Rain fell like shattered glass on the windshield. Eden Vale's fingers tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles blanching white as her rental car fishtailed again on the winding mountain road. The GPS had stopped working miles ago, the signal swallowed by dense pine and a sky that had turned an unnatural shade of iron. Her headlights carved through the mist in thin beams, useless against the curtain of fog crawling across the road like something alive. "This can't be right," she muttered. Her voice sounded small in the cocoon of the car, like an intruder in a place that hadn't heard a human whisper in years. Her aunt's last postcard had said Come find me before it's too late. That was six months ago. No return address. Just a name: Silverthorn. A town Eden couldn't find on any map, not even the ones online. And now here she was, chasing ghosts up a forgotten road in the North Cascades, alone. She glanced at the passenger seat. The postcard was damp at the edges from being handled too often, folded in creases. Beside it sat her cell phone, screen black and lifeless. No bars. No signal. No time. She didn't see the shape in the road until it was too late. A shadow moved—fast, animal, wrong. Not a deer. Not a coyote. Bigger. It bolted across the road just beyond the next bend. Eden slammed on the brakes. The tires screamed. The car skidded, fishtailed, and spun. Her scream joined the rain as the world blurred around her—trees, fog, headlights—until something snapped. There was the sickening crunch of metal, the snap of a branch, and then—Silence. Everything tilted. She was upside-down. No, sideways. Rain drummed against the undercarriage like fingernails. Her breath came fast and sharp, every inhale tasting like iron and ozone. She blinked. Her airbag had deployed. Blood from a cut on her forehead trickled down her temple. She tried the door. Stuck. Something moved in the trees. Eden froze. A shape watched her from the woods—its outline barely visible through the mist and broken windshield. Tall. Lean. Eyes that glowed gold in the dark like coals just before the fire takes hold. The forest held its breath. So did she. The thing stepped closer. Slowly. As if it had all the time in the world. Rain steamed off its broad shoulders. Its eyes never left hers. Then it was gone. She wasn't sure if it had vanished or if her mind had blanked in terror. When she came to again, she was lying on a cot in a room that smelled of cedar, moss, and something coppery beneath it all. It wasn't a hospital. The ceiling above her was wooden, beams aged and warped by time. A fire crackled in the hearth nearby. Her jacket and boots were gone. Her jeans torn. Her ankle wrapped in a tight bandage. She sat up too fast and nearly blacked out from the pain in her ribs. "You should rest." The voice startled her. A man sat in the corner. Motionless. Like he'd been waiting for her to wake. Shadows clung to him even with the firelight. His hair was black, damp from the rain, and a jagged scar slashed from his cheekbone to his jaw. His arms were crossed, thick with lean muscle, and his eyes—those same eyes—burned with something ancient. "You were in the road," he said. "You—" Her throat was dry. "You saw me crash?" "I pulled you out." "You could've called someone." "No signal this far out." "Then take me to a hospital." His jaw tightened. "There isn't one. Not close enough." She frowned, glancing around. "Where am I?" The man didn't answer right away. His gaze flicked toward the window. "You're in Silverthorn." The name hit her like ice water. "Silverthorn? This—this place is real?" He didn't answer. Eden swung her legs over the side of the cot, flinching as her ankle protested. "I need to call someone. I was looking for my aunt—Vanessa Vale. Do you know her?" The man's expression didn't change, but his silence thickened. "She sent me a postcard," Eden pressed. "Said she was in Silverthorn. Then nothing. That was six months ago." "She shouldn't have contacted you," he said quietly. "What's that supposed to mean?" He stood, and the firelight caught the edge of the scar on his jaw again. "People come to Silverthorn when they want to disappear. Your aunt knew that." Eden stood too quickly and stumbled. He caught her before she hit the floor. His hands were rough. Strong. Warm, despite the cold seeping in from the window cracks. She looked up at him—too close, too fast—and felt it again. That pull. That wrong heat in her chest. Her pulse thundered. He looked down at her like he didn't want to be there. Like he hated that he cared. "What's your name?" she asked. He let her go. "Kade," he said. "Kade Thorne."
The name landed like a stone in her gut. Her aunt's last diary entry had mentioned a Thorne. The Thorne boy is back. Silverthorn's wolves will stir again if he stays. "What are you?" she whispered. Kade's jaw clenched. His eyes darkened—not just in color, but in weight. "You don't want to know," he said. Then he turned and walked out the door into the storm.
Eden should've stayed in bed. But the moment the door closed behind him, her adrenaline shoved her upright. Every instinct screamed that she was in danger—from the town, from the man, from the truth clawing at the edges of her memory. She limped toward the window. Outside, the world was black and breathing. The rain had slowed, but the mist still clung to the trees like something sentient. A figure—Kade—walked into the woods without a coat. Just a dark shirt, jeans, and something heavy on his shoulders. Burden. Grief. Rage. Maybe all three. She spotted a coat hanging on the wall and took it. Her boots were by the fire, still wet, but she shoved her feet in anyway. The pain in her ankle flared white-hot, but she ignored it. Outside, the air smelled like pine, damp earth, and something wild. She followed him.
Silverthorn wasn't a town. Not really. Just a collection of cabins tucked between towering trees, a few broken streetlamps, and a main street that looked abandoned. No cars. No stores with lights. Just boarded windows and signs so weather-worn they were unreadable. Eden limped through the silence until she saw a faint light in the distance. It wasn't Kade. It was a woman, standing in the doorway of what looked like an old general store. The woman saw her and frowned. "You shouldn't be out," she said. "Do you know Vanessa Vale?" Eden asked. The woman's face changed. Not in expression—but in tension, in the way a deer might freeze before a gunshot. "You're her niece," she said flatly. "Yes." The woman stepped aside. "Come in. Quickly. "The inside of the store was warmer, crowded with old goods and older secrets. The woman poured tea without asking and set it in front of her. "Vanessa was my friend," she said. "But she crossed a line. And in Silverthorn, lines have teeth." Eden frowned. "What does that mean?" The woman didn't answer. "Where is she?" Eden demanded. "Is she alive?" The woman looked her dead in the eye. "If you want to survive this town, don't ask questions like that out loud."
Outside, something howled. Low. Long. Not quite animal. Not quite human. The woman paled. She handed Eden a slip of paper. "Find the house with the weeping tree. Tell no one what you're looking for." "Why me?" Eden asked. The woman didn't speak for a long time. Then, quietly: "Because you have her eyes. And he'll come for you, too." Before Eden could ask who he was, the lights flickered—and the town outside screamed.