Dusk Glow

Epilogue: A Pact of Silence

The seasons change in Spoons, as they always do. Autumn's chill melts into winter's sharp bite, and the quiet town is blanketed in snow, turning the forests into a landscape of frosted trees and ice-covered trails. But the cold that settles into Darla's bones isn't just from the weather; it's the ache that's been growing inside her ever since Edwynn vanished that night in the woods.

She spends most of her time in the living room now, sitting in the same worn, leather armchair by the window. The chair creaks with age whenever she shifts, but it's become her anchor, the place where she waits—where she watches the trees beyond the edge of town, searching for any sign of movement among the branches.

Her father doesn't understand. He tries to pull her out of it, bringing her warm mugs of tea, asking if she wants to help him with the holiday decorations, but she always gives the same tired smile and a quiet "Maybe later." But later never comes.

Days turn into weeks, and weeks blur into months. Darla's life slips into a dull routine—wake up, sit in the chair, watch the snow fall, hope for a glimpse of something in the woods. She keeps the curtains drawn back, even when the frost creeps up the glass and makes the room cold. It doesn't matter. The cold feels more real than anything else.

She thinks about Edwynn constantly, even when she tries not to. She thinks about the way he used to appear out of nowhere, like a shadow with a sly smile. She thinks about that last desperate look in his eyes, the way he told her to run. And she thinks about all the things he never said, the secrets he kept buried behind those ice-blue eyes.

And always, always, she thinks about where he might be now.

Every creak of the house settling, every gust of wind through the trees, she turns her head slightly, hoping that maybe—just maybe—he'll be standing there again, watching her from the shadows with that familiar half-smirk, ready to step back into her life as if he never left.

But he never does.

The sky outside shifts from gray to deeper gray, clouds rolling in as another storm brews over the town. The first flakes start to fall, settling on the windowsill, and Darla pulls her knees to her chest, wrapping herself tighter in the old blanket she's been using as a shield against the emptiness that stretches inside her.

The calendar on the wall tells her it's been three months since that night. Three months since she last saw Edwynn. Three months since the hope she's been clinging to started to wither.

She traces the outline of her breath on the glass, drawing a heart with her fingertip before it fades into the frost. And she wonders, in the quiet corners of her mind, if maybe she's the foolish one for waiting. If maybe he's never coming back, if he's already gone somewhere she can't follow.

But even as the thought grips her, she stays. She stays in her chair by the window, watching, waiting, because somehow that feels better than letting go.

And outside, the snow keeps falling, covering everything in its endless, unrelenting silence.