The faint rhythm of tires over wet asphalt hummed in Adam Greene's ears as he stirred from a dreamless sleep. His father's voice broke the silence, low, calm, almost apologetic.
"Hey, champ. Wake up. You'll want to see this."
Adam blinked, groggy, the fog of sleep still clinging to him. The passenger-side window was streaked with rain, a lingering drizzle from the night before. Beyond the glass, muted greens and grays blurred past pine trees veiled in mist, cliffs wrapped in morning fog, winding roads cutting through dense alpine forest.
He sat up, rubbing his eyes. The SUV rumbled along the mountain road, weaving through the serene wilderness like a metal ghost returning to something long forgotten.
"Damn," he muttered, staring out at the view. "This place hasn't changed much."
Austin Greene, Adam's dad chuckled softly. "Nature doesn't care about change. People do."
The forest stretched endlessly, vast and timeless. Occasionally, traces of civilization broke through an old trailhead sign, a rusted billboard reading MOONSTONE: YOUR NEXT ADVENTURE, and an overlook platform perched above a deep valley, its wooden frame slick with rain.
This was it. Moonstone.
A mountain town cradled in one of America's last untouched wildernesses. Tourists came for the hiking, the rock climbing, the wildlife. Locals stayed for the quiet, the safety or so the brochures claimed.
For Adam, it was the place where everything had ended. And maybe, now, where it would all begin again. The whole idea of moving back wasn't new to him, he had always believed that eventually they would return back home, especially because life in London turned out to be worse in subtle ways his dad would never understand. moving back was a way to rekindle forgotten memories of his mother and maybe even... just maybe find the truth about what happened and do her, and get her the justice she deserved. This was going to be a fresh start.
"Ten years," he murmured.
"Eight," Austin corrected, eyes on the road. "We left when you were eleven."
Right. Seven years since they'd fled. Since that fateful night.
Silence settled between them, not tense, but weighted. The kind that didn't need words because it carried too much history already.
Austin cleared his throat. "Remember where the basketball court used to be?"
Adam nodded. "Behind the hardware store. Why?"
"They built a new one. Full-size. Glass boards and everything."
"Seriously?" Adam raised an eyebrow.
"Mmhm. Town's growing. Got a second skyscraper now. Some biotech company set up shop. Guess all that untouched nature makes for good branding."
Adam's gaze drifted back to the window. A pair of deer grazed near the tree line. A hawk soared overhead. The fog was thinning, jagged mountaintops revealing themselves like the spines of sleeping giants.
The truck descended into the lower valley. Roads widened. Modernity flickered into view, gas stations, a strip mall, billboards selling real estate and moonstone-themed trinkets.
Then, a sudden whoosh, flashing lights filled the rearview mirror.
A police cruiser flew past in the opposite direction, sirens silent but lights strobing against the gray morning.
Austin frowned, watching it disappear around a bend.
"Huh," he muttered. "Wonder what that's about."
Adam turned in his seat, eyes narrowing at the red-blue blur fading into the mist.
Meanwhile, Detective Joe Hawkings gripped the wheel, jaw tight, windshield wipers beating away the misty drizzle. The morning hung heavy over Moonstone's roads, but it was the radio silence that really grated at him.
No call from dispatch. Nothing from the sheriff's office. Not even a whisper from the rookie deputies.
He'd learned about the multiple homicide through backdoor chatter, favors from old academy buddies.
The cruiser's tires hummed beneath him. He passed a black SUV headed the opposite way. For a heartbeat, everything felt still.
Then the house appeared.
A modest bungalow at the forest's edge. Pale siding. Curtains drawn. Porch light still on, useless now.
Crime scene tape fluttered in the breeze. Uniforms dotted the perimeter some murmuring, others staring off, trying not to look at the horror inside. One straightened at Joe's arrival, offering a nervous nod.
Joe stepped out, crossed the yard, and ducked under the tape. The stench hit him immediately. Not rot, too fresh. Blood. And something else… something wrong.
Inside, the living room was chaos. Furniture overturned. Blood smeared across walls. A trail of crimson leading down the hallway. A woman in her thirties slumped over the couch, her throat savaged. A man, probably her husband lay in the kitchen doorway, one arm stretched toward a fallen phone.
Joe crouched beside the woman, eyes sharp despite the churn in his gut. The bite marks were wrong. Too deep. Too wide.
"This wasn't a bear," he muttered.
A bored-looking forensics tech passed by with a sealed evidence bag.
"Sheriff says it is," the man replied. "So, that's what it is."
Joe stood, scowling. "Did you get dental impressions? Jaw size?"
"Sheriff ruled it already. Bear. Big one, maybe. Not really our call."
Joe's voice dropped. "What about tracks? Anyone check the backyard? Bears don't break windows and drag bodies across rooms."
The tech shrugged. "Ask the sheriff. He's at the second scene."
Joe blinked. "Second?"
The tech nodded, suddenly more serious. "Little girl. about Six. Found off the trail behind the house. Might want to brace yourself."
Behind the property, another layer of tape marked the clearing. Joe ducked beneath it and froze.
She was there.
Curled in the grass like a shattered doll. Her small frame twisted. Forensics moved quietly around her, snapping final photos before sealing the body bag.
Joe's breath caught. Her dark hair, tied with a purple band, mirrored his daughter's exactly.
Something cracked in him.
He turned away, jaw clenched, eyes blinking fast. The cold part of his mind cataloged everything: the body's position, the blood trails, the claw marks on nearby trees.
It didn't add up.
It was staged. A message?
But all Joe could hear was his daughter's voice the night before, "Why don't you come play tea party with me, Daddy?" and his own distracted reply about paperwork.
A throat cleared behind him.
Sheriff Nolan stood a few feet back, arms crossed, wearing that smug, tired expression that had aged him ten years too soon.
"What the hell happened here?" Joe asked, voice tight.
"Exactly what it looks like," Nolan said flatly. "Bear attack. Messy."
Joe stepped closer. "And you didn't think I should be here?"
"You weren't needed."
"I log supernatural activity in this town."
"There is no supernatural activity," Nolan snapped. "Three dead. Big bear. End of story."
Joe's eyes burned. "You've seen this before. You know it's not that. You're just covering your ass."
Nolan leaned in, voice dropping to a low growl. "You want advice? Stop digging where you're not invited. You've got a family. A daughter. Think real hard before sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."
They stared each other down, the air thick with tension.
Then Nolan turned, walking a few steps away. He pulled out his phone, muttering something under his breath. Joe caught only a few words as the wind carried them back.
"We have a problem."
***
Back in the truck, Adam sat in silence as the town unfolded around him.
They passed familiar places, the old arcade where he'd blown quarters after school, the park where he'd scraped knees and chased fireflies, the worn basketball court behind the hardware store, now replaced by a sleek, full-size gym, with an even better basketball court just like his dad had mentioned earlier.
But there were new things too.
The towering silhouette of Farren Tower rose like a needle into the sky, sleek and sterile against the mountain backdrop. Billboards boasted slogans about biotech, clean energy, progress.
It didn't feel like progress. It felt like someone had tried to polish over a wound.
As they cruised down the main stretch of Moonstone, campaign banners flapped in the breeze, tied to every other lamppost like party decorations for a celebration no one asked for. Bold faces stared down from the posters, smiling as if they'd already won. One banner read: ALEXANDER FARREN FOR MAYOR, A STRONGER FUTURE STARTS NOW. Another boasted: PROTECTING MOONSTONE, PRESERVING OUR LEGACY.
Austin let out a soft whistle. "Looks like Farren's really going all in this year. Not that I blame him. Town's been edgy lately, too many things slipping through the cracks."
Adam didn't even glance at the posters. He slouched deeper into the seat, arms crossed. "Politics is just a front row seat to the world burning. Doesn't matter who wins, it always ends in someone else's war."
Austin raised a brow but said nothing, his fingers tightening just a little on the wheel.
The truck eventually rolled into a quiet suburb. Familiar streets. Cracked sidewalks. Overgrown hedges.
Then, their house.
The same blue paint, a little more faded. The porch steps still creaked as they climbed them. The key still stuck in the same spot when Austin turned it.
Inside, the air smelled like dust and memory. Adam stood still, taking it in.
He saw her, his mother laughing in the kitchen, dancing barefoot on the linoleum, singing along to some forgotten song. She'd been a light in this house. Bright. Extroverted. Unapologetically alive.
Now, only echoes remained.
Adam went to his room first, dragging his luggage across creaky floorboards. The same posters on the wall. The same basketball trophies. A time capsule sealed in drywall.
Then, the mail slot.
He crouched to check it, expecting nothing. But there were letters. A small stack.
"Still getting mail," he muttered, carrying it to the living room.
Austin sifted through it absently. Bills. Flyers. Then, he froze.
One envelope stood out, crisp, recent, sealed with wax. A symbol pressed into the stamp: a stylized T in a family insignia.
Austin's expression darkened for a flicker of a moment.
Adam noticed. "What is it?"
"Nothing," Austin said, too quickly as he crumpled the letter and shoved it into his pocket. "Just junk. Go get cleaned up. I'll return the rental and grab groceries. We've got somewhere to be when I get back."
Adam watched him for a beat, uncertain.
Then nodded.
"Alright."
The door closed behind Austin with a quiet thud.
The house felt bigger now.
And quieter.