Where Did Noah Go?

The first hint of dawn, a hesitant blush of grey against the inky black, found Leo stirring. He’d slept fitfully, the unfamiliar sounds of the forest a constant hum beneath the surface of his dreams. The crackle of the dying embers in the campfire, the distant hoot of an owl, the rustle of unseen creatures – each had played a part in a symphony of unease that had kept him on edge. He burrowed deeper into his sleeping bag, pulling it closer, a childish instinct he couldn't quite shake. He was the leader, after all, the one who was supposed to be brave, but the truth was, the woods, even in daylight, felt… watchful.

He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the tent fabric. Sam was already awake, sitting up, his gaze fixed on something outside. Leo followed his friend’s line of sight, a knot of dread tightening in his stomach. Noah’s tent, usually a riot of crumpled sleeping bags and discarded snacks, was eerily still. The flap was pulled open, a dark void in the otherwise muted canvas.

“Noah?” Leo whispered, his voice raspy with sleep and apprehension. He nudged Sam. “Is he in there?”