What We Don't Say
The next few days passed carefully.
Jason watched the woods.
And he watched Artemis.
Every time Artemis came downstairs with another crumpled page, Jason waited. Calm. Patient. After Artemis returned upstairs, Jason would retrieve it from the trash, smooth it out, and take it to his room. What started as a small stack became something organized. Intentional. He cleared an entire section of wall space and pinned each drawing to a corkboard above his desk.
Seven monsters became nine.
Nine became twelve.
But not all of them were monsters.
Some pages showed people from town. The baker from across the square with shadows under her eyes labeled tired but pretending. A man near the hardware store sketched with jagged lines around his head labeled he hears it too. A woman sitting alone on a park bench surrounded by faint pencil scratches labeled waiting for something to stop.
Artemis wasn't just drawing creatures.
He was drawing feelings.
Some pages were stranger. Covered edge to edge in symbols Jason didn't recognize. Sharp spirals. Vertical lines cut through by smaller slashes. Repeated shapes that looked almost like trees but not quite. On one page, random words were scattered without order:
awake
underneath
split
don't look up
it blinks sideways
Jason pinned those up too.
He stood in front of the board often, arms crossed, analyzing patterns. The creatures were always near trees. The people were always alone. The symbols appeared more frequently the closer the drawings moved toward the right side of the board.
Like a progression.
Like something building.
—
One afternoon, Jason found himself back in the town square of Star Valley. Syd and her friends moved in a loose circle from shop to shop again, laughter echoing under the hanging lights. This time, Analisa stood tucked comfortably against his side.
His arm rested around her waist without thinking. Protective, but natural. She didn't question it. She leaned into him easily, one hand hooked in the fabric of his hoodie as they walked.
"You're scanning again," she murmured lightly.
"Habit."
"You act like this town's about to attack us."
Jason's gaze flicked toward the tree line beyond the square. "You never know."
She studied him for a second but didn't press. That was something he liked about her. She noticed. She just chose her timing carefully.
Ahead of them, Syd and Lila walked slightly apart from the others. Close. Not touching, but close enough that their shoulders brushed occasionally. Lila, usually reserved and dry in conversation, seemed different around Syd. Softer. More animated. She leaned in when Syd spoke. Smiled more often.
And Syd—Syd looked lighter around her.
Jason noticed.
He didn't comment.
It wasn't his place. Syd deserved something that felt uncomplicated. If Lila made her feel safe, that was enough.
"Earth to Jason," Analisa teased gently, nudging him. "You're doing it again."
He blinked. "Doing what?"
"Thinking too hard."
He exhaled through his nose, faint amusement touching his expression. "Someone has to."
They spent hours there. Shopping bags accumulated. Carter tried to convince everyone to explore an abandoned building near the edge of town and was immediately vetoed. Maya dropped her phone in the fountain's dry basin. Normal teenage chaos.
And still, beneath it, that hum.
That sense of being observed.
Jason caught it twice. A shift in the woods. A flicker high between branches. Once, he could have sworn he saw a vertical shape angled unnaturally against a trunk. But when he focused, it disappeared.
He wasn't scared.
Not yet.
—
By evening, Syd and Jason headed home, parting from the group with casual goodbyes. Analisa squeezed his hand before leaving in the opposite direction. "Stop staring at trees," she told him quietly.
"No promises," he replied.
The house greeted them with warmth. Lights on. Windows glowing. The faint smell of seasoned chicken and baked bread drifting from the kitchen.
Inside, Artemis and Dante sat cross-legged on the living room floor with the neighbor kids, arguing over rules to some complicated board game. Their voices overlapped in bursts of laughter and mock frustration. It sounded real. Unforced.
Their mother moved between the stove and the counter with practiced ease, wooden spoon tapping lightly against a pot.
For a moment, everything felt steady.
Jason stepped fully inside and that's when it happened.
He locked eyes with Artemis.
Just for a second.
The room noise dimmed—not physically, but in that way where awareness sharpens. Artemis' expression didn't change. But something passed between them. Recognition. A silent question. Or maybe a silent warning.
Jason didn't look away first.
Then he smiled.
Easy. Casual.
He walked over and ruffled Artemis' hair. "What's up, shorty?"
Artemis scowled instantly, swatting his hand away. "I'm literally growing."
"Sure you are."
Dante snorted. "He measured himself yesterday."
"Shut up," Artemis muttered.
The tension dissolved into playful banter. Syd rolled her eyes and dropped onto the couch. Their mother called everyone to wash up. The neighbor kids groaned dramatically.
Normal.
So painfully normal it almost hurt.
Jason stepped back, leaning against the doorway, watching them all. Artemis arguing over game rules. Dante pretending not to care while clearly caring. Syd laughing at something Lila had texted her. Their mother humming softly as she plated food.
Outside, beyond the windows, the woods stood dark and layered.
Wrong.
But inside, for this moment, the house felt warm.
Moments like this stitched things together. Held the soul in place when everything else tried to pull it apart. Jason understood that. Maybe that was why he hadn't confronted Artemis yet. Maybe that was why he kept smiling.
Because if he said it out loud—if he admitted the drawings weren't imagination—then this fragile normal would crack.
And Jason wasn't ready to let it crack.
Not while Artemis was still laughing.
Not while Syd looked happy.
Not while their mother hummed in the kitchen like nothing followed them here.
Outside, something shifted between the trees.
Patient.
Watching the windows glow.
Waiting for the stitches to loosen.