Evelyn moved swiftly now, following the notes and coordinates she had memorized from the journal. The terrain sloped downward, and the air grew colder, denser, as if the forest itself was holding its breath. Behind her, the two bears had stopped at the tree line. The mother bear let out a low, restrained huff, but made no move to follow.
Evelyn glanced back. “It’s okay,” she whispered, as if to reassure them—or herself. “I’ll go.” She pressed forward. Branches whipped at her arms, the scent of damp earth thick in her nostrils. Then, just as she reached a rocky dip near a dry creekbed, she heard it. A sound so small and fragile, it might’ve been mistaken for wind at first.