The shadows were relentless. No matter how much light I left on in my apartment, they seeped in—creeping across walls, whispering my name, always watching. I couldn’t stay.
By dawn, my bags were packed. With the journal stuffed deep into my backpack, I left the apartment and boarded the earliest bus out of town. My destination? Anywhere but here.
---
West Grimvale
The bus groaned to a halt, the brakes screeching like a beast in pain. Outside the window, the sign read: Welcome to West Grimvale.
The town was draped in mist, the kind that clung to cobblestone streets and snaked between skeletal trees. The air smelled of damp earth and old wood, and the sky above was a pale, oppressive gray.
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I rented a small room above an old bookshop on the edge of town. The place was cramped but cozy, with a single window overlooking the street. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. For now.
---
One evening, desperate to clear my mind, I ventured out for air. My feet carried me to the edge of the woods, where the towering trees stood like sentinels, their shadows sprawling across the ground. The cold night air nipped at my skin, but it was the strange silence that unsettled me the most.
Then came the voice.
“Interesting, isn’t it? How quickly one runs from shadows, only to find them waiting elsewhere.”
The words froze me. My breath hitched as I turned slowly toward the sound.
A man stood several paces away, partially obscured by the mist. He was lean and tall. He wore a long dark coat, his pale skin almost ghostly against the night. But it was his eyes that struck me the most—piercing and unyielding, as if they could see straight through me.
“Who are you?” My voice barely left my lips, trembling.
The man’s lips curled into a faint smirk, the kind that felt both mocking and condescending. “That’s the wrong question.”
“What do you mean? Were you following me?” My voice rose, trying to mask my fear with anger.
“I don’t follow anyone,” the man replied smoothly, his tone dripping with superiority. “You’re the one dragging a cursed beacon through the night, practically begging for attention. Consider me curious.”
My fists clenched. “You—you were in the library, weren’t you? You saw what happened.”
The man tilted his head, his cold gaze unchanging. “I did.”
“Then why didn’t you stop it?” My voice cracked, fury rising in my chest. “She begged for help—she was terrified—and you just stood there?”
The man’s expression remained calm, infuriatingly so. “I wasn’t there to interfere.”
“That’s your excuse?” I stepped forward, my anger surging. “You let her die because it wasn’t your business?”
