The bell above the door jingled softly as Mara pushed it open. The smell of roasted coffee beans and warm pastries hit her first, a small comfort after the cold, damp horrors of Crescent Lake. She shook out her coat and adjusted her scarf, trying to ward off the memory of the mist, the lake, and the blue silhouette that had haunted her all night.
Alec followed, his camera bag slung carelessly over his shoulder, eyes scanning the café as if expecting it to erupt in whispers of something dangerous. The place was quiet for a Saturday morning, sunlight spilling in through tall windows, dust motes drifting lazily in the beams.
Mara settled into a chair across from him. Her dark hair was pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, a few loose strands escaping to frame her sharp face. Her brown eyes, usually calm and thoughtful, glimmered with fatigue and grief. Round glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, and she pushed them up reflexively as she opened Elara's sketchbook on the table between them.
Unlike Elara—blonde, blue-eyed, ethereal—Mara had always been grounded, practical, with a warm, human glow. She wasn't the kind of person people stared at on the street. But that didn't matter. To Elara, she had been steady, a tether in the whirlwind of her life.
Alec stirred his coffee absently, his gaze never leaving the pages of the sketchbook. He traced the edges of a pencil sketch of Crescent Lake, the swirling mist drawn so vividly it seemed almost alive.
"She drew this here," he said, voice low. "The cabin… the mist… the circle."
Mara leaned in closer, examining the jagged blue symbol. "Do you think this was a warning?"
"I don't know," Alec admitted. "Or… maybe a record. A map. Something she hoped someone would understand."
The café around them had begun to fill. The low hum of conversation and clinking cups contrasted sharply with the horrors they'd left behind at the lake. But some of it leaked into their ears. A group of women at the next table spoke in hushed, urgent tones.
"…that's the third one this year," one said, eyes wide.
"…like the ones a few years back," the other replied, voice tight. "…Crescent Lake. Same blue… same hour…"
Alec clenched his jaw. Mara's hand found his under the table, a small, grounding pressure.
"They're talking about it," she whispered. "Even here, people can't ignore it."
He nodded. "We can't either. We have to figure out what she was fighting before it's too late for anyone else."
Mara's fingers hovered over the sketchbook. "Look at this," she said. A drawing of Elara herself, sitting by the lake, the mist curling around her like fingers. The jagged circle floated behind her shoulder, almost like a halo. "She wasn't just drawing landscapes… she was… documenting something. Someone. Something that haunted her."
Alec ran a hand through his hair. "Every photograph I took… the silhouette… I didn't realize until now that she might've known it was coming."
Mara's gaze softened. "She was trying to protect us." Her voice cracked just slightly. "She… she didn't want anyone else to be caught in it."
For a moment, the horror of the past few days faded into quiet reflection. They sat, two broken people, finding solace in a mundane café and a worn sketchbook. Outside, the city went on, oblivious to the lake, the mist, the blue horror that still lingered.
But the shadows were patient. Always patient. And both of them knew—even in this brief pocket of normalcy—that soon, the lake would call them back.
Alec stirred his coffee again, a small sigh escaping him. "We need a plan," he said. "We can't just chase shadows forever."
Mara nodded, adjusting her glasses and brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "We start with what she left behind. This book. Her notes. Everything. If she tried to warn us… maybe we can stop it before it's too late."
Alec glanced out the window, sunlight catching the rim of his coffee cup. The street seemed ordinary, the people ordinary—but he knew better. Danger waited. Always. Just beyond the ordinary.
And he had a feeling that Elara was still trying to guide them.