The house felt too quiet.
Not empty—Seina could hear movement—but wrong in the way a place felt when something essential was missing. The kind of quiet that didn’t settle, didn’t soften, just stretched thin over everything like it might tear if someone spoke too loudly.
Faylan’s shoes were still by the door.
Her jacket still hung over the back of the chair where she’d left it two nights ago.
Nothing had moved.
Which somehow made it worse.
Seina stood in the doorway to the kitchen for a moment, watching her father without announcing herself.
Daniel was at the counter.
Not cooking.
Not eating.
Just… standing there, one hand braced against the edge like he needed something solid to hold onto. A mug sat untouched near his other hand, steam long gone, the coffee inside dark and still.
He looked like he hadn’t slept.
His hair was slightly out of place, the lines around his eyes deeper than usual, his shoulders tight in a way Seina had only seen a handful of times before—always when something was wrong, always when he was trying very hard to pretend it wasn’t.
Seina leaned her shoulder lightly against the doorframe.
“You’re going to wear a hole into the counter if you keep staring at it like that.”
Daniel didn’t flinch.
Which told her he had known she was there.
That was… not comforting.
He exhaled slowly and reached for the mug, taking a sip that was more habit than intention before setting it back down.
“You should be in school,” he said.
Seina tilted her head slightly.
“You should be asleep.”
That earned her a brief look.
Sharp.
Tired.
Then gone again as his gaze dropped back to the counter like it might give him answers if he looked long enough.
“I’m fine,” he said.
Seina huffed softly. “That’s impressive, considering you haven’t blinked in the last five minutes.”
Daniel didn’t respond to that.
He rubbed a hand over his face instead, the movement slow, like it cost him something.
Seina straightened and stepped into the kitchen, crossing to the opposite side of the counter. She rested her hands lightly on the cool surface, watching him more closely now.
“You’ve called her how many times?” she asked.
He didn’t answer.
Which was an answer.
Seina’s jaw tightened slightly. “She texted me.”
That got his attention.
His head lifted immediately, eyes snapping to hers.
“When?” he asked.
“Not long ago.”
“What did she say?”
Seina held his gaze for a second.
Then, carefully, “That she’s okay.”
Daniel exhaled, some of the tension in his shoulders easing—but not much.
Not enough.
Seina watched it happen.
Watched how quickly the relief came.
Watched how quickly it was replaced by something else.
Fear.
Not vague.
Not general.
Specific.
Targeted.
That sat wrong.
“She didn’t say where she was?” he pressed.
“No.”
“Did she sound—”
“Dad.”
He stopped.
Just like that.
Seina leaned forward slightly, her voice quieter now, but firmer.
“You’re not asking the right questions.”
Daniel went still.
“Then what questions should I be asking?” he said, too evenly.
Seina studied him.
Really studied him.
Because this wasn’t just worry.
This wasn’t just a parent with a missing daughter.
This was something else.
Something he wasn’t saying.
“You should be asking why you look like you already know something’s wrong,” she said.
The words landed clean.
Daniel’s expression didn’t change immediately.
But something behind it did.
A flicker.
A hesitation.
Enough.
Seina’s stomach tightened.
There it was.
She pushed gently.
“Dad.”
He looked at her.
And for a second—just a second—she thought he might actually tell her.
Whatever it was.
Whatever had been sitting in this house for years, quiet and buried and waiting for something to pull it back to the surface.
His mouth opened.
Closed.
His jaw tightened.
And then—
Gone.
The moment slipped away like it had never been there.
“She left,” he said instead, his voice carefully neutral. “She’s upset. That’s all.”
Seina didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t let him have that.
“That’s not all,” she said.
Daniel’s gaze sharpened. “Seina—”
“You think keeping things from us is protecting us,” she cut in, her voice still calm but no longer soft. “It’s not.”
Silence stretched between them.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Honest in a way neither of them seemed ready for.
Daniel looked at her like he didn’t recognize her for a second.
Like he was seeing something he hadn’t expected.
Then he looked away.
That hurt more than if he’d argued.
Seina straightened slowly, pressing her lips together as something tight and restless coiled low in her chest.
“Fine,” she said quietly. “Don’t tell me.”
Daniel didn’t respond.
Didn’t stop her.
Didn’t try.
Which told her everything she needed to know.
Seina turned and walked out of the kitchen, the silence following her down the hallway like it had weight.
Her room felt smaller when she stepped inside.
Too still.
Too contained.
Her sketchbook sat open on her desk where she’d left it the night before, charcoal smudged across the page in half-finished lines that didn’t quite form anything recognizable yet.
Seina stared at it for a second.
Then crossed the room and flipped it closed.
No.
Not right now.
She needed air.
Movement.
Something that didn’t feel like this.
Her phone buzzed on the bed.
Rowan.
Seina picked it up.
“Tell me you found her,” she said the moment she answered.
There was a pause on the other end.
Too long.
Then, “Not yet.”
Rowan’s voice sounded… off.
Not just worried.
Tight.
Controlled in a way she wasn’t used to hearing from him.
Seina frowned slightly, pacing once across the room.
“You always find her,” she said.
Another pause.
Shorter this time.
“I’m trying,” he replied.
The words were right.
The tone wasn’t.
Seina stopped pacing.
“You sound weird,” she said bluntly.
A soft exhale came through the phone. “Thanks. That’s helpful.”
“I’m serious, Ro.”
“I know.”
Silence settled between them for a second.
Then—
“She’s fine,” Rowan said, quieter now. “She will be.”
Seina’s brows pulled together.
“That didn’t sound like a guess.”
Another pause.
Then, lighter, “I’m choosing optimism.”
Seina didn’t believe him.
Not fully.
But she let it go.
For now.
“Call me if you hear anything,” she said.
“I will.”
She hung up, staring at the screen for a second longer than necessary.
Something was off.
Everywhere.
Not loud.
Not obvious.
Just—
Wrong.
Seina grabbed her jacket from the chair and slipped it on, her movements quick and decisive now.
If Faylan wasn’t coming home—
She wasn’t staying here waiting.
Her gaze flicked briefly to the window, to the line of trees just beyond the edge of the neighborhood.
The woods.
Quiet.
Familiar.
A place she’d gone a hundred times without thinking twice.
Now—
It felt like a decision.
Seina grabbed her keys and headed for the door.
“Seina.”
She stopped.
Daniel stood at the end of the hallway.
Watching her.
Tired.
Worried.
Still not telling her anything.
“Stay in town,” he said.
Not a suggestion.
A warning.
Seina held his gaze.
Then gave a small, almost absent nod.
“Sure,” she said.
And walked out anyway.
The door shut behind her with a soft click that sounded louder than it should have.
Seina didn’t look back.
If she did, she might hesitate—and hesitation felt like the worst possible option right now. The air outside was cooler than the house, sharp enough to clear her head just a little as she stepped off the porch and onto the walkway. Morning had settled fully into Greythorne now, but it still carried that muted, fog-dulled quiet that made everything feel slightly off-center.
Normal.
Almost.
Seina shoved her hands into her jacket pockets as she headed down the driveway, her thoughts moving faster than her steps.
Faylan was out there.
Somewhere.
And everyone kept acting like this was just—
What?
A phase?
A fight?
A bad night?
No.
No, it wasn’t.
She could feel that much.
It sat low in her chest, a quiet, persistent unease that hadn’t gone away since the night everything started shifting. It wasn’t panic. It wasn’t even fear, exactly.
It was… awareness.
Like something just beyond her understanding had moved closer.
And stayed.
Seina reached the sidewalk, turning toward the edge of town without breaking stride.
The woods weren’t far.
They never had been.
A narrow road curved past the last stretch of houses and dipped slightly toward a tree line that looked darker than the rest of Greythorne, even in daylight. Most people didn’t think twice about it. It was just forest—old, a little overgrown, easy to get turned around in if you didn’t know the paths.
Seina knew the paths.
Or at least she used to.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She pulled it out as she walked, already knowing who it would be.
Ro
She answered this time.
“You still ‘trying’?” she asked, skipping a greeting.
Rowan exhaled softly on the other end. “Yeah.”
Seina frowned slightly at the sound of it.
Still wrong.
Still too controlled.
“You find anything?” she pressed.
A beat.
Then, “No.”
Short.
Too short.
Seina slowed her pace just a little.
“You’re a terrible liar,” she said.
Another pause.
Longer this time.
“…I didn’t say I found nothing,” Rowan replied.
Seina stopped walking.
“Ro.”
“I’m handling it,” he added quickly. “Just—stay where you are, okay?”
Her brows pulled together.
“That’s not how this works.”
“I’m serious, Sei.”
That did it.
The tone.
Low. Tight. Edged with something that felt a little too close to command.
Seina straightened slightly, irritation flickering through the unease.
“You don’t get to tell me that,” she said.
“I’m not telling you, I’m—”
“You are,” she cut in. “And it’s weird.”
Silence.
Then—
“Just… don’t go anywhere isolated,” Rowan said, his voice quieter now, like he was forcing it back into something softer. “Please.”
Seina looked ahead.
At the tree line.
Dark. Still. Waiting.
“…define isolated,” she said.
Rowan didn’t answer right away.
Which was an answer.
Seina sighed softly through her nose.
“I’ll call you later,” she said.
“Seina—”
She hung up.
Not because she didn’t care.
Because she did.
Too much.
And right now, whatever Rowan wasn’t saying felt too close to whatever her father wasn’t saying—and she was done standing in the middle of conversations where everyone else knew more than she did.
Her phone went back into her pocket.
Her steps carried her forward.
Closer to the trees.
The air shifted as she approached the edge of the woods—not dramatically, not enough that anyone else would have noticed, but enough that her skin prickled faintly along her arms. The temperature dipped just slightly beneath the canopy, the light thinning as branches filtered the sun into broken, uneven patterns across the ground.
Seina stepped onto the familiar path without slowing.
Leaves crunched softly under her shoes.
The deeper she went, the quieter it became.
Not empty.
Alive.
But in a different way than the town.
The woods didn’t pretend.
They didn’t soften themselves for anyone.
Seina followed the path easily, muscle memory guiding her through the turns, past the split in the trail, toward the small clearing she had claimed years ago without ever really deciding to.
It opened up gradually.
A break in the trees where the ground leveled out, ringed by tall trunks and low brush, the center worn smooth by time and habit.
Her spot.
She stepped into it—and slowed.
Something was off.
Again.
Not obvious.
Just—
Different.
Her gaze swept the clearing slowly.
The fallen log near the edge.
The stone she usually sat on.
The tree where she’d once carved a small mark into the bark, half-hidden now by time.
Everything was where it should be.
And yet—
Her pulse shifted faintly.
Not like Faylan’s.
Not that strange, steady rhythm.
Just—
Aware.
Seina took a few steps forward, her eyes narrowing slightly as she spotted it.
Near the base of the tree.
Half-hidden in the leaves.
Her sketchbook.
She frowned.
“…I didn’t leave that here.”
But she had.
Hadn’t she?
Her memory flickered—coming out here days ago, sitting on the log, drawing, leaving in a rush when the light started to fade—
Maybe she had.
Seina crouched, brushing leaves aside as she picked it up.
The cover was slightly damp from the ground, the edges smudged, but otherwise untouched.
She flipped it open.
Pages of charcoal sketches.
Trees.
Hands.
Fragments of faces that never quite resolved into anything whole.
Then—
She stopped.
Her breath caught slightly.
The last page.
She didn’t remember drawing this.
It wasn’t unfinished.
It wasn’t fragmented.
It was—
Clear.
A figure.
Tall.
Standing at the edge of the trees.
Watching.
Dark lines, sharp detail, the shape of a face just barely defined—
But the eyes—
The eyes were unmistakable.
Focused.
Intent.
Familiar.
Seina’s stomach tightened.
“…okay,” she murmured softly. “That’s new.”
A sound shifted behind her.
Subtle.
But close.
Seina went still.
Not startled.
Not yet.
Just… aware.
Her grip tightened slightly on the sketchbook as she straightened slowly.
Then turned.
And found him already there.
Kael stood just beyond the edge of the clearing, half-shadowed by the trees like he belonged there more than the daylight did. The filtered light caught in his hair—deep brown, almost black in places—while the rest of him remained still, controlled, watching.
Always watching.
Seina didn’t jump.
Didn’t gasp.
But something in her chest tightened anyway.
“You’re getting predictable,” she said, closing the sketchbook with a soft snap.
Kael didn’t move closer.
Didn’t smile.
“Or you’re getting easier to find.”
His voice was low, steady, carrying easily through the quiet.
Seina lifted a brow slightly. “That sounds like a problem on your end.”
“It is,” he said.
That… wasn’t the answer she expected.
Seina stilled for half a second, then straightened fully, tucking the sketchbook under her arm.
“Then stop looking,” she said, brushing a bit of leaf debris from her sleeve. “Seems like a simple solution.”
Kael’s gaze flicked over her—quick, precise, taking in more than he should have been able to in that short span. Her face. Her posture. The way her fingers tightened slightly against the sketchbook.
Assessing.
Measuring.
It made something restless shift under her skin.
“I told you not to come out here alone,” he said.
Seina exhaled through her nose. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“I’m not telling you,” he replied evenly.
A small pause.
“I’m warning you.”
That hit differently.
Seina tilted her head slightly, studying him now instead of deflecting.
“You’ve upgraded from cryptic to dramatic,” she said. “Should I be impressed?”
Kael didn’t take the bait.
His eyes didn’t leave her.
“Something is moving through this territory,” he said. “And you’re standing in the middle of it like you don’t know it can see you.”
Seina’s grip on the sketchbook tightened just a fraction.
She forced it to relax.
“Maybe I’m not the one who should be worried,” she said lightly.
Kael took a step forward.
Slow.
Deliberate.
The distance between them shortened.
The air shifted with it.
“You are,” he said.
No hesitation.
No doubt.
Seina held his gaze, something sharp and unyielding rising to meet that certainty.
“I’ve been fine so far.”
Another step.
Closer now.
Too close.
“That’s the problem,” Kael said quietly.
Seina frowned slightly. “What is that supposed to mean?”
He stopped just within arm’s reach.
Close enough that she could see the exact shade of his eyes now—amber edged with something darker, something that seemed to shift when the light hit it wrong.
Close enough that she could feel the heat coming off him.
Close enough that the space between them didn’t feel neutral anymore.
“You should’ve drawn attention already,” he said.
Seina’s brows pulled together.
“I don’t even know what that means.”
Kael’s gaze dropped—briefly, but deliberately—to her hand.
To the sketchbook.
Then back up.
“Show me,” he said.
Seina didn’t move.
“Show you what?”
“What you just found.”
Her stomach tightened.
She hadn’t told him about that.
Hadn’t said a word.
Seina’s expression didn’t change—but something behind it sharpened.
“…you’ve been watching me longer than I thought,” she said.
Kael didn’t deny it.
“I don’t miss much.”
“That’s comforting,” she replied dryly.
But she didn’t step back.
Didn’t leave.
Didn’t tell him no.
Not immediately.
That, more than anything, seemed to settle something quiet between them.
Seina hesitated for a second longer—then flipped the sketchbook open and turned it toward him.
“Explain this, then.”
Kael took it.
Their fingers brushed.
Just for a second.
The contact was brief—but it wasn’t nothing.
Seina felt it.
A sharp, unexpected awareness that lingered longer than it should have.
Kael did too.
His hand tightened almost imperceptibly before he looked down at the page.
And went still.
Not subtly.
Not controlled.
Still.
Seina watched his expression shift.
Just slightly.
But enough.
“You didn’t draw this,” he said.
It wasn’t a question.
Seina’s pulse picked up.
“No,” she said. “That’s kind of the issue.”
Kael’s jaw tightened.
His gaze flicked to the trees.
Then back to the page.
Then to her.
“You need to leave,” he said.
Seina let out a short breath, more annoyed now than anything else.
“You keep saying that like I’m going to listen.”
Kael stepped closer.
This time—faster.
Not enough to startle her.
Enough to shift the space.
“You’re changing,” he said.
Seina’s chest tightened.
She scoffed lightly. “No, I’m not.”
Kael’s gaze didn’t waver.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “You are.”
Something in his tone—
Not fear.
Not exactly.
But not neutral either.
It made her pause.
Just for a second.
And in that second—
Kael’s hand closed around her wrist.
Firm.
Not rough.
But unyielding.
Seina’s breath hitched slightly, her eyes snapping down to where his fingers wrapped around her skin.
Warm.
Solid.
Real.
“Hey—”
“Don’t move,” he said.
Low.
Focused.
Seina’s head lifted slowly.
“What—”
Kael’s attention wasn’t on her anymore.
It had shifted.
Outward.
Into the trees.
Every line of his body had gone taut.
Alert.
Listening.
The air in the clearing changed.
Not dramatically.
But enough.
The birds had stopped.
The wind had stilled.
Even the light felt thinner somehow, like something had stepped between it and the ground.
Seina felt it then.
That same quiet wrongness from earlier.
But sharper.
Closer.
“What is it?” she asked, her voice lower now.
Kael didn’t answer right away.
His grip on her wrist tightened just slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to anchor her there.
To keep her from stepping forward.
Or running.
Or doing anything at all.
Then—
He spoke.
Quiet.
Certain.
“We’re not alone.”
Seina’s pulse jumped.
The woods, suddenly, didn’t feel like hers anymore.
Not even a little.
Something shifted deeper between the trees.
Too smooth to be wind.
Too deliberate to be nothing.
Seina’s breath slowed without her permission, her senses sharpening in a way she couldn’t quite explain.
Her fingers curled slightly.
Her body stilled.
Listening.
Watching.
And somewhere—
just beyond the tree line—
Something was watching back.