The sun was low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the path Finn and I were walking. Despite the gentle light, an uneasy feeling hung over me. I knew we were close to camp, close to the safety of my grandfather's presence, but my body didn't seem to care. My heart was racing, and every distant rustle in the trees made me flinch.

I felt Finn's hand wrap around mine, grounding me. "Almost there," he murmured, his voice warm and reassuring. "You're doing great, Lyra."

I forced a smile, squeezing his hand. "I know," I said, trying to match his calm. "Just... glad it's over. It's been a long day." But the truth was, the memories that always lurked just beneath the surface had started to stir, filling my mind with fragments I wished I could forget.

We were almost to the hideout when I saw something—a shadow in the trees. My mind knew it was nothing, just the sway of a branch, but a cold grip of panic wrapped around my chest anyway. I felt my breathing speed up as I remembered another day, long ago when shadows had meant something far more sinister.

"Lyra?" Finn's voice was soft, a gentle reminder that I wasn't alone. But his voice was fading, slipping away from me as if I were being pulled backward through time.

I was back there, in that cabin with my parents.

9 years ago

It was early morning, and the sunlight just starting to trickle through the thin cracks in the wooden walls. I was barely awake, curled up on the small couch while Mom and Dad spoke quietly by the door. Their faces were drawn, and tired, but they were smiling down at me, making me feel safe.

Then, a sound—a scratching, scraping noise just outside. I could see Dad's face tense, see his hand move slowly toward the knife on his belt. Mom's grip on my shoulder tightened, her gaze shifting from me to the window, to the shadows shifting outside.

"Stay right here, Lyra," she whispered, her voice tight but calm. "Don't move, okay?"

I nodded, watching as they moved toward the door, their bodies stiff and alert. And then the scratching stopped, replaced by a low, rumbling growl that echoed through the cabin, making my heart leap into my throat. I knew that sound. We'd heard it before, from a distance, late at night, when we were supposed to be safe inside. But this time, it was right there, just on the other side of the door.

In a blur of movement, Dad pulled the door open and stepped outside, his knife raised. Mom went to follow him, but before she could even step out, the creature appeared—a hulking shape with twisted limbs and glowing eyes that seemed to pierce the dim morning light.

Mom gasped, stepping back, and I watched, frozen, as the creature lunged forward with a horrifying speed, knocking Dad to the ground. Mom screamed, her hand flying to her mouth, and then she was rushing toward him, desperate to help.

But the creature turned on her, faster than I could have imagined, its claws flashing in the pale light. I could see the terror in her eyes as she tried to back away, her gaze darting toward me for a single, heart-wrenching second before the creature attacked.

I heard a scream—my own, raw and desperate—but I couldn't move, couldn't do anything but watch as the creature dragged them both into the forest. Their cries faded into the distance, leaving me alone in the terrible silence, my heart pounding as I stared at the open doorway where they'd just been.

They were gone. They weren't coming back. I was alone.

"Lyra!" Finn's voice cut through the fog of memory, yanking me back to the present. I blinked, feeling the tears streaming down my face, my body trembling. Finn's hands were on my shoulders, steady and warm, his eyes wide with concern.

"Hey, hey," he murmured, pulling me into a tight hug. "It's okay. You're safe. I'm here."

I buried my face in his shoulder, letting his calm presence anchor me. I knew he was right, that I was safe here with him, but the ache of that memory still lingered, raw and unyielding. It was always there, lurking in the shadows, waiting to remind me of what I'd lost.

We stood there for a long time, Finn holding me close, whispering soothing words until my breathing finally steadied, the edges of the memory fading.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, pulling back slightly, embarrassed. "I thought... I thought I was past this."

Finn's eyes softened, his hand brushing a stray tear from my cheek. "Don't apologize, Lyra. What you went through... it's not something you just 'get past.' It's part of you, but it doesn't have to define you."

I nodded, still feeling a little shaken. "It's just... sometimes it's so vivid, like I'm right there again, and I can't... I can't pull myself out."

He held my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "When that happens, I'll be here to pull you back. You don't have to do this alone, okay?"

I managed a small smile, grateful for him in a way I couldn't fully express. "Thank you, Finn. For always... being here."

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. "Always. Now let's go see your grandpa."

With Finn's arm around me, I felt a little more grounded as we walked the rest of the way to camp. The shadows didn't seem so dark now, and as I looked at Finn's reassuring smile, I allowed myself to believe, just a little, that maybe I wasn't so alone after all.