The lantern comes to me like a dare, warm in hands that do not quite belong in this circle. The others sit where the stones make their ring, faces mostly hidden, listening with the patience of people who have learned not to interrupt the dark.

“I’m not one of you,” I tell them. My voice sounds too loud against the trees, like it is inside a room. “I’m only here because I found a folder that should not exist and could not stop reading.”

Someone across from me shifts. The sound is small, but it lands like a cue.

I set the lantern between my knees and open the folder on my lap as if it is evidence and not a confession. Plastic sleeve. Metal prongs. Pages that want to curl back shut.

The first page is stamped with a precinct seal. The ink is blurred, as if it got wet in a place that has no water.

On the next line, in a blocky hand, it begins.

Chapter 1: Intake at 03:17

The file reads like a transcript, but the margins are crowded with initials and time stamps.