Trespass May 2026

And for the first time in three years, her daughter did, too.

The forest remembered her trespass.

Now, at 5 a.m., Lena stood at the fence. Her father’s shotgun was heavy in her hands, but she hadn't loaded it. That wasn't the trespass she was planning. trespass

Inside, there was no furniture. No dust. Just a single candle on a bare floor, and in the center of the flame, a small, perfect handprint pressed into the air, as if the fire itself had been cupped by a child. And for the first time in three years, her daughter did, too

She reached out to touch it.

Lena had read that sign every morning for twelve years, walking the perimeter of her father's sheep farm. The Morrows were the last true recluses in the county. Old Man Morrow had shot a surveyor's drone out of the sky last spring; the sheriff just shrugged. Her father’s shotgun was heavy in her hands,