Mount Baldy

I never imagined my last day at the park would start with fog so thick it could choke.

I pulled my jacket tighter, the damp clinging to my skin as I stepped onto the crest of Mount Baldy.

The sand shifted beneath my boots in a rhythm that didn't belong to wind or gravity.

My pulse quickened, and for a moment, I felt that same quiet dread I'd learned to recognize in the years before I was no longer welcome in the ranger station.