I wasn't meant for small towns. The silence gets too loud here.
It echoes.
It reminds you of everything you're trying to forget.
When I first arrived in Blackridge, I told myself it was temporary—just a brief escape from the city, from the wreckage I left behind, from the person I used to be.
But weeks turned into months. And now I'm still here.
Serving lukewarm coffee at a roadside diner, smiling at strangers who look right through me, and pretending the walls of my tiny apartment don't close in a little more each night.
It's a good town, they say. Quiet. Safe.
But even good towns have shadows.
Mine started the day the three men walked in.
Only, they didn't walk in like anyone else. No. They arrived like a storm. Drenched in leather and silence. Eyes too sharp. Energy too feral.
I didn't know their names then.
Didn't know their scent would haunt me.
Didn't know I'd dream of their touch before I ever heard their voices.
But something in me shifted that day.
Like my bones recognized something my mind hadn't yet caught up with.
Like fate had just cracked its knuckles—ready to make a mess of me.
•
It happened just after my shift ended.
The diner was nearly empty—just one trucker hunched over a late-night burger and Mrs. Callahan sipping tea like gossip was oxygen.
I slipped out the backdoor, apron crumpled in my fist, phone barely holding a charge. The chill hit me like it always did in Blackridge—bone-deep and disrespectful.
The alley behind the diner was quiet.
Until it wasn't.
I felt it before I saw him.
A pull. A pressure in my chest, like gravity shifted around me.
And then... footsteps.
Slow. Controlled. Dangerous.
I turned—and froze.
He was leaning against the wall like he'd been waiting for someone. Not me. Just someone unfortunate enough to walk out that door.
Leather jacket, black boots, jaw clenched like violence was his first language.
His eyes lifted and locked with mine.
Something ancient passed between us.
And I swear—I stopped breathing.
"You lost?" I asked, voice steadier than I felt.
He didn't answer at first.
Just stared.
Like he was counting the ways I'd unravel.
Then finally, low and slow, he spoke. "No. But maybe you are."
My fingers twitched at my side. I should've kept walking. Should've told him to fuck off and made it sound convincing.
But I stood there. Like a goddamn idiot frozen in place.
He pushed off the wall with an effortless grace, every movement controlled, deliberate. I could hear the scrape of his boots against gravel. Slow. Calculated. Like he knew I wouldn't run.
"You work late," he said, voice rough and dark like smoke. "This place always let girls walk out alone?"
"I'm not a girl," I snapped.
His lips twitched. Not a smile. Just… amused.
"You're right," he murmured. "You're something else entirely."
The air turned heavier.
My hand gripped my phone tighter.
"What do you want?" I asked, heart pounding now.
He tilted his head, eyes sharp enough to cut through me.
"Wasn't looking for you," he said. "But now you're here."
I swallowed. Hard.
"Waiting for someone?"
He nodded once, slow. "Yeah."
"Who?"
He didn't answer. Just looked past me, like shadows held the name he wouldn't say.
Because some mistakes don't feel like mistakes—until they start to burn.
His eyes lingered on me a moment longer—too long. It wasn't the polite kind of look, the one that says "hello" and moves on.
No, this was something else. Something that pressed down on my skin like an unwanted weight. I shifted, trying to break the hold of those sharp, dark eyes.
"As I said… I was just… waiting for someone," he repeated, voice low, almost a growl. But he didn't say who.
The corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk, like he was letting me in on a secret I didn't want to know. The way he said it made my stomach knot, half curiosity, half warning.
Before I could ask more, he took a step back, his silhouette blending into the shadows of the alley. The night swallowed him whole, leaving only the faint echo of his presence behind.
I stood there, heart hammering, feeling the weight of his gaze still on me, even though he was gone.
Why did that feel like the beginning of something I couldn't escape?
I shook off the chill crawling up my spine and turned away from the alley.
My footsteps echoed louder than usual on the empty street as I headed home, every shadow suddenly seeming deeper, every breeze a whisper.
When I finally reached the front door, my fingers trembled slightly as I fumbled with the keys. Inside, the house was quiet—too quiet, as if it was holding its breath with me.
I moved to the window in the living room, wiping a streak off the glass with the back of my hand. Outside, the streetlights flickered in the distance, but my eyes caught something else. Something impossible.
Glowing eyes.
Two of them. Piercing, unblinking, watching.
I blinked, heart stuttering, but when I looked again, they were still there—still glowing in the dark, just beyond the edge of the yard.
I swallowed hard. My mind raced to explain it away—fireflies? A reflection? But deep down, I knew none of that was true.
Something was out there.
And it was waiting.
I swallowed, suddenly aware of the silence in the house. The quiet was suffocating.
Without thinking, I grabbed my jacket from the coat rack and slipped on my shoes. My legs felt like jelly, but I forced myself to move.
I opened the door and stepped into the night, the cool air biting at my skin. The street was empty, the faint hum of distant traffic the only sound.
I scanned the yard, my eyes straining to find those eyes again.
But they were gone.
Just the night, still and dark, stared back at me.
"Hello?" I whispered, my voice cracking. The emptiness swallowed my words.
A part of me wanted to run back inside and lock every door. Another part—something reckless and stubborn—made me stand there, heart pounding, waiting for those eyes to reappear.
But nothing came.
I took a shaky breath and stepped back inside, locking the door behind me.
The question burned in my mind: What was out there?