The sound reached them halfway up the wall—too soft to place at first, like breath slipping through wood. Ethan froze with one hand braced against the limestone, his fingers aching from the hold. Below them, the forest lay silent. Above them, something whispered, low and indistinct, as if the mountain itself were trying to speak.
Nora heard it too. She turned her head slowly, pressing her cheek closer to the rock, listening. The sound wasn’t wind. It wasn’t birds. It came in fragments—murmured syllables without shape, followed by a dull thud that echoed once and disappeared. The cliff face ahead of them looked wrong somehow, its shadows too straight, its silence too deliberate.
When the whispering stopped, the absence felt heavier than the sound itself. They stayed where they were, suspended against the stone, afraid to move and afraid not to. Somewhere beyond the rock, hidden from sight, wood creaked softly—an old, patient sound—like a door settling closed after someone had passed through.