The soft hum of the ceiling fan filled Clara's small room as she sat cross-legged on her bed, sketchpad balanced on her knees. A half-finished charcoal drawing stared back at her — an outline of the forest treeline, shadowy and uneven, with darker strokes where she had meant to draw depth but instead left heavy blotches. She sighed, pressing the eraser into the page as if she could rub out not just the mistakes but the entire restless weight pressing on her chest.
Her phone buzzed. Once. Twice.
Clara frowned and reached for it.
Sophie [4:13 PM]:
Don't even think about saying no.
Sophie [4:14 PM]:
Coffee and gossip or Shopping. Pick one. Or I'm picking all three.
Clara's lips curved despite herself. She typed back slowly.
I was just about to start something…
A reply came before she could even put the phone down.
Start walking. I'm waiting outside in fifteen minutes.
Clara shook her head, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. Sophie never really asked, she commanded with charm. And somehow, Clara always ended up giving in.
She set the sketchpad aside and pulled on a soft sweater, brushing her hair into a loose braid. By the time she stepped out, Sophie was already leaning against her car by the curb, tapping her phone with a victorious smirk.
"You look like you were about to make excuses," Sophie announced as Clara approached. "But I've officially rescued you from wasting another day brooding in your room."
"I wasn't brooding," Clara said, sliding into the passenger seat.
"You always say that. And then you look like you've been thinking about ghosts for hours."
Clara gave her friend a look but didn't argue. Sophie only grinned wider, starting the car.
The streets of Woodridge bustled more than Clara expected for a sleepy town. Families strolled between shops, the warm scent of fresh bread spilled from the bakery, and children darted past carrying kites. Sophie tugged her toward a café first, then to a row of vintage boutiques where she insisted Clara "needed more color in her life."
At the next corner, two older men sat outside the hardware store, voices lowered but audible as she and Sophie passed.
"Third calf gone this week."
"Not wolves. Whatever it is, it's bigger."
Clara slowed, listening.
"Best tell your wife to keep the kids inside after dark."
Sophie tugged her wrist, pulling her attention back. "Ignore them. Old men in this town love their scary stories."
Clara tried, but the words clung to her.
They wove between stalls as Sophie narrated everything like a tour guide. "That's Mrs. Deacon's pie stand—don't compliment it unless you want three free samples. And over there's old Mr. Phelps; don't ask about his missing chickens unless you want an earful."
They spent an hour at the fair, Sophie chatting endlessly and bumping into half the town. At one stall, Sophie shrieked with delight upon spotting a childhood friend and promptly abandoned Clara with a hurried, "Wait here two minutes—I'll be back!"
Clara sighed, stepping aside to let others pass. She drifted toward the edge of the square, where the crowd thinned. The music and chatter dimmed behind her.
She didn't realize how far she'd wandered until the market sounds faded to a distant hum.
The old mill path lay overgrown with wildflowers and tangled vines, quiet except for the low murmur of the creek beside it. Clara admired the golden light filtering through the trees but soon realized she had walked a little too far ahead, lost in thought.
It was eerily quiet. A cold breeze whipped past, carrying the faint smell of pine.
"Sophie? Is that you?" Clara turned back.
"Sophie?!" Clara called. No answer.
Ahh she wouldn't know I am here... Clara sighed.
The underbrush rustled. Clara paused, hands tightening on the straps of her bag. She told herself again: It's just the wind. Or a rabbit. Or a raccoon.
But then, a subtle shift in the air made her pulse spike—the scent of something rich and earthy, warm yet sharp.
Her heart stuttered. She recognized it immediately. That scent.
And then she saw him.
A figure in dark coat, stepped from the shadows and walked towards her in a purposeful stride.
Clara froze.
Not because of fear, but because of his eyes. For an instant, when the light hit just right, they glinted like silver.
Before she could process it, two rough voices cut across the street.
"Hey there, miss. Bit lost, aren't ya?"
Two young men, reeking of ale. Their grins were crooked, their eyes hungry with mischief. Clara's pulse stuttered as they angled closer.
"I-I'm fine, thank you," she managed, trying to step past.
One blocked her path. "No need to rush. Stay a while."
The other reached for her sleeve...
But before his hand touched her, the stranger was there.
It happened too fast to follow: a sharp grip, a twist, and the man was on his knees with a groan. The second staggered back, paling at the stranger's steady gaze.
"Go," the man said. His voice was calm, almost soft, but it carried weight. Authority.
The drunkards didn't hesitate. They stumbled off, muttering.
Clara stood frozen, her heart pounding.
The stranger turned to her then. For a moment, the world narrowed to his face. His hair was like midnight, slightly tousled from the wind, the angle of his jaw made her stomach clench, and those uncanny eyes, like moonlight caught in water.
She quickly looked away, embarrassed.
"Are you hurt?" His voice was low, measured.
Clara shook her head quickly. "No. Thank you. I-I didn't mean to wander—"
"It's not safe alone," he interrupted gently. "Stay with your friend."
She blinked, startled not just by his words but by the feeling beneath them, like he knew more than he said.
Before she could speak again, she heard her name.
"Clara!"
Clara looked towards the sound, "Sophie?"
By the time she looked back, the stranger was gone, swallowed by the thinning crowd.
"Oh Clara, what are you doing here? I searched for you everywhere..." Sophie joined her.
On their way back out of the path, Clara kept looking back. But there was no sign of him anywhere.
Ronan's POV
He had been surveying the outskirts, following the faint trail of the missing reports and the whispers of restless livestock, when movement caught his eye. A figure, small, hesitant, walking too far from the safety of the main square.
Golden strands of hair, falling across her face. Even from a distance, he noticed the way she carried herself, balanced, cautious, yet slightly unaware of the subtle dangers that threaded through these streets. That sweet, faint lavender scent reached him, making his chest tighten.
He stepped forward, keeping to the shadows, instinctively aware of the two men approaching her. The air shifted, tension spiraling, and his eyes narrowed.
She froze, a flicker of fear or perhaps surprise catching her expression.
He moved faster, the distance between them disappearing in a measured stride. The first man barely had time to register the presence before Ronan's hand was on him, twisting, knocking him off balance with effortless strength. The second stumbled back at his gaze, pale and hesitant.
Clara's eyes widened, drawn instinctively to him. And he noticed the way her lips pressed together, her chin slightly lifted despite the fear that lingered in her wide, amber eyes.
He barely allowed himself to study her for too long, but every detail branded itself into his mind: the way her sweater hung just so on her shoulders, the gentle curve of her jaw, the subtle tension in her stance.
"Are you hurt?"
She shook her head, fumbling for words, and he found himself caught on the way her chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths, how her voice sounded unsure.
His hand itched to linger, to steady, to assure, but he withdrew it. She didn't belong in this chaos. At least, not yet.
And yet, even as he pushed the thought away, he felt the pull of her presence.
He forced his gaze ahead as another voice cut through the moment. "Clara!"
Reluctantly, he stepped back. But his eyes lingered on her as she rushed toward Sophie, noticing the little quirks she revealed only when relaxed: the way she twirled a loose strand of hair around her finger, the slight tilt of her head when she laughed, the subtle light in her eyes that wasn't fear but curiosity, intelligence, life.
She didn't see him leave, and that was as it should be. She didn't know him yet..
But he knew.
And that knowledge settled in his chest, heavy, insistent, undeniable.