Circling the Ice
They began their cautious trek across the frozen surface, boots crunching with every step. Thomas scanned the area, his flashlight beam sweeping over ridges and hollows. Greg followed closely, clutching his ice pick like a weapon. Then Thomas froze. “Wait,” he whispered, raising a hand. In the distance, barely visible through the dim moonlight, something moved. A shadow. A shape. Someone—or something—was standing on the ice.
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