The forest is still, the air thick with mist and the acrid bite of smoke. In the middle of the deserted road lies a jet engine, half-buried in cracked asphalt, steam curling from it like breath in the cold. Its metal housing glows faintly, heat radiating from its violent arrival.
Amid the wreckage rests a solitary shoe—torn from the sky above, or simply left behind.
Through the haze, a single word emerges: DANGER. Once a warning for engineers now brutally clear, the engine itself is, and perhaps was, the danger.
