[REWRITTING]
❛𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈 𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐎𝐒!❜
⸻ in which Rory Hargrove is obsessed to uncover the truth behind Barbara Holland's disappearance, while facing her brother's enemy an...
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AURORA OPENED THE FRONT DOOR OF THE HOUSE, which groaned in protest. Outside, rain poured relentlessly, the heavy droplets streaking the horizon and splashing into the courtyard puddles.
She tilted her head up, gazing at the dense sky, thick with sorrowful gray clouds that wept without restraint.
Then, as if sensing her hesitation, the rain softened, falling in a delicate drizzle. But she had no intention of waiting for it to stop entirely. With practiced efficiency, she gathered her hair into a ponytail, pulled her hood over her head, and zipped her jacket to her chin. Her cassette player and headphones found shelter inside her jacket, safe from the dampness.
Aurora shut the door behind her and picked up her pace once she reached the sidewalk. The suburban streets were still unfamiliar, but she decided to take the risk — her morning run had become a necessity, a ritual to shake off the weight pressing on her chest.
It was her escape — an attempt to run away from the thoughts that clawed at the edges of her mind. Yet no matter how fast she ran, no matter how hard she pushed her muscles or how fiercely her blood pounded in her veins, she could never escape herself.
She tried to focus on her breathing, on the rhythmic slap of her sneakers against the pavement, but her thoughts were relentless.
It had been two weeks since she left her paradise in California. Two weeks since she left her mother behind.
She had promised to call as soon as she arrived. And she did. She had spoken of Hawkins, of its small-town stillness, of how different it was from the vibrant pulse of San Diego. The spoiled boy; the small school; the cute cat she saved. But the conversation had been different—stilted, distant. Her mother had asked the right questions, showed the right amount of interest, but something was missing. The call had been brief. Too brief.
Maybe she was feeling down. That was normal. Maybe she missed her daughter more than usual, right? But she felt deep down that something wasn't right.
A sharp pang tightened in her chest, stealing her breath Past memories that lived rent-free in her mind were flashing before her eyes as she ran in automatic mode. She was running faster, stretching her limits. It was as if she were running away from the sorrows that tormented her.
She missed the carefree afternoons with her mother - laughing over lunch under the weeping willow, the salty breeze tickling her hair. She missed the soft sound of her mother's voice as she hummed old songs, missed the way she'd pull out her makeup to teach Rory the art of the perfect eyeliner.
