The rain fell in steady sheets as Mara stepped off the bus, her boots sinking into the muddy path leading to the town of Blackwood. The air smelled of wet pine and something sharper—oil, maybe, or decay. She pulled her coat tighter, fingers brushing the worn leather of her notebook. Three years had passed since she’d last crossed the county line, but the town hadn’t changed. The same sagging storefronts lined Main Street, their windows fogged with dust. The same rusted pickup trucks idled outside the diner, engines humming like restless animals. She didn’t stop to look back. The letter had been clear: *Come home. It’s time.*
The sheriff’s station stood at the edge of town, its brick walls stained by years of neglect. Mara pushed open the door, the bell above it jingling faintly. Inside, the air reeked of old coffee and gunpowder. A man in a faded uniform sat behind the desk, his eyes narrowing as she approached.
“You’re late,” he said, his voice low, like gravel underfoot.
“I wasn’t invited,” Mara replied, her tone flat. She dropped the notebook on the counter. “But I’m here now.”
The sheriff studied her for a long moment before reaching for a file. “You remember the old mill? The one that burned down when you were twelve?”
Mara’s throat tightened. The fire had taken her mother. The investigation had concluded it was an accident. But the townspeople had whispered otherwise—about the strange lights in the woods, the screams that didn’t belong to anyone alive.
“What about it?” she asked, keeping her voice steady.
The sheriff opened the file. Inside were photos of a charred beam, its surface etched with symbols. “These showed up last week. In the same spot where the fire started.”
Mara leaned in, her pulse quickening. The markings were jagged, deliberate. Not the work of a natural disaster. “Who found them?”
“The mayor’s son,” the sheriff said. “He’s been acting… off since.”
The door creaked open behind them. A woman stepped in, her boots crunching on the floorboards. “You’re not supposed to be here,” she said, her voice sharp as a blade.
Mara turned. The woman was tall, her dark hair pulled into a severe knot. She wore a tailored suit that looked out of place in the dusty station.
“And you are?” Mara asked.
“Detective Voss,” the woman said. “I’m here to handle the investigation.”
The sheriff stood, his jaw tight. “This isn’t your jurisdiction.”
“It is now,” Voss replied, pulling a badge from her coat. “The mayor called me. He’s concerned about the… unrest in the town.”
Mara felt a chill crawl up her spine. The mayor had always been a distant figure, his presence felt more through his decisions than his actions. But this? This was different.
“What exactly are you looking for?” she asked.
Voss’s eyes flicked to the file. “Answers. And maybe some closure for the people who lost loved ones in that fire.”
Mara didn’t believe in closure. Not after what she’d seen. But she couldn’t ignore the way Voss’s gaze lingered on the symbols, the way her fingers twitched as if resisting the urge to touch them.
“I’ll help,” Mara said, before she could stop herself. “But I’m not here for the mayor. I’m here for the truth.”
Voss studied her, then nodded. “Then we’ll start at the mill.”
The journey to the mill was quiet, the forest around them thick with shadow. Mara kept her eyes on the path, but she could feel the weight of the trees, their branches clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. The air grew colder as they approached, and for a moment, she thought she heard a sound—soft, almost imperceptible, like a whisper just beyond hearing.
“You hear that?” she asked, stopping mid-step.
Voss didn’t respond. She was already walking ahead, her boots crunching on the gravel. Mara followed, her heart pounding. The mill stood in the distance, its silhouette jagged against the stormy sky. The roof had collapsed in places, exposing the charred remains of its interior.
As they approached, Mara noticed something new—a faint glow emanating from the ruins. It was barely visible, a shimmer at the edge of her vision. She blinked, but it remained.
“What is that?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Voss didn’t answer. She was already moving toward the structure, her hand on the holster of her weapon. Mara followed, her mind racing. The symbols on the beam had been ancient, but this—this felt different. More alive.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of smoke and something else—something metallic, like blood. The floor was littered with debris, but near the center of the room, a pile of ash glowed faintly. Voss knelt beside it, her fingers brushing the surface.
“This isn’t just ash,” she said, her voice tight. “It’s… something else.”
Mara crouched next to her, her hand hovering over the pile. She could feel it—warmth, pulsing like a heartbeat. “It’s alive,” she whispered.
Voss stood abruptly. “We need to get out of here. Now.”
The moment they turned, the glow intensified, spreading across the floor like liquid fire. Mara stumbled back, her breath coming in short gasps. The air filled with a low hum, vibrating in her bones. Then, without warning, the ground shook, and a deafening crack split the silence.
“Run!” Voss shouted.
Mara didn’t need to be told twice. She sprinted toward the exit, her boots slapping against the stone floor. Behind her, the mill groaned, its walls trembling as if something massive was stirring within. The glow followed them, a trail of fire that licked at their heels.
They emerged into the storm, the rain lashing their faces. Mara gasped for air, her chest burning. Voss was already on her feet, her eyes scanning the forest. “We need to find the mayor,” she said. “This isn’t over.”
Mara nodded, but her mind was elsewhere. The symbols, the glow, the sound she’d heard—everything pointed to one thing. The fire hadn’t been an accident. It had been a warning.
And someone had been trying to stop it.
