I moved closer to the edge. The canyon stretched about a hundred and fifty feet across, but it was the length that stood out, like the ground itself had been unzipped. There were no shattered rocks or uneven drops.
The cut looked almost intentional. Not clean, not perfect, but you could see where something had dragged its way through with precision. A high-pressure beam, maybe. Burned through the land like a scalpel.
I leaned over slightly. The depth was impossible to gauge. Mist pooled down there, still and unmoving, like it had been poured in and left to settle. No wind. No movement. Just that quiet white curtain that didn't shift.
Then I heard it. Pebbles cracking loose. A soft cascade of broken stone.
I looked down again, closer this time.
It was climbing.
