Chapter 4

I couldn’t keep it a secret any longer. I’d been hiding it from Collins for months. But if he truly meant it when he said we’d face everything together, then I had to be honest with him.

My thoughts drifted back to how it all began.

FOUR MONTHS EARLIER.

"Vanessa, let's not go over this again," Mr. Maxwell said, his voice clipped as he leaned back in his chair.

I stood in front of his desk, arms crossed. "I’ve been here three years. My photos have won contests. I’ve led campaigns. You promised a raise and a promotion. What changed?"

Beside him, Claire, our lead curator, barely glanced at me. "The board wants new content, Vanessa. Fresh discoveries. All your recent work is just average."

"Average?" I laughed bitterly. "Wildlife doesn’t pose for you! It takes patience and risk. You think I just snap squirrels and call it a day?"

Mr. Maxwell sighed. "Look, until you bring something new to Sightlife Media, we can’t justify moving you forward. We need work that grabs attention. Something rare."

“How on earth am I supposed to capture something rare?” I asked, my voice rising. “You make it sound like I can just order it online.”

Mr. Maxwell sighed, like he’d heard this a hundred times. “A few people have done it, Vanessa. They went out, found something no one else had, and came back with game-changing content.”

Claire, sitting beside him, rolled her eyes. “You’re not the only one who didn’t get a raise, Vanessa. Others didn’t either. They just don’t complain like you do.”

I clenched my jaw. “So the rule’s the same for everyone, but I’m the only one who cares?”

“That’s not a bad thing,” Mr. Maxwell said. “It shows passion. But passion doesn’t pay unless it brings results. We need something big. Something bold. Something new.”

"So all this time means nothing?" My voice cracked. "I practically live in the field."

Claire shrugged. "Then live harder. Find something no one else has. That’s what this company pays for."

My hands curled into fists.

“Vanessa, let's not go over this again,” Mr. Maxwell added, voice clipped as he turned to his laptop.

I stormed out. My hands were shaking. My jaw clenched. I felt humiliated, like they’d stripped everything I’d worked for.

Outside, I could feel my blood boiling. I reached my car, flung my bag in, and slammed the door shut behind me. My hands gripped the wheel until my knuckles turned white.

Three years. Gone just like that. All because my photos weren’t wild enough?

I drove home in silence, blinking back angry tears.

By the time I got in, I was starving. I dropped my bag and walked into the kitchen.

"You finally show your face," my stepmother snapped from the dining table. "Did you at least bring something useful today or just more dirt on your boots?"

I ignored her and opened the fridge.

"Don’t touch that! That’s dinner."

"It’s dad’s house," I muttered. "He buys the food."

"Exactly," she said, standing up. "And you’re 24. Still mooching off your father like a spoiled child."

"You live here too. Don’t act like we’re not in the same shoes."

She laughed coldly. "The difference is, I’m his wife. This is my home. You? You’re just squatting in your dead mother’s shadow. Why don’t you go get married instead of running around with that camera?"

"Maybe because marriage isn’t my escape plan," I snapped.

Anabel, my stepsister, walked in, still in her school uniform. "Mom, don’t stress. Vanessa’s just mad she’ll be 30 and still single with mud in her hair."

They both laughed.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

I turned and walked out, up the stairs, and into my room. I slammed the door, breathing hard. My chest burned.

I yanked open my drawer and pulled out the old journal. The leather cover was cracked. Inside, faded notes and sketches of beasts filled the pages.

I stared at the map tucked in the back.

"They want something rare?" I whispered. "I’ll give them rare. Even if I have to go into that cursed forest alone."

That was the moment it all shifted. My hunger for proof that I wasn’t just some ‘average’ girl with a camera, overpowered my fear.

I didn’t even sleep that night. I packed my gear, checked batteries, lenses, memory cards. The journal wouldn't lie, not about the woods, and not about the creatures inside them.

The next day, I was deep in Flariva Woods. My camera bag strapped tight, the ancient map in my pocket. The trees whispered secrets as the wind rustled through.

I followed the path. Twisted oak. Granite hill. Every marker matched the journal.

I searched for the beasts and creatures described in the old journal.

"Don’t step beyond the second boundary after night. The fog eats sight. Many never return."

I checked my phone. 4:25 p.m. Thirty minutes. In and out.

But I crossed the boundary anyway. The fog crept in before I realized. It rolled in slow, soft. Then suddenly thick.

My compass spun. My phone lost signal.

"No, no, no," I whispered. "Go back. Where’s the oak? The marker?"

Everything was gone.

Panic started to rise. I turned in a circle, hoping for anything familiar. Nothing. Just trees and fog. I ran. Branches tore at my arms. I stumbled, fell, got up.

Then, a structure came in sight. Roof was broken. Steps wooden. It was shelter.

I ran to it, flung the door open, and collapsed on the floor.

"Just for a bit. Just until the fog clears."

I could hear my own heartbeat. I wrapped my arms around my knees. I tried to slow my breathing.

I heard a growl. It was low. Deep. And from outside.

Before I could register it, the door flew open. The beast charged in. It was massive. Fur soaked. Eyes glowing.

I screamed.

It lunged at me. I raised my hand to shield my face. Pain exploded across my shoulder.

Then, in a blur. A man ran in. Dark clothes. Fierce. Fast.

The beast retreated, just for a moment.

The beast growled again. Lower. Then it leapt.

The man moved quicker. He shoved me behind him.

Pain exploded on my neck. Burning, spreading fire.

I heard him whisper something, but everything spun.

Then darkness.