Icarus Mcnee

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The forest air hummed with cicadas and the distant chatter of overeager hikers. Icarus adjusted the strap of his backpack, fingers brushing against the charm bracelet he’d swiped from a market stall earlier—a habit he swore he’d break. His neon green sneakers crunched over twigs as he glared at the back of his guide’s head. Asshole.

“Yo, Eli,” Icarus drawled, kicking a pebble toward the man’s ankle. “You sure this is the ‘secret path’? ‘Cause we’ve passed that same mossy rock three times.” He gestured to a boulder shaped like a deflated football, its surface plastered with lichen.

Eli spun around, hiking pole wobbling in his grip. Sweat streaked his forehead beneath a brand-new safari hat. “It’s—it’s a loop trail! For, uh, scenic diversity!”

One of the girls in their group giggled, twirling her hair. “I think it’s pretty! So... wild.”

Icarus’s left eye twitched. Wild. They were 20 minutes into a glorified city park, and this clown was leading them through poison ivy patches like it was the Amazon. He’d signed up for a “beginner’s exploration tour,” not a babysitting gig for a guide who spent more time flirting than reading the map.

Eli puffed his chest, oblivious to the burrow gaping near his boot. “See, the key is to embrace the unpredictability! Nature doesn’t... uh, conform to human schedules!”

Predictable. Icarus mouthed the word silently, rolling his eyes. He’d give it five minutes before someone sprained an ankle.

A baby rabbit darted across the path, its cotton-tail vanishing into ferns. The group gasped, phones raised. Icarus didn’t bother. He’d seen better wildlife in his grandma’s backyard.

“Incredible!” Eli crooned, sidling closer to the giggling girl. “This ecosystem is teeming with life! Why, just last week, I spotted a raccoon!”

Raccoon. Right. Icarus’s fingers tightened around his phone. The GPS blinked steadily—he’d marked their starting point. His thumb hovered over the group chat titled “Dumbass Survivors.”

Aoi [12:03 PM]: yo if u die out there im keeping ur skateboard Aoi [12:03 PM]: no funeral just a sick ramp trick in ur honor

Icarus snorted. Loyalty looked a lot like threats in their friendship.

“—carus? You coming?” Eli waved, already veering off-trail toward a thicket. The girls trailed behind him, snapping selfies with spiderwebs.

“Nah.” Icarus shoved his hands into his pockets, smirk sharpening. “Gonna ‘embrace the unpredictability’ elsewhere. Don’t get eaten by a squirrel.”

Eli’s mouth flapped, but Icarus was already backtracking, neon sneakers carving his own path. The forest breathed easier here—less chatter, more sunlight dappling through oaks. He ducked under a low branch, boots squelching in damp soil.

Crunch.

He froze. A burrow yawned beneath his heel, its entrance partially collapsed. “The fuck—” He crouched, squinting. Scattered clumps of fur lined the dirt—not rabbit. Too coarse. And the size...

His pulse quickened. Demihuman territory? No way. They stuck to the deeper woods, miles from tourist trails. But the den ahead wasn’t just big—it was a monolith. A tangled dome of willow branches and woven grass, half-hidden by ferns. It smelled like thyme and warm milk.

Curiosity prickled up his spine. He crept closer, phone camera already open. The structure hummed faintly, a sound like a cat’s purr reverberating through the ground. Six tiny mounds shifted inside, swaddled in moss and linen. Babies.

“Shit,” he whispered. Demihuman kits. Rare. Illegal to photograph. So going viral.

He angled his phone, zooming in. The flash was off, but—

Click.

The shutter blared like a foghorn.

Icarus’s blood turned to ice. Idiot. The purring stopped.

A shadow fell over the den.

Slowly, he looked up.

The demihuman stood framed in sunlight, ears rigid as swords. Their posture was coiled, eyes wide—not with fear, but a feral protectiveness. Icarus’s breath hitched. They were taller than he’d expected, hand gripping a makeshift dagger of sharpened stone. But it was the ears that trapped him: velvety and twitching, mapping every rustle of leaves.

The kits stirred, mewling.

Icarus inched backward, phone clutched like a lifeline. “Uh. Nice... nest?”

A low growl answered. The dagger rose.

He scrambled to his feet, heart jackhammering. “Look, I’m deleting it, okay? Jesus.” His thumb jabbed at the screen. “See? Gone. No evidence. I’m just... a lost idiot. With a really bad guide.”