The morning light poured through thin lace curtains, and Clara groaned as she turned her face into the pillow. Her body had fallen asleep eventually, but her dreams had been restless, filled with silver flashes and voices she couldn't quite understand. When she finally blinked awake, it was nearly ten.
The night's unease clung to her. She half-expected to wake to shattered windows, claw marks, or some tangible proof of what she thought she'd seen. But when morning came, the world outside was maddeningly ordinary.
No overturned pots, no shadow in the yard, only dew shining on the grass.
Downstairs, dishes clinked. The smell of fried eggs and butter drifted up the staircase.
She rolled out of bed reluctantly, dragging herself into yesterday's sweater and jeans before padding into the kitchen.
"There's the sleepyhead," Aunt May said from the stove, her hair pinned in its usual messy bun. "You nearly slept through breakfast."
"I didn't sleep well," Clara admitted, sliding into a chair at the table.
It was probably a dream," Aunt May said briskly when Clara mentioned the flicker of movement she'd caught last night. "Nerves play tricks." She didn't even look up from kneading dough, her tone firm enough to end the conversation.
Clara nodded, though her unease remained tucked inside like a stone in her pocket.
Aunt May set down a plate, then raised her brows. Or too much city life still buzzing in your head?"
Clara hesitated, picking at the toast. "I thought I heard… something. Last night. A howl."
Her aunt snorted, waving a spatula. "Coyotes. They roam the hills this time of year. Don't let your imagination run off—half the time they're just scavenging behind the diner."
"But it sounded—" Clara caught herself. The sensation of being watched. Her skin prickled even now. But what was she supposed to say? Actually, Aunt May, I think a strange man with silver eyes might be prowling the woods.
Instead, she bit into her toast and murmured, "Maybe you're right."
"Of course I am. Now eat, and we'll go into town. You need to meet people. Fresh faces do the soul good."
---
By late morning, Clara found herself bundled in a coat, walking beside her aunt down the narrow main street. Woodsridge town was small but lively. Red-bricked buildings lined the cobblestones, their windows decorated with autumn wreaths. A bell above the bakery jingled every time a customer left, carrying paper bags warm with bread. The air smelled faintly of roasted coffee and woodsmoke.
"May!" a voice called. A stout woman in a green shawl bustled over, carrying a basket of eggs. "You've been scarce lately. Is this your niece?"
Aunt May beamed. "This is Clara Jean. She's staying for a while."
Clara offered a polite smile, but before she could say anything, the woman—Mrs. Deacon, as she introduced herself—gave her a sharp once-over.
"Pretty girl," she declared. "Shame about your city pallor. Don't worry, the mountain air will put roses in ya cheeks." She leaned in conspiratorially. "And maybe in a year or two, we'll be dancing at ya wedding. Handsome men around here are scarce, but when they settle, they settle."
"Aunt May warned me about you," Clara muttered, cheeks heating.
Mrs. Deacon cackled, clearly delighted.
As they moved on, they passed the butcher shop, where two old men sat outside playing checkers. Their conversation drifted into Clara's ears.
"Did ya hear 'bout the hiker last week?" one said, lowering his voice.
"Lost in the woods again," the other replied. "Found his backpack torn to shreds. Probably wolves."
"Or something worse," the first murmured.
Aunt May steered Clara quickly along, muttering, "Old coots and their ghost stories."
But Clara's ears burned. Worse than wolves.
---
At the grocer's, a lanky teenage boy with freckles bagged their vegetables, sneaking glances at Clara. "You're not from here, are ya?"
"She's my niece," Aunt May supplied.
The boy grinned. "Welcome, city girl. Careful...you'll either fall in love with the quiet, or run screaming back to traffic lights."
Clara smirked despite herself. "I'll let you know."
As they left, Aunt May whispered, "That's Samuel. Mischief in human form. Don't encourage him."
Clara wandered through the streets she half-remembered, greeted by the smell of bread cooling in the bakery and the sound of chatter spilling from the grocer's door.
"Back for good, is she?"
"Heard she's May's niece. Pretty one too."
"Best keep her away from the woods, if she's got sense."
The voices carried easily. Clara wasn't sure whether to laugh or shrink. Gossip in the town was sharper than any knife.
Then, as she passed the old fountain, a shout split the air.
"Clara? Clara Jean?"
She turned, and the breath caught in her throat. Sophie.
The girl she'd spent barefoot summers with, chasing dragonflies in the meadow, now a young woman with the same golden hair tied messily back and the same mischievous grin lighting up her face.
"Good heavens, it is you!" Sophie barreled forward and threw her arms around her. "I thought you'd gone and forgotten us little folk!"
Clara laughed despite herself, squeezing her back. "I could never forget. Not you."
The two fell into easy chatter, Sophie firing questions faster than Clara could answer. Who she'd seen, how long she'd stay, what she thought of the town now...then Sophie filled the spaces herself, talking about the new baker's boy, the neighbor's endless quarrels, and how the town hadn't changed a bit except for the roads that still needed fixing.
Clara found herself smiling more than she had in weeks.
By the time the sun began to dip, Sophie insisted on walking her back to Aunt May's, still talking a mile a minute. "You'll get used to the whispers," she said, looping her arm through Clara's. "This place eats gossip for supper, but don't mind it. They'll find someone else to talk about soon enough."
For the first time since her return, Clara felt the heaviness on her chest lift a little.
---
By the time they returned home, Clara's head swam with names, faces, and enough gossip to fill a notebook. Everyone seemed friendly enough, though half the town seemed to be watching her with curious eyes, as if she'd landed from another planet.
Back in her room, she sank onto the bed and stared at her hands. Normal. Ordinary. The kind of life her parents had always wanted for her...quiet, safe.
So why did she still feel unsettled?
---
Elsewhere
The sun dipped low, staining the horizon in shades of copper and crimson. From the ridge above the valley, he stood motionless, the wind tugging at his dark coat. Below, the town bustled with its small, trivial concerns—bakeries closing, children chasing each other down the street, the faint toll of the church bell.
His gaze lingered on a single cottage at the edge of the hill. The scent carried to him even from here: lavender, and beneath it, something sweeter.
Her.
He exhaled slowly, silver eyes narrowing.
She was supposed to be gone from his world. A shadow, nothing more. Yet here she was, bright as fire in the dark.
He turned from the view, the muscles in his jaw tight.
No. Not yet.
Sir, they have arrived and is waiting in your study. A stout man, in a white collared shirt and a black tie, reported.
He entered the room, and sat across from a polished desk, the low murmur of voices filling the space. His expression was composed, his tone measured. To anyone watching, he was the very image of control.
And yet—
There it was again. Her image. It clung like a whisper to the back of his mind, stirring memories he had no business holding onto.
He forced his pen to keep moving, as he signed a contract. He forced his voice to remain steady, but the distraction tugged at the edge of his composure.
"Anything else?"
The two men sitting opposite to him, nodded a 'no' as they took the file back and prepared to exit.
He leaned back in his chair. She had been there. He was sure of it.
With an almost imperceptible breath, he pushed the thought aside.
Still, when the silence reclaimed the room, his gaze lingered on the window, drawn to the horizon beyond the town.
The town carried on, blissfully unaware.