went home on weekends, which meant I got just enough distance to function and just enough guilt to never fully relax.
Technically, I had a reason for being here.
My dad.
He'd been a decently high-ranking officer. People still said nice things about him, which was the strangest part. When someone dies, they become a legend or a warning depending on who's talking. In my dad's case, he became a legend with excellent leadership skills and a smile that "lit up the room."
I remembered him as a man who whistled while he made grilled cheese, and who always wore his cap indoors even though my mom told him not to, and who called me "Kiddo" like it was my actual name.
He died anyway.
The base gave us two things afterward.
First, the privilege of staying in housing as long as we didn't cause trouble. Second, a scholarship for me to attend school here, because it looked good on paper. Honoring a fallen officer's family. All the right words.
Nobody said the third thing out loud, but I could hear it in the way some of the adults watched us.
Try not to fall apart in public.
I walked outside and the cold hit my face like a slap.
The dorm buildings sat in neat rows, square and sturdy and joyless, like someone had tried to design comfort but got distracted and built a parking lot instead. In the distance, beyond the fence line and the light towers, the forest stretched out in dark shapes. It looked like a giant sleeping animal.
I pulled my jacket tighter and started walking toward the main school building.
My classmates were already out, shuffling in groups. Some were laughing too loudly. Some were silent. Some looked like they'd been awake for two days and might finally snap and start eating the motivational posters.
"Morning, Mara," a voice called.
I turned and saw Jess jogging up beside me, her braid swinging like a weapon. Jess was one of those people who somehow made exhaustion look like a choice.
"You look awake," she said.
"I'm faking it," I told her.
"Good. Same." She shoved her hands into her pockets and leaned closer. "You hear the rumor?"
"Which one."
She grinned. "The one about the new program."
I kept my face neutral, because that was what you did on a base. You didn't react too much. You didn't ask too many questions. You definitely didn't look interested in anything you weren't cleared to know.
But Jess wasn't cleared to know anything either, and she asked questions the way some people breathed.
"I heard there's another school," she whispered. "Not ours. Like, a special one."
Jess's rumors were like her coffee. Strong, suspicious, and somehow always present.
"There's always another school," I said. "There's a school for people who polish the tanks. There's a school for people who teach the people who polish the tanks."
Jess rolled her eyes. "No. This one's different. They're choosing kids. Like, the best kids. Fighters and brains."
I almost laughed. "So they're choosing everyone except me."
"Shut up," Jess said immediately, which meant she knew I wasn't joking. "You're top of the class."
"Yeah," I said. "Because it turns out it's easier to get perfect grades when your home life is a disaster and studying is the only thing that feels like it has rules."
Jess looked like she wanted to argue, then thought better of it.
We walked in silence for a few steps, the kind that wasn't awkward. Jess was good at that. She didn't fill every gap with noise.
"You running today?" she asked.
"I run every day," I said.
"Yeah, but like," she lowered her voice again, "are you running to be healthy, or are you running because your house is depressing."
I stared at her.
Jess shrugged. "I'm not judging. I run because my roommate snores like a wounded animal."
"I'm running because my house is depressing," I admitted.
"Good," Jess said. "Same. Except it's my head."
That was the thing about military school. Everyone here had a reason. Some of them were polished and respectable and written in neat paragraphs. Others were messy and private and only came out at five in the morning when you hadn't had enough sleep to pretend you were fine.
We made it to the main building. Inside, fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The halls smelled like floor wax and cafeteria eggs. The eggs deserved their own war crimes trial.
I went through the motions.
Morning assembly. Announcements. Pledge. Someone got yelled at for slouching. Someone else got praised for breathing with determination.
Then classes.
Math was math. History was a parade of people making terrible decisions and calling it destiny. English was fine, mostly because reading meant I could leave my own life for a little while.
By lunchtime, I'd almost managed to forget the quiet heaviness waiting for me at home this weekend.
Almost.
The cafeteria was loud in that controlled way, like a room full of people trying to convince themselves they belonged here. I sat with Jess and a few others. I ate half a sandwich. It tasted like cardboard and regret.
Across the room, a group of seniors crowded around a table, talking fast. They looked excited in a way that made my skin itch.
"See?" Jess whispered, nodding toward them. "That's about the program. I swear."
I watched them for a second, then looked away.
It was a bad habit of mine.
Avoid the thing that might matter.
It was safer. If you didn't want something, you couldn't lose it.
After lunch, I went to training.
Our school wasn't just academics. We had physical training too. Not because everyone was going into the military. Some kids were here because their parents wanted discipline. Some were here because they messed up and this was the last respectable place to send them. Some were here because of scholarships like mine.
The base liked keeping its options open.
The gym smelled like sweat and rubber mats. The instructor, Sergeant Kline, had the kind of voice that could break glass if she aimed it right.
"Warm up!" she barked. "Then we're doing endurance. If I see any of you slacking, I will personally haunt your future."
Jess leaned over. "She's so inspirational."
I snorted.
We ran laps inside first. Then drills. Then more laps. Then the part where my body started complaining and my brain told it to shut up.
By the time training ended, my limbs were jelly and my throat felt like sandpaper.
It was the good kind of tired.
The kind you earned.
When the final whistle blew, everyone stumbled toward the locker rooms. Jess waved at me on her way out.
"Still running later?" she called.
"Yeah," I said.
"Try not to die in the woods," she shouted, like that was a normal thing to say.
I gave her a two-finger salute. "No promises."
After training, I packed my bag and headed back to base housing. It was Friday, which meant weekends at home.
Our place wasn't far from the school. Rows of identical houses lined the street. Same beige walls, same front steps, same little patches of lawn fighting a losing battle against the dirt.
Our house looked like all the others, except for one detail.
The curtains were always closed.
Even in the middle of the day.
Like my mom was trying to keep the world out, or keep herself in. I wasn't sure which.
I opened the door quietly.
Inside, the air smelled faintly like wine and something sweet, like perfume. The living room was dim. A blanket was draped over the couch like a collapsed tent.
"Mara?" my mom called, voice rough.
"In here," I said.
She was sitting on the couch with her legs tucked under her. There was a glass on the coffee table, half full of red liquid. Her hair was messy, like she'd slept and given up halfway through waking up. She wore one of my dad's old t-shirts, the kind that hung loose and made her look even smaller than she was.
She looked up and tried to smile.
It didn't reach her eyes.
"Hi, baby," she said.
I hated when she called me that. Not because it was wrong. Because it made me feel like I was still allowed to be one.
"Hi," I said. I stepped closer, eyes flicking to the glass. "How's your day."
"Fine," she said quickly. Then, softer, "It's fine."
I put my bag down and forced my voice into something casual. "Did you eat."
She waved a hand. "I wasn't hungry."
Of course she wasn't.
When you stopped living, you stopped needing things. Food. Light. Company. All optional.
I moved to the kitchen and opened the fridge. There wasn't much inside. Some leftovers. A carton of eggs. A bottle of water that looked lonely.
I grabbed the water and brought it to her.
"Drink," I said.
She made a face like I'd offered poison. "I had some."
"That's not water."
She sighed and took the bottle anyway, holding it like it was a strange artifact. "You're so bossy."
"Someone has to be," I said.
Her mouth twitched. For a second, I saw the version of her I remembered from before. The one who laughed at dumb movies. The one who used to sing while cooking, off-key and unapologetic. The one who told my dad to take his hat off indoors and then kissed him like she couldn't help it.
Then her gaze drifted past me, unfocused.
The old version sank back under the surface.
I stood there for another second, waiting for her to say something meaningful. She didn't.
So I did what I always did.
I went to my room.
My room was the only place that felt like it belonged to me. It was small, but it was tidy. A bed. A desk. A lamp. A shelf full of textbooks and a few worn paperbacks that had survived more moves than I had.
I set my bag down and sat on the edge of the bed.
The quiet pressed in.
I could hear my mom's TV in the living room. Some talk show. People laughing at something that wasn't funny. The sound made my skin crawl.
I checked the time.
Still too early to go to bed.
Still too late to pretend the day didn't happen.
I stood up and grabbed my running shoes.
Running wasn't just exercise. It was a way to disappear without technically leaving. Nobody questioned a kid on base going for a run. It looked responsible. Healthy. Like I was coping the right way.
Really, I just needed to be somewhere the air didn't smell like grief.
I left a note on the counter. Not because my mom needed it, but because if I didn't, she would panic later and call me ten times.
Running. Back soon.
Then I stepped outside.
The sky was turning orange at the edges. The air was colder now, sharp and clean. I started running down the street, past the identical houses, past the fence line where the base ended and the world began.
I didn't go far at first.
A loop around the housing area. A loop around the school. Then another loop.
But the longer I ran, the more the forest called to me.
That's the only word that fits.
Called.
Like it had a voice, and I'd spent my whole life ignoring it, and now it had finally gotten tired of being polite.
The forest sat beyond the cleared training trails, beyond the tidy sections where cadets were allowed to run laps. There were signs posted along the edge.
RESTRICTED AREA. DO NOT ENTER.
WILDLIFE. UNSAFE CONDITIONS.
TRESPASSERS WILL BE DISCIPLINED.
Those signs were effective on most people.
They were not effective on me.
I slowed near the boundary, hands on my hips, catching my breath. The woods were darker than they should have been, even with the sun still up. The trees leaned close together, branches tangled like they were whispering.
I told myself I wasn't going in.
Then I took one step forward.
Then another.
"Okay," I whispered to myself. "Cool. Good choices. Love this."
The ground under my feet changed from packed dirt to leaf litter. My shoes sank slightly. The air smelled like pine and damp earth.
I ran.
Not fast. Not like training. Just steady, letting my body move on instinct while my mind drifted.
For the first few minutes, it felt normal.
Trees. Shadows. The occasional bird.
Then the birds stopped.
I didn't notice right away. My brain was busy replaying the day. The rumor about the program. Sergeant Kline's threats. My mom's empty smile.
But when you live on a base, you learn to notice silence.
Silence means something.
I slowed, scanning the trees.
No wind.
No rustling.
Just stillness.
"Great," I muttered. "This is how horror movies start."
I told myself I was being dramatic. I was tired. My legs ached. My brain was making patterns out of nothing.
So I kept running.
The path narrowed, twisting around thick roots. The ground dipped slightly. The trees grew denser.
I realized I didn't recognize this part of the woods.
That should have been my cue to turn around.
Instead, I went farther.
Because I'm intelligent in the ways that matter, and a complete idiot in the ways that keep you alive.
I came to a small clearing. Not a real clearing, just a place where the trees stepped back like they were giving something space. The light here looked wrong. Dimmer. Dusty. Like someone had turned the brightness down.
My skin prickled.
I stopped running.
My breathing sounded too loud.
I turned in a slow circle, trying to get my bearings.
That's when I saw it.
A shallow depression in the ground near the base of a large tree. It looked like a sinkhole that hadn't finished sinking. Leaves had gathered over it, hiding the edges. If you weren't looking, you'd think it was just a pile of debris.
If you weren't me, you'd think, That looks unsafe, and then back away.
I stared at it.
Something in my chest pulled tight. Not fear exactly. More like curiosity mixed with the feeling you get when you stand too close to the edge of something tall.
The world seemed to pause, like it was waiting for me to make a decision.
I took a step closer.
A branch snapped somewhere behind me.
I spun.
Nothing.
No one.
The forest stood perfectly still.
My heart thudded hard once, like it was trying to warn me.
"Okay," I said out loud, because talking to yourself in the woods is a sign of excellent mental health. "I'm leaving. I'm leaving right now. Great run, Mara. Ten out of ten. No notes."
I turned away from the depression.
And my foot slid on something loose.
For half a second, my body tried to correct. My arms flailed, grabbing for a branch that wasn't there. My balance tipped.
The ground gave way.
The leaves weren't a pile.
They were a cover.
I fell.
Air rushed past my ears. My stomach lurched. I had enough time to think, Oh. That's bad.
Then the world became dark and cold and fast.
I hit the ground hard, pain exploding through my shoulder and hip. Dirt filled my mouth. Something sharp scraped my arm.
I gasped, trying to breathe, trying to move, trying to figure out if I was broken.
Above me, a circle of light shrank as loose leaves and soil slid down after me, narrowing the opening like the forest was closing its eye.
For a moment, I lay there, staring up, chest heaving.
My ears rang.
My vision blurred.
And then the light overhead dimmed even more, as if something passed in front of it.
Something that wasn't a branch.
I froze.
My throat went tight.
In the darkness, I heard a sound.
Not wind.
Not an animal.
It was softer than that.
A whisper, almost too quiet to be real.
And somehow, even though I couldn't make out the words, I knew one thing with the kind of certainty that doesn't come from logic.
It wasn't the forest making that sound.
It was something under it.
Something that had been waiting.
And now that I'd fallen, it finally had me.