Mist slicked the highway like spilled silver as Riley Hale's bus curved along the Pacific cliffs. Salt wind pressed against the glass, carrying the cry of unseen gulls and something lower, a sound she felt more than heard—like a heartbeat in the earth.
Driftwood appeared at the edge of the fog, a scattering of dark roofs and leaning pines. Lanterns glimmered along the harbor, too dim for daylight, as if the town preferred moonlight to sun.
Her phone lost signal the moment the tires hit the cracked asphalt of Main Street.
Perfect.
Isolation, just what she'd begged for when she left San Diego. No expectations. No ex-boyfriend-shaped memories. No one to notice the crescent-shaped scars at the base of her neck that pulsed when the moon rose.
A tap on the seat back. "First time in Driftwood?"
The driver's voice was rough, his eyes quicksilver pale. Riley nodded, startled.
"Keep close to the light after dark," he said, then shut the door behind her before she could ask why.
---
Riley's aunt lived in a weather-beaten house two streets from the sea. The air smelled of cedar and cold stars. Inside waited a note in neat cursive: Late shift at the clinic. Make yourself at home. —Aunt Corinne.
No welcome hug, no small talk—just a key and silence. Riley exhaled. Freedom.
She climbed to the attic room and froze.
Through the gabled window the moon hung swollen and amber, haloed in a ring of crimson. Her birthmarks throbbed, warm as a hidden ember.
Then—movement.
A figure on the beach below, black coat snapping in the wind. He looked up, though she knew he shouldn't see her. A shimmer of silver light passed across his eyes like a shooting star.
Riley stepped back from the glass, heart hammering.
---
Morning brought a sky the color of pewter and a school built like a stone fortress. Driftwood High smelled of rain and old paper. Whispers followed her through the halls—not cruel, just curious.
In chemistry, she found herself next to him.
The boy from the beach.
Close, he was impossible to ignore: dark hair swept back carelessly, skin faintly luminous as if moonlit from within. A silver ring glinted on his thumb, etched with symbols she didn't recognize.
"You were watching the tide last night," he said quietly, a statement, not a question.
Riley blinked. "I—didn't think anyone could see me."
His smile was small, almost secret. "I always see what the moon touches."
Before she could answer, the bell rang. He vanished into the crowd like a ripple in dark water.
---
That evening, restless, she wandered to the cliffs. Fog clung to the trees, turning the world to pearl.
A howl sliced the air—deep, wild, not any wolf she knew. Her marks burned again. From the shadows a second stranger emerged: tall, broad-shouldered, amber eyes reflecting the moon like twin flames.
"You shouldn't walk alone," he said, voice roughened by the wind. "The forest doesn't forgive strangers."
Riley should have run. Instead she met his gaze, a heat sparking through her veins.
"I'm not afraid," she whispered.
He tilted his head, studying her as if the night itself had brought her to him. "Maybe you should be."
Behind him, something massive moved—footfalls heavy as ancient drums.
---
Two encounters.
Two sets of eyes that knew her before she spoke.
And above them the moon bled red across the sea, as if the sky itself awaited her choice.