The wind howled through the skeletal remains of the lighthouse, its iron ribs groaning like a wounded beast. Clara Mercer tightened her coat against the cold, her boots crunching over shattered glass as she stepped into the tower’s shadow. The…
Mara Voss stepped off the creaking bus, her boots crunching over gravel as the scent of pine and damp earth filled her lungs. Blackthorn had not changed in ten years—same rusted streetlights, same crooked storefronts, same air of quiet desperation.…
Mara stepped off the bus into the thick July air, her boots crunching gravel as she scanned the town square. The clock tower’s hands hung frozen at 3:17, a relic from the 1920s when the town had last updated anything.…
Clara stepped off the creaking bus, her boots crunching gravel as the scent of pine and damp earth filled her lungs. The town of Blackthorn had not changed in ten years—same crooked streetlights, same rusted gate at the cemetery, same…