The breeze caught Nyah’s hair as she stepped onto the threshold, lifting a few strands across her cheek. She paused there, silhouetted by the moonlight, one hand braced lightly on the doorframe, and glanced back at Bette with something close to reluctance in her eyes.

“Still think you don’t need anyone?” she asked, her voice soft, almost teasing but there was something raw beneath it.

Bette didn’t look away. “I need a lot,” she said, her voice steady but low. “Just not like that.”

Nyah studied her a moment longer, something unreadable passing through her expression. Then she gave a quiet nod, the half-smile on her lips both acceptance and goodbye. “Fair enough,” she murmured, before stepping down into the night.

Bette watched her walk away until the dark swallowed her figure. Then she closed the door gently, the latch clicking with finality. She leaned back against the solid wood, letting her head tilt until it touched the grain. Her eyes fluttered shut, the weight of the evening pressing into her bones.

Behind her, the candles still burned, their flames flickering in uneven rhythm, casting soft, wavering shadows across the abandoned table where the remains of dinner sat untouched, two half-full glasses, a plate of roasted vegetables gone cold, the scent of rosemary and smoke still hanging in the air. The space felt quieter now. Not empty, but quieter.

***

Nyah’s truck sat at the edge of the compound, just beyond the bend where the low trees began. The path was familiar, packed red earth beneath her soles, studded with the faint marks of the foundation’s menagerie’s wanderings. She didn’t need a torch; she knew the way. But still, she paused at the bottom of the steps.

The wind had shifted.

It wasn’t the gentle stirring of air she had felt earlier, playful and cooling on the back of her neck. This was something else, subtler, heavier. Like the breath held just before a predator lunges. The savannah, usually alive with the endless night chorus of insects and owls, had gone suddenly still. The cicadas had quieted, and the frogs by the water trough had fallen silent.

Nyah stood very still, her ears straining.

Nothing.

She glanced up. The stars glittered bright above, scattered like broken glass across the velvet sky. The last waning crescent had faded from the sky a day or two ago, and with the new moon now in place, the night had sunk into its darkest phase. No silver curve hung overhead to catch on the leaves or gleam against the dust; only a thick, ink-black canopy that made every shadow deeper, every movement harder to trust. Somewhere far off, a hyena barked. That wasn’t what had stopped her.

It was something closer. Unseen.

She took a few steps forward, slow and measured, her hand brushing instinctively against the knife clipped to her belt pressed across her back. Just a precaution. She wasn’t a stranger to danger. The compound bordered wild land, and there had been poachers bold enough to slip through before. But this didn’t feel like poachers. This didn’t feel like something moving with purpose.

It felt like being watched.

She shifted her stance, scanning the dark shapes beyond the trees; low buildings, scrub brush, barns, foundation vehicles. Everything in her body, honed from years of fieldwork and nights spent tracking shadowy figures across any terrain, told her something was wrong.

A twig snapped.

Nyah dropped to a crouch in one fluid motion, her hand on the knife’s hilt now. Heart hammering in her ears, she pivoted toward the sound but there was nothing. Just the suggestion of movement where the branches swayed, too deliberate to be the wind.

She waited. Counted. One breath. Two. Three.

Still nothing.

And then a whisper. Not in words. Not even a sound. But a presence. Just at the edge of knowing. She stood slowly, every muscle tight. Her eyes scanned the trees again before she began to move, not toward her truck, but back, slowly, toward the safety of the lit porch behind her. Each step was silent. Careful.

Something was out there.

And it knew she knew.