Untold Story

Chapter Six: The Red Thread

Evelyn's Pov 

The sun had finally broken through the heavy clouds that had hung over Hallowmere since our arrival. It cast a soft golden light over damp sidewalks and rain-slick rooftops, painting the quiet streets in deceptive warmth. The world looked calmer. Almost normal.

But I knew better.

James walked us to the edge of his porch, hands buried in the pockets of his faded jacket. He was quieter than usual, gaze lost somewhere in the distance. Ethan slung his bag over one shoulder and turned to him first.

"Thanks for everything," Ethan said. "The food, the room, the honesty."

James gave a half-smile. "Thanks for not calling me crazy. Most people would’ve."

I looked at him, the pendant carefully tucked in my shoulder bag. "You weren’t crazy. Just cautious. There’s a difference."

He hesitated, eyes drifting toward the edge of the woods. "You really think… that thing is dangerous?"

"We’re not sure yet," I said. "But it’s real. That much we do know. I’ll have it analyzed when we get back—see if the gem is natural, what kind of energy residue it holds. Maybe even who last touched it."

James nodded slowly. "And you're leaving now."

"Yeah," Ethan confirmed. "We both have to be back at work in the morning."

James sighed. "Wish you could stay longer. Got a feeling this place isn’t done with you."

I met his eyes. "It might not be. But if anything happens—anything—you call me. No hesitation. You’re not alone in this anymore."

He gave a firm nod. "Deal."

We shook hands, and for a moment, James held mine a little longer. "You’re good at what you do, Evelyn. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise."

A small smile tugged at my lips. "I don’t."

Then we turned. The train station was just three blocks away.

                    _______________

The platform was mostly empty. A few early commuters stood off to the side, and a couple struggled with heavy luggage. The air smelled faintly of old tracks, rust, and the salt carried in from the nearby coast. Our train wasn’t due for another fifteen minutes, but Ethan and I stood close to the edge, watching the steel rails shimmer under the fading light.

"You’ve been quiet since the library," he said.

I nodded. "There’s too much that doesn’t add up."

"You mean how someone like Princess Arya—who ruled a kingdom in her father’s absence—just jumped into a well over heartbreak?"

"Exactly. She was brilliant. Tactical. Respected. There’s no way she gave up that easily. Sword fighting, archery, politics—she excelled in all of it. Yet the only story anyone tells is a tragic romance?"

Ethan crossed his arms. "And Edward. We learned he had an older brother who was illegitimate, which made Edward the rightful heir. The guy was a genius—fluent in multiple languages, trained in strategy and combat."

"And still, there's almost nothing written about him. In a town obsessed with legends, their story feels... filtered. Like someone chose which parts to keep."

"And then there’s Mia," Ethan added. "The maid he supposedly ran away with. The name hidden in the back of the book like it was an afterthought."

I pulled out my notebook and flipped to the latest page. "It’s too clean. Too convenient."