The first thing he felt was the cold.

  Not the sterile chill of a morgue or the shiver of a London alley in winter—but a living cold, a damp, earthy breath that pressed against his skin as though the world itself was exhaling over him. His fingers twitched against mossy ground. Bark scratched at his temple. Somewhere above, filtered through layers of canopy and fog, birds he didn’t recognize called in foreign tongues.

  His eyes snapped open.

  It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t even a nightmare. Dreams had context. Nightmares had meaning, twisted from memory and fear. This was too real, the dirt beneath his fingertips, the damp smell of morning soil, it didn’t take him long to adjust.

  Around him, people stirred. Dozens. Maybe hundreds. Scattered like dropped matchsticks across the forest floor. Some were still unconscious. Others sat up slowly, their expressions groggy or alarmed. A few were already on their feet, stumbling in circles, calling names that no one answered.

  He didn’t move yet, his instincts told him to observe, to gather information.

  Lying flat, he watched with the cold patience honed from late nights, bloody flats and locked doors that told stories better left unopened. He let his eyes adjust. Listened.

  Voices rose. Panic gathered.

  “What the hell—”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Where are we?!”

  “My phone’s not working—”

  “Is this some kind of experiment?!”

  A cacophony of confusion, not one ounce of patience from the majority of others, panic onset with speed.

  He sat up.

  His coat was gone. So was his warrant card, his wallet. His notebook—of course. Only a white shirt clung to his chest, damp with sweat and dew, his formal trousers stained with mud. His boots were still laced, a small mercy.

  A sharp pulse flickered at the edge of his mind, like a notification—sudden and intrusive.

  But he didn’t have the time to be distracted, he noticed a few start waving their hands in front of them others asking in confusion if anyone else can see some sort of message. Odd, before he could think further on it. He was taken aback.

  A man nearby shifted. Literally shifted—his form melting like wax, bones creaking audibly as fur sprouted and his frame warped into a snarling, disoriented beast. A bear. Large and domineering, resulting in a crescendo of screams from those near enough to see. The man collapsed seconds later, gasping, his skin slick with sweat, no longer the powerful beast he had once became. Others went a similar route, transforming into a variety of creatures with seemingly no explanation, though they would revert back to human in seconds.

  He exhaled slowly, wiping dirt from his forearm, then finally stood.

  Already, people were grouping instinctively. Some moved to comfort the sobbing. Others argued. One man shouted orders, voice rising above the rest with a practiced authority, trying to keep everyone calm though the shifting figures of others made that a nigh futile effort.

  He didn’t speak. He didn’t offer to help the woman retching beside a tree or the man limping toward what looked like a clearing. He simply watched.

  He could feel something beneath his skin. Something clawed, ancient and furious, pacing behind his ribs. A part of him wanted to let it out—to see what a Chimera looked like in this world, what it could do.

  But not yet.

  Survival wasn't about being the loudest or the strongest. He’d need to listen and observe first.