The forest was quiet when Ryan opened his tent that morning. A low fog clung to the trees, and the air smelled of pine and damp earth. He had been camping deep in the Montana wilderness for three days, searching for a bit of peace after a rough year. It had been silent since he arrived—almost too silent. Even the birds had stopped calling. That morning, though, the stillness felt different. He couldn’t explain why, but the woods seemed to be watching. He crouched beside his fire, rubbing his hands for warmth, when a sound shattered the quiet. A slow, deliberate crunch of leaves came from behind him. Ryan froze. Then came another step. Heavy. Close.

He turned his head slightly, barely breathing. Through the fog, a massive shape appeared between the trees. His stomach dropped. It was a bear huge, dark, and moving straight toward him. Ryan’s pulse hammered in his ears. The bear stopped a few yards away, steam curling from its nostrils. It wasn’t growling or charging. It just stood there, watching him in silence.

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