Timeborne: BLADE OF SHADOWS, #1

CHAPTER ONE

OLIVIA

March 2005

Astrange man loomed outside my family’s antique store like a shadow ripped from the pages of a nightmare.

I froze on the sidewalk, my fifth-grade homework crumpled in my hand and my backpack slipping from my shoulder. Terror gripped me with cold, unrelenting fingers. I didn’t understand why this man, cloaked entirely in black, sent a jolt of fear coursing through me. He wasn’t even looking at me. His face was hidden beneath a hood, tilted slightly toward the store’s weathered facade as though he were studying it.

Tendrils of smoke coiled lazily off his body, curling into the brisk March air. Then, without warning, he vanished. One moment, he was there—solid, imposing—and the next, he dissolved into nothingness, leaving the street as empty as my lungs.

I inhaled shakily as if I’d been holding my breath for an eternity. My heart thundered in my chest, and my mind raced with questions that had no answers. I needed Mom.

The bells above the door jangled sharply as I bolted into the store, the sound echoing like a cry for help in the cavernous space. My mother glanced up from the counter, where she conversed with an elderly woman clutching a grimy, threadbare doll. The customer’s eyes flicked briefly to me, her expression unreadable, before returning to my mom.

I darted through the aisles, past towering shelves of trinkets and treasures from lives long gone. There was a man outside! I blurted, my voice tinged with desperation.

Olivia, my mother said, her tone sharp, slicing through my panic. What have I told you about interrupting while I’m with a customer?

But, Mom— I started, gesturing frantically toward the front window.

Her glare stopped me cold. It wasn’t angry, exactly—it was the kind of look that carried the weight of unspoken rules I dared not break. My stomach churned, and I felt the fight drain out of me.

Never mind, I muttered, casting my eyes downward. It can wait.

Mom had just returned from an archaeological dig in Peru, and for the first time in what felt like years, there was peace in our house. The screaming matches between her and Dad had ceased, replaced by a fragile calm I was desperate to preserve. The last thing I wanted was to upset the precarious balance we had found.

Still, I couldn’t shake the unease twisting in my gut. My gaze drifted to the doll in the older woman’s hands. Of all the peculiar items that found their way into Life After Life, our family’s antique store, the dolls were the worst. This one was no exception.

Its porcelain face was a patchwork of tiny cracks, like a spiderweb etched into its surface. The eyes, two lifeless orbs of glass, seemed to follow me, unblinking. The doll’s eyelids fluttered open and closed with an eerie, rhythmic ticking as though it were keeping time with some unseen clock. A chill prickled down my spine.

I wanted to snatch the doll from the woman’s hands, rip its head off, and silence the silent song that seemed to hum. But I stayed rooted to the spot, unable to look away.

Mom smiled politely as she handed the doll back to the woman. I swallowed hard, my unease festering into something darker. I glanced back at the front window, half-expecting to see the man again, shrouded in smoke and shadows.

But the sidewalk was empty.

For now.

I stepped away from the counter, my breathing shallow and uneven. The air in the store felt heavier than usual like a storm waiting to break. Why was everything setting me on edge today? My skin prickled as though invisible spiders were skittering across it, each step igniting a fresh wave of unease.

The rows of antiques stretched like a labyrinth of forgotten memories, each item steeped in its quiet history. I brushed my fingers over the dusty relics—delicate porcelain figurines, weathered brass candlesticks, and gilded picture frames from another lifetime.

One piece stopped me in my tracks—a tarnished silver coin resting on a small velvet stand. The faint glint of its surface caught the dim light, drawing me in. I picked it up, feeling the cool metal against my skin. Etched into the coin was the commanding visage of a Roman emperor, his expression carved with authority and pride. A laurel wreath crowned his head, a symbol of power and conquest.

The world around me faded as I turned the coin over. In my mind’s eye, I was transported to a grand Roman palace, its marble columns stretching high into an endless blue sky. I imagined the bustling court, the whispered intrigues, and the weight of decisions that could shape empires. The coin was more than just a relic—it was a bridge to a time filled with opulence, danger, and stories waiting to be told.

Olivia?

My name shattered the spell. I jolted, the coin slipping from my grasp. It clattered against the floor, spinning briefly before rolling under a nearby shelf. My heart leaped as I crouched to retrieve it, my fingers fumbling over the worn wooden planks.

What is it? I called, my voice taut with embarrassment.

Could you come here for a moment? Mom’s voice drifted from the front counter, calm yet insistent. I need your opinion on something.

I placed the coin back on its stand, hesitating for a second before approaching her. Mom rarely asked for my opinion. She was the expert—the seasoned archaeologist and antique connoisseur. I was just a girl who loved daydreaming about history but knew little of its intricacies.

When I reached the counter, she lowered her reading glasses and studied me with a curious head tilt. What do you think of this one? she asked, nodding toward the doll.

The doll.

Its cracked porcelain face stared back at me with lifeless, glassy eyes. The eerie ticking sound from its eyelids echoed faintly in my ears, like the countdown of some invisible clock.

Me? I asked, pointing to myself, unsure if I’d heard her correctly.

Yes, you, she said with a grin, her eyes crinkling at the corners. What’s your verdict?

I shook my head vehemently, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. I hate it, I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Mom’s smile faltered, and for a moment, her expression softened. She turned to the customer, her tone polite but firm. I’m sorry, but it’s a no today.

The woman’s lips tightened, her hands clutching the doll like a lifeline. Are you sure? I can offer you a good price.

No, Mom said again, her voice resolute. It just doesn’t fit with our store.

The woman muttered something under her breath before shoving the doll into a crumpled paper sack. As the door slammed shut behind her, a strange tension seemed to dissipate from the room, leaving only the familiar creaks and whispers of the store.

Wasn’t that an odd doll? Mom said, letting out a breathy laugh. She stretched, placing a hand on the small of her back. Today has been long. What do you say we get some ice cream?

My face lit up at the suggestion. Yes! But who’s going to watch the store while we’re gone?

Your father, of course. Jack! Mom called toward the storage room.

What? came Papa’s muffled reply.

Olivia and I are heading to Cool Scoops. Do you want anything?

Papa appeared in the doorway, wiping his hands on a rag. His salt-and-pepper hair was messy, and his blue eyes sparkled with warmth. A shadow of stubble framed his jaw, giving him a rugged charm that made me think of the explorers in Mom’s stories.

Just my usual, he said with a smile.

Mom grabbed her purse from behind the counter, slinging it over her shoulder. We’ll be back soon.

I held her hand as we stepped out of the store, the bells jingling their familiar farewell as the old wooden door creaked shut behind us.

Outside, the sky was a churning mass of heavy gray clouds, sagging low over the horizon like a curtain about to drop. The air was thick with the scent of rain, sharp and metallic. A low rumble of thunder rolled through the distance, the sound deep and foreboding. Then came the lightning—jagged streaks tearing across the sky, illuminating the darkened street for a brief, fleeting moment.

Mom glanced upward and frowned. Go back inside, she said, her voice brisk. I’ll grab my umbrella from the car.

Before I could protest, she was already hurrying toward the parking lot, her silhouette quickly swallowed by the approaching storm. Reluctantly, I returned to the store, the door groaning behind me as I pushed it open.

Inside, the dim light felt strangely oppressive. I pressed my hands against the cool glass of the storefront window, my eyes locked on the street, waiting for my mom to reappear.

A flash of red burst into view as Mom rounded the corner, umbrella in hand. Relief washed over me, but the feeling was short-lived. A figure stepped forward from the shadows, emerging like a phantom from the storm.

The sight of him sent an icy jolt through me. His long, wavy hair spilled down his back like a river of darkness, and his piercing eyes seemed to glow faintly, even in the dull light. A sly grin played at his lips, sharp and unsettling.

I froze; my breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat. My pulse thundered in my ears as the man’s gaze flicked toward me, holding mine for a heartbeat too long before shifting to my mother.

Mom stopped abruptly, her body stiffening as the man approached her. To my shock, they began to speak. Their words were lost to the muffled world inside the store, but their gestures were sharp and tense, like knives slicing through the air.

And then he lunged.

The motion was so sudden and violent that it felt like the world had skipped a frame. He shoved her backward, and she staggered, barely regaining her footing.

No! The word clawed out of my throat, but it was little more than a whisper against the glass.

Before I could act, Mom reached into her purse, her hand emerging with a blade gleaming faintly in the storm’s light. My eyes widened. I had never seen her carry a weapon, let alone one that looked deadly.

She swung the blade at him, her movements fierce and unrelenting. The man dodged effortlessly, each motion fluid and almost inhuman. He danced out of reach, a terrible grin spreading across his face as though he found the fight exhilarating.

Mom lunged again; the blade aimed for his chest, but he was faster. He caught her wrist quickly, twisting her arm behind her back. She cried out, the sound cutting through the storm like shattered glass. And then, with chilling precision, he drew a dagger from his coat and drove it into her chest.

A scream tore from my lips, raw and desperate.

Mom’s knees buckled, her body crumpling against him. But he didn’t let her fall. He caught her, easing her gently to the ground as though she were made of glass. Her knife slipped from her fingers, clattering against the pavement.

I stared, trembling, unable to reconcile the tenderness of his actions with the violence he had just unleashed. He crouched beside her, his dark hair spilling forward as he kissed her lips—soft, deliberate, intimate. My mind reeled. Did he know her?

Then he stood, scooping up her knife and slipping it into his pocket. His gaze flicked toward me, and a wicked smile crossed his face. Before I could scream again and move, he vanished into the storm, dissolving like mist into the shadows.

I burst out the door, my knees hitting the pavement hard as I collapsed beside Mom. Tears blurred my vision, but I couldn’t look away from the dark red stain spreading across the front of her dress. The blood seeped through the fabric, blooming like a terrible flower.

Mom! Mom! I cried, my voice cracking under the weight of my panic.

Her eyes fluttered open for a moment, glazed and unfocused. She tried to say something, her lips parting weakly, but no sound came out.

Olivia! Dad’s sharp and commanding voice tore through the chaos. He appeared beside me, grabbing me by the shoulders and pulling me to my feet. His hands were trembling. Get inside. Now!

But—Mom⁠—

Now, Olivia! His voice was steel, his face set with grim determination. Go to the back and stay there while I call the police.

I hesitated, torn between wanting to stay with her and obeying him. But seeing his shaking hands as he fumbled for his phone scared me more than anything. I turned and bolted back into the store, my feet barely touching the ground.

The storage room was dark and quiet, starkly contrasting the emotions surrounding me. I squeezed into the narrow space between two crates, curling up as tightly as possible. Pressing my hands to my ears, I tried to block out the world—the wailing sirens, the frantic shouts outside, the horrible memory of Mom collapsing onto the sidewalk.

When Papa finally returned to the shop, worry carved deep lines into his forehead. He moved quickly, his usually steady stride replaced with frantic urgency. His skin had a pallor I’d never seen before—clammy and ashen as if all the warmth had been drained from him. The rosy flush that usually colored his cheeks was gone, leaving behind a ghost of the father I knew.

Behind him, a police officer entered the room, his uniform sharp and pristine, the polished badge on his chest gleaming like a beacon of authority. Papa’s voice filled the storage room, echoing off the wooden beams as he called for me, his tone raw with desperation.

Where is she? Where’s my girl?

The sound of his panic sliced through me. I whimpered softly, and my slight sound of fear drowned in the vast space of the room. I pressed myself further into the shadows, feeling safer in the dark, hidden among the crates. Then, he found me.

Papa knelt in front of me, his eyes searching mine. Concern was etched into every line of his face, a pain so deep it hurt to look at him. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he moved to touch my cheek, but he hesitated when I flinched. His hand hovered in the air, and I could see the heartbreak in his eyes.

It’s okay, sweetheart, he said softly, his voice hoarse yet soothing. Officer Daily just wants to talk to you. You’re safe now.

Safe. The word felt foreign and hollow. The memory of what had happened was still too fresh, and the image of the man’s cruel grin seared into my mind. I shook my head firmly, refusing to leave my corner. Papa’s shoulders slumped slightly, but he didn’t push me. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder at the officer, his face tight with unspoken tension.

Did you see who assaulted your mom? Papa asked, his voice quieter this time, coaxing.

I shook my head again, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood. How could I explain what I’d seen? How could I describe how the man had vanished, like smoke curling into the air?

What’s your daughter’s name? Officer Daily asked, his tone gentle but firm, like someone used to speaking with frightened children.

Her name’s Olivia, Papa said, his voice steady despite the worry that rippled beneath it.

The officer crouched down, lowering himself to my level. His eyes were kind but sharp, observant. Olivia, he said softly, did you see what the man looked like? Anything you remember could help us.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My throat felt constricted, as though fear had wrapped its icy fingers around it, squeezing until the words died before they could form.

Before I knew it, I was being pulled forward and then Papa’s arms enveloped me, hugging me in his tight embrace. His hold was warm and unyielding, and for the first time since the nightmare began, I felt a flicker of safety.

Come here, he murmured, his voice a mix of relief and sorrow. You’re safe now, sweetheart. I’ve got you.

I collapsed into him, clutching his shirt as sobs wracked my body. But Mom… I wailed, the words breaking apart in my throat.

The ambulance took her to the hospital, Papa said, rubbing slow, soothing circles on my back. His voice was steady, but I could hear the strain behind it. They’re going to take good care of her. She’s strong. They’ll save her, Olivia. Don’t you worry?

I nodded against his chest, though his reassurance felt fragile, like a delicate thread I was afraid to pull too tightly.

Papa turned to Officer Daily, his expression hardening with a fierce protectiveness that made him seem larger than life. My daughter is pretty shaken up right now. I think your questions can wait until she’s ready.

The officer nodded, his expression understanding. Of course. We’ll check in later.

I barely registered the rest of their conversation. The words blurred into a hum of background noise as my mind raced with images of the man—the way he had smiled at me, so calm, so deliberate, before disappearing. I tightened my grip on Papa, burying my face against his chest as fear curled deep inside me. He was still out there, and I was terrified he would come for me next.

After the officer left, Papa gently pried my arms from around his neck. His hands were warm but trembling, the slight shake betraying the calm facade he was trying to hold together. He stood and took my hand in his.

I’ve got to make a phone call, he said, his voice rough but steady. Let’s go into the office.

He led me to the small, windowless room at the back of the store, where he and Mom kept their paperwork and spent late nights balancing accounts. The air inside was stale, carrying the faint scent of old books and ink. I sat on one of the rickety wooden chairs by the filing cabinets, its edges worn smooth from years of use. Papa lowered himself into the chair behind the desk, his shoulders slumping like an invisible weight pressed down on him.

The desk phone rang shrilly, breaking the silence. Papa snatched it up and pressed it to his ear.

She what? he said, his voice cracking. His free hand shot up to cover his face, and his chest shuddered as he sucked in a sharp breath. When he lowered his hand, his eyes glistened with tears.

I can’t believe this. This can’t be happening, he whispered hoarsely, his voice thick with disbelief. With a sharp motion, he slammed the handset back into the cradle, the sound echoing harshly in the small room. But the next second, he picked it up again, his movements stiff, almost mechanical, and dialed a number from memory.

Moon Lee, he said when the line connected. His voice was low, urgent. I need you here right away. Alina’s been killed.

The words hit me like a punch to the chest, and a sob burst from my throat before I could stop it. The floodgates opened, and tears streamed down my face. My chest tightened painfully, each breath shallow and labored, as if the air itself had turned against me.

Before I could crumble completely, I felt strong arms wrap around me, pulling me into a firm embrace. Papa held me close, his hand cradling my head as if shielding me from the world’s weight.

It’s alright, my love, he murmured, his voice steady and calming. I’m here. I’ve got you.

His words broke through the chaos inside me, and I clung to him like a lifeline, burying my face into his shoulder as the sobs wracked my body. His warmth and presence were a balm against the raw ache in my chest.

He gently swayed us, a rhythmic motion that brought a faint sense of calm. His hand stroked my back in slow, comforting circles, and I could feel his breath’s steady rise and fall, anchoring me.

Breathe with me, he whispered. Just one breath at a time. You’re safe. We’ll be okay.

I tried to match my breaths to his, shaky as they were, and gradually, the tightness in my chest began to ease. My tears slowed, though they didn’t stop completely.

We’ll get through this pain, he said after a moment, pulling back slightly to look me in the eyes. His expression was tender, filled with a quiet strength that reminded me I didn’t have to face this alone. And you’re not alone, do you hear me? We’ll get through this together.

Minutes later, I heard the faint chime of the doorbell as it opened. Papa moved quickly, leaving me in the office to greet Lee at the front. Sniffling and wiping my face with the back of my sleeve, I shuffled toward the doorway and peeked around the corner. Moon Lee stood in the entryway, his expression solemn. His dark hair was pulled back neatly, and his tailored coat looked almost too pristine for the moment’s weight.

Lee, it happened so fast, Papa said, his voice breaking on the words. He twisted his hands together, his knuckles white with tension. You have to tell me—was Alina in any danger she was hiding from me?

Lee hesitated, his jaw tightening. I can’t tell you that, Jack.

Papa’s face contorted with frustration, his hands clenching into fists. What? Why can’t you tell me? His voice rose, a mix of anger and desperation.

Lee didn’t respond right away. His silence was heavy, a thick wall between them.

Papa took a step closer, his expression strained and raw. You and Alina were always so close, he said, his voice trembling. Closer than she and I ever were. The secret glances you shared, the things you kept from me—all the secrets you hid from me—and now she’s dead, Lee. Gone forever.

His voice cracked, and he pressed a hand to his chest as if trying to hold himself together. I demand that you answer me—was Alina in danger?

Lee stared at Papa, his face a mask of calm that only infuriated my father further. The silence between them was thick and suffocating, every second stretching unbearably.

Fine! Papa exploded, throwing his hands into the air. Don’t tell me. Keep your damn secrets. His voice dropped, trembling with despair. But you’re Olivia’s godfather. Goddamn it, Lee, I’m going to need help raising her. I can’t do this alone.

Lee didn’t respond to Papa’s plea. Instead, he crossed the room, his movements deliberate and steady. He knelt before me, his dark eyes locking onto mine, waiting until I met his gaze.

Listen to me, Olivia, he said, his voice low and firm, cutting through the haze of my tears. The world has become a dangerous place. You must learn how to fight.

Papa’s expression shifted from grief to alarm as he processed Lee’s words. Learn how to fight? What are you talking about?

Lee glanced up at him, his tone unyielding. She needs to learn how to protect herself.

I shook my head, unable to comprehend the weight of his words. My sobs came harder, my body trembling as the images of Mom lying on the ground, bleeding, replayed relentlessly in my mind. The sorrow was crushing, suffocating.

Papa was at my side instantly, pulling me into his arms. His embrace was firm and reassuring but couldn’t reach the hollow ache inside me. Shh, it’s going to be okay, Olivia, he whispered, his voice cracking. Lee’s going to help us. We’ll figure this out.

But I couldn’t stop crying. I couldn’t stop wishing, praying that the door would swing open, and Mom would walk in, smiling, telling me that this had all been a terrible mistake.

I know, sweetheart. I know, Papa murmured, his voice thick with his grief. He glared at Lee over my shoulder, a silent demand for answers that Lee didn’t give.

Lee stepped forward, easing me gently out of Papa’s arms. He knelt again, his expression softer now, though his eyes burned with an intensity I’d never seen before.

Little Moon, he said, using the nickname he’d given me when I was small. His voice was calm, a quiet anchor in the chaos. Do you trust me?

I hesitated, my breath hitching through the tears, but then I nodded. Lee had been a constant presence in my life, someone I’d always felt safe with.

Good, he said, his voice firm with resolve. Listen very closely. I will train you to fight, but it won’t be easy. It will hurt. You will want to give up. But you must push yourself harder than you ever have before. If you want to survive, you have to fight.

His jaw tightened, and his voice dropped, heavy with guilt and determination. I couldn’t save your mother, Olivia. But I swear to you, I’ll be damned if I let you suffer the same fate.

His words hung in the air, a solemn vow that made the room feel smaller and heavier. I swallowed hard, my tears slowing as his resolve seeped into me. At ten years old, my life was forever altered. The carefree innocence of my childhood was gone, replaced by a weight I didn’t yet understand. In the years to come, I would learn to fight. But against whom?

CHAPTER TWO

OLIVIA

March 2019

Fourteen years had passed, but the memory of that shadowy man still clung to me like a phantom I couldn’t exorcise. His presence remained an invisible weight on my chest, a silent predator lurking in the corners of my mind. No matter how much time passed, the fear he instilled in me was as vivid as the day it happened. He was more than a memory—a specter, a living nightmare that haunted every moment of my life.

The unknown dangers of the world, the what-ifs that kept me awake at night, were all shaped by that encounter. And so, every waking hour, I trained. I trained until my body ached, and my mind was as sharp as the blade strapped to my side. I wouldn’t be caught off guard like my mother had been. Never again.

The secluded gym in Lee’s cabin was buried deep in the Cougar Mountain woods, far from prying eyes and distractions. Shards of sunlight filtered weakly through the old jalousie windows, casting fragmented patterns of light and shadow on the blood-stained mats beneath my feet. The metallic tang of sweat and dried blood hung in the air, a testament to the battles fought here—most against me.

I drove my fists into the punching bag until my knuckles split open, the sting of a familiar companion. Each hit sent shocks of pain up my arms, but I didn’t stop until the room blurred and my muscles screamed in protest. Finally, I dropped onto the bench beside me, my breaths coming in ragged gasps.

A muffled tone broke through the pounding in my ears. I wiped my face with the towel draped around my neck and dug into my gym bag, fishing out my phone just as the ringing stopped. The caller ID displayed a single word—Papa.

I frowned, my heartbeat quickening again. Papa rarely called this early—he was a night owl, often lost in his research well past midnight.

I pressed redial, the phone cool against my still-throbbing hand.

Hi, sweetheart, my father said, his familiar voice instantly dissolving my unease.

I smiled, relief washing over me. Good morning, Papa. How are you?

I’m doing well, honey, he replied, his tone lighter than I expected. How about breakfast today? If you’re not busy, of course.

The offer was unexpected but welcome. That sounds great. I need to shower first. Give me an hour, and I’ll come over.

Perfect, he said, and the line disconnected.

Breakfast with Papa was a rare occurrence. Our schedules rarely aligned—he spent his nights immersed in dusty tomes and obscure texts, while my mornings were consumed by sweat and steel. It felt like a small gift, a fleeting moment of normalcy in a life that had become anything but.

After scrubbing off the grime of the morning, I slipped into a white sunflower dress, one of my favorites. Its flowing fabric and bright pattern were a quiet rebellion against the darkness that had shaped my life. It made me feel like the girl I used to be—a girl untouched by shadows. But appearances were only skin-deep. I strapped my Glock 22 to my thigh, the familiar weight a reminder of the world I lived in.

I climbed into my forest-green Jeep Wrangler, the engine roaring to life like a beast stirred from slumber. Its rugged frame matched the fighter I had become, a far cry from the fragile girl I once was. As I navigated the winding roads toward Papa’s house, I tried to silence the small, whispering that something was wrong. This was just breakfast, nothing more.

To distract myself, I dialed Tristan’s number. After two years together, our bond had only grown stronger. We weren’t just lovers, but soulmates bound by an unshakable connection. Tristan was everything I had ever dreamed of—kind, sweet, strong, and effortlessly classy. He was the kind of man who made every woman around him wish they could trade places with me.

Good morning, beautiful, Tristan said, his smooth voice answering on the third ring. Let me guess—another grueling workout? I don’t know how you do it.

His voice had the same familiar warmth that always made my heart flutter. But something gave me pause. The usual bustle of the emergency room where he worked was conspicuously absent. It was quiet—too quiet.

He must have stepped outside.

As the Jeep jostled over the uneven terrain, my lips curled into a smile. The sound of tires crunching against gravel mingled with the faint hum of the forest around me.

I did, I teased, my tone playful. Gotta keep up my stamina to match you in other areas.

His deep laugh sent a shiver down my spine, warm and familiar. And you do it so perfectly, babe. Why aren’t you here with me?

I frowned, leaning into the steering wheel slightly. At the hospital? Isn’t it a workday?

Would you believe I forgot my fucking badge? he said, a mix of amusement and frustration in his tone. I heard him tsk. I had to drive back to get it. I’ve got it now, and I’m heading out the door as we speak.

That sucks. Morning traffic can be a bitch, I said, glancing at the empty road ahead of me. Out here, traffic wasn’t a problem. There wasn’t another car for miles.

After Mom was killed, Papa and Lee left their apartments in Seattle and moved to a secluded stretch of wooded land about thirty minutes from the city. They lived in separate houses but close enough to keep an eye on each other—and me.

I’m just headed over to see my dad, I added casually.

The conversation paused.

Did I lose you? I asked, a slight edge of concern creeping into my voice.

No, sorry. Just looking for my work badge, Tristan said.

I tilted my head, my brow furrowing. Hadn’t he just said he had it?

Tristan, I said slowly, you always leave it on the nightstand beside the bed. I saw it there when I left this morning.

Oh, right—there it is. His tone shifted, forced and overly casual. Thanks, babe. I’ll talk to you soon. His words trailed off into an unsettling silence.

Love you, I said, the phrase feeling heavier than it should, like a weight I couldn’t name.

Love you, too, he replied. His tone was normal—warm, affectionate—but I couldn’t shake the cold sensation creeping up my spine. Something was off.

The rest of the drive was uneventful, but my mind returned to our conversation. A quiet unease coiled in my chest, tightening with every mile. When I pulled into the dirt driveway in front of Papa’s house, the feeling had solidified into something sharper, more distinct. I sat there for a moment, my hands gripping the steering wheel. The trees swayed gently in the breeze, their branches whispering secrets to each other. Birds flitted through the canopy, their songs a delicate contrast to the heaviness in my chest.

Everything looked normal. And yet, I couldn’t bring myself to climb out of the Jeep.

The wind rustled through the trees, sending dry leaves spiraling across the dirt driveway. It was almost as if the forest was holding its breath, waiting for something I couldn’t see. The weight in my chest pressed harder, that gnawing sense of dread whispering at the edges of my mind.

I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to ground myself. Whatever this feeling was, I had to push it aside. Papa was waiting.

I stepped out of the Jeep, gravel crunching under my boots. The familiar scent of pine and damp earth filled my senses as I walked up the wooden steps to Papa’s house. Classic rock music blared from inside, muffled by the thick walls. The faint strains of an electric guitar solo bled into the air, jarring against the stillness of the woods.

The door swung open before I could knock. Papa greeted me with a big smile, pulling me into a tight hug. His embrace was warm and familiar, but it lingered too long, like he was holding onto something more than me.

I’ll get the coffee, he said,