By morning, the trio was packed and ready. The fire was out, their bags were slung over their shoulders, and the soft hush of the river called to them like a trail. D’Angelo bounced on the balls of his feet, bright-eyed and fired up.

  “Let’s go!” he said, a grin tugging at his cheeks. “I feel like I slept a hundred years.”

  Jeremiah smirked as he adjusted the straps on his pack. “Glad to hear it, firecracker. If we follow the river, we should hit Chicago by nightfall.”

  He stepped out onto the muddy bank and raised a hand. Shadows from beneath the trees gathered like smoke and took shape, twisting and solidifying into a sleek, black boat. It floated just above the surface of the water, waiting.

  “All aboard,” Jeremiah said with a nod.

  They climbed in—Shadow in the front, D’Angelo in the middle, and Jeremiah in the back, steering. The boat drifted downstream with a gentle glide, the current helping them along.

  D’Angelo watched the trees slide past, the light sparkling through the leaves like coins under water. Birds chirped, the breeze hummed low, and the soft rhythm of the river began to pull at his eyelids. His head dipped, and soon, he was out.

  When he woke again, the world had changed.

  The skies above were no longer bright. Instead, long, thick trees stretched over them like giant arms, their leaves so dense the sky had vanished. Everything around them was bathed in blue and green shadows. Strange, glowing fungi clung to rocks and tree trunks, pulsing with dim light. Tall grass swayed along the banks, and fish jumped in slow arcs, sending ripples across the still water.

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  Jeremiah was still at the back of the boat, eyes calm and watchful. Shadow sat beside him, tail thumping quietly against the wood.

  The only real light came from the butterflies.

  They danced around the boat, wings glowing softly in pinks and blues and pale gold. They didn’t buzz like bugs. They didn’t flutter like birds. They just hovered—soft, slow, dreamlike.

  D’Angelo leaned forward, barely breathing. He didn’t want to scare them. He didn’t even want to blink.

  One butterfly floated toward him, close enough to touch. Its wings shimmered like water in moonlight.

  He reached out a finger.

  “Wait!” Jeremiah’s voice cut through the air, sharp.

  Shadow barked—loud, urgent.

  But it was too late.

  The moment D’Angelo’s finger brushed the glowing wing, the world shattered.

  There was a crack like thunder, and the light vanished. When he blinked again, he was no longer in the boat. No more river. No Jeremiah. No Shadow.

  Only trees.

  Tall, silent trees.

  Grass that whispered when it moved.

  Darkness all around.

  And D’Angelo—alone again.

  The moment D’Angelo realized he was alone, the world closed in around him.

  D’Angelo couldn’t breathe.

  His chest rose and fell too fast, and his fingers dug into the dirt as his mind spiraled. Where was Jeremiah? Where was Shadow? He had just been on the boat. Just watching the glowing butterflies. What happened? Why was he always the one who didn’t know what to do?

  “I’m always the one left behind,” he choked, eyes stinging. “Because I’m weak. Because I’m stupid. I don’t know anything—I don’t have anything.”

  His voice cracked into the dark. “Help!” he shouted, as loud as his lungs could push. “Please! Jeremiah! Shadow! Somebody—!”

  Nothing.

  The trees stood still. The silence stretched out and pressed against his ears. No wind. No answer. Just the beating of his own heart and the weight of the night.

  His knees gave out beneath him, and he dropped under a crooked tree, tears streaming down his cheeks. He wrapped his arms around his legs, resting his chin on his knees, trying to stop the shaking. He wanted to go home—but there was no home to go back to. He wanted his mom, his dad, someone who would tell him what to do. But he was alone again, like always.

  “I just want someone to help me,” he whispered. “I’m so tired of being lost. I don’t know what to do.”

  Minutes passed. Or longer. His breath slowed, but the cold didn’t go away.

  Then came the sound.

  A rustle—soft, but close.

  His head snapped up.

  From the shadows between the trees, two golden eyes glowed like twin moons. D’Angelo froze, his heart dropping straight into his stomach. The bushes swayed once, then split open as a massive wolf padded forward, silent on its thick paws. Its black fur shimmered faintly with silver flecks, and it moved with quiet strength. The beast's shoulders rippled with muscle, and each step it took was careful, silent, deliberate. Its golden gaze never left D’Angelo’s.

  It didn’t bare its teeth or growl. It just stared.

  And D’Angelo knew that look. It was the same look the toad monster had given him. That cold, sharp gaze that made him feel small—like prey.

  His breath caught.

  The wolf stepped closer.