The ruins didn't announce themselves.
There was no wall, no gate, no sign that someone had once decided to stop moving here.
They almost walked past them.
It was the fire pit that gave it away—stones arranged too neatly to be natural, blackened on the inside and worn smooth by repeated use. The ash had long since scattered, but the shape remained.
Aiden slowed.
She saw it a heartbeat later. "Someone lived here."
"Yeah," Aiden said. "For a while."
They moved carefully, scanning the area before stepping closer. What they found wasn't a camp—it was the remains of one. Collapsed stone shelters half-buried by dirt. Broken tools. Scraps of fabric rotted into nothing.
No bodies.
That was worse.
People didn't die here.
They left.
Or were taken.
Aiden crouched near one of the shelters, brushing dirt away from a stone wall. Something had been carved into it—shallow lines, deliberate but worn.
Not words.
Just a mark.
The same unfinished shape he'd seen under the overhang the night before.
His jaw tightened.
She noticed his expression. "You've seen that before."
He nodded once. "More than once."
She studied the carving longer than he expected. "Why would someone carve the same thing everywhere?"
Aiden didn't answer.
Because the question he was asking himself was worse.
Why would someone erase it in other places?
The grass around the ruins was tall, bending slightly inward like it leaned toward the center. There was no wind.
Aiden didn't like that.
They stepped lightly, boots barely brushing the stone paths that cut through the area. The farther they moved in, the quieter the world became.
Too quiet.
Then the whispering started.
Not voices.
Not words.
Just sound—soft, layered, like something breathing through the grass itself.
She froze. "That's not the wind."
Aiden shook his head slowly. "No."
The sound shifted when they moved.
Not following.
Responding.
Aiden picked up a small stone and tossed it toward the edge of the grass.
The whispering flowed toward it.
A pale shape rose briefly above the blades—thin, stretched, wrong—and then sank back down.
She swallowed. "It's waiting."
"Yes," Aiden said. "And it wants us to forget where we're standing."
They backed away without turning, steps measured, eyes fixed forward. The whispering grew louder for a moment—then stopped entirely.
The silence that followed pressed down on them like weight.
They didn't breathe until stone replaced grass beneath their feet.
They found signs of others farther out.
Not ruins this time.
Tracks.
Old ones.
Boot prints worn shallow by time, overlapping, looping back on themselves. Someone had paced here. A lot.
Aiden followed them until they ended abruptly at a broken slab of rock.
There was no sign of struggle.
No blood.
No indication of direction afterward.
She crouched beside the slab. "They didn't leave."
"No," Aiden said. "They were interrupted."
Something cold settled in his chest.
They weren't the first to move through this world.
They weren't even close.
By the time the light began to dim, they spotted smoke ahead—thin and controlled, not panicked.
A camp.
Aiden hesitated.
She watched him carefully. "We can go around."
He considered it, then shook his head. "We need information."
They approached openly.
The camp was small—six people, two fires, packs lined neatly against stone. Faces turned toward them immediately.
Hands didn't reach for weapons.
But they didn't relax either.
A woman stepped forward, older, eyes sharp. "You traveling?"
"Yes," Aiden said.
"Smart," she replied. "Staying gets people killed."
Someone snorted from behind her. "Moving gets people killed too."
The woman ignored him. "You come from the coast?"
Aiden nodded.
Her expression hardened. "Then you're late."
She gestured to the empty space beyond the camp. "There was another group here two days ago. Found something they shouldn't have."
"What happened?" she asked quietly.
The woman hesitated.
Then said, "They changed."
That wasn't an answer.
Aiden waited.
"They started doing things they couldn't explain," the woman continued. "Moving too fast. Seeing things early. Acting like the world bent for them."
"And?" Aiden asked.
"They're gone."
"Dead?"
The woman shook her head. "Worse."
She leaned closer, lowering her voice.
"Something came through after them. Quiet. Efficient."
Aiden felt it then—that pressure again. Subtle. Distant.
"Did you see them?" he asked.
The woman shook her head again. "No."
"Then how do you know?"
She met his eyes. "Because they didn't leave tracks."
Silence settled between them.
Someone near the fire muttered, "The Null passed through."
The woman shot him a sharp look. "Don't say that."
He shrank back immediately.
Aiden didn't ask.
He didn't need to.
They left the camp before night fully fell.
Neither of them spoke until the smoke was gone behind them.
Finally, she said, "People are disappearing."
Aiden nodded. "Not randomly."
She hugged her arms. "Do you think they'll come for us?"
Aiden stared out at the darkening land.
"No," he said after a moment. "Not yet."
She didn't find that comforting.
As they walked on, Aiden glanced back once.
The ruins were already hard to see in the fading light, swallowed by grass and shadow like they'd never been there at all.
The world didn't preserve what couldn't keep up.
And somewhere beyond the horizon, something listened.
End of Chapter 9