The last stretch of land felt wrong before Jack could see why.
It wasn’t the terrain itself. The slope was familiar, the spacing of trees thinning out in the same way it always had before opening into the farmland. The lines of the land were still there beneath everything that had changed, guiding him forward without needing conscious thought.
What was missing—
Was movement.
There should have been something.
Sound.
Activity.
Anything.
There wasn’t.
Jack slowed slightly as he reached the edge of the property, his awareness extending outward in a tighter, more deliberate pattern. Blood Sense moved across the area ahead, not searching broadly, but focusing on what should have been there.
Nothing answered.
No human signals.
No clustered movement.
No signs of life.
Only faint, scattered traces of creatures that had passed through at some point and moved on.
Jack stepped forward.
The farmhouse came into view between the trees, exactly where it should have been.
Standing.
Intact.
That alone was wrong.
If the system had simply brought chaos, if monsters had overrun the area without resistance, the structure would not have remained like this. It would have been damaged, broken, or reduced to something unrecognizable.
But it wasn’t.
It stood as if it had been… left.
Jack approached without rushing, his pace steady as his eyes moved across the details.
The front door was open.
Not broken.
Not forced.
Open.
The windows were intact, though one hung slightly uneven in its frame. Tools lay scattered near the side of the house, not organized, not stored, but not destroyed either.
Interrupted.
That was the pattern.
Jack stepped onto the porch, the wood beneath his boots creaking slightly under the weight, the sound carrying more clearly than it should have in the absence of anything else.
He stopped at the doorway.
Then stepped inside.
The air felt still.
Not stale.
Not decayed.
Just… unused.
Jack’s gaze moved across the interior slowly, taking in the details without rushing past them. Chairs were out of place. One lay on its side near the table. A glass had been knocked over, its contents long since dried into a faint stain on the surface beneath it.
No blood.
No signs of a prolonged struggle.
Just—
Disruption.
He moved further in, his steps quiet as he checked each room in turn, not calling out, not expecting an answer.
The result didn’t change.
Empty.
Jack stopped in the center of the main room, his awareness extending outward again, pushing Blood Sense further this time, beyond the house, beyond the immediate area.
Still nothing.
His jaw tightened slightly.
Not enough to show frustration.
Just enough to register.
If they had died here—
There would be signs.
There weren’t.
If they had fled—
There would be a trail.
There wasn’t.
Which left—
He turned and stepped back outside, his attention shifting immediately to the ground.
Tracks.
That was what mattered now.
He crouched slightly, his gaze narrowing as he studied the dirt near the porch. The ground had been disturbed, not randomly, but in patterns that overlapped and crossed in ways that took a moment to separate.
Multiple people.
More than a few.
Moving together.
Not running.
Not scattered.
Directed.
Jack’s focus sharpened.
He followed the trail outward, stepping off the porch and moving along the path it had taken. The marks became clearer as he moved further from the house, less disturbed by later movement, more consistent in direction.
Boots.
Different sizes.
Weight variation.
Some dragging.
Some—
Being pulled.
Jack’s expression didn’t change.
But something settled behind it.
Cold.
Clear.
He stood, his gaze lifting to follow the direction the tracks led.
Not random.
Not fleeing.
Taken.
That was what it was.
He exhaled slowly, the breath controlled as his thoughts aligned into something sharper than before.
This wasn’t chaos.
It wasn’t the system breaking things apart without pattern.
Someone had come here.
Taken them.
Left everything else behind.
Which meant—
They were still alive.
Or had been.
Recently enough that the trail still held.
Jack straightened fully, his grip on the scythe adjusting slightly as his awareness extended again, this time along the direction the tracks had taken.
There.
Faint.
But distinct.
Multiple signals.
Further out.
Clustered.
Human.
Jack didn’t hesitate.
He moved.
The pace changed immediately, not reckless, not uncontrolled, but faster, more direct. There was no reason to conserve energy now, no reason to avoid engagement if it stood between him and the source of those signals.
The world narrowed.
Not to the terrain.
Not to the movement around him.
But to a single line.
Follow the trail.
Find them.
End whatever stood in the way.
Jack moved through the edge of the farmland and into the broken stretch of road beyond it without slowing, his awareness fixed ahead as the signals grew slightly clearer with each step.
Not far.
Not far enough.
He adjusted his grip on the scythe again, not tightening, but settling into readiness as the situation shifted from search to confrontation.
Whoever had taken them—
Had made a mistake.
They had left a trail.
And Jack was already on it.