(Elena's POV)
The night air clung to her like a second skin as Elena stepped out of Obsidian, the club's heavy bass still reverberating in her chest long after the doors closed behind her. She inhaled deeply, expecting the cool air to clear her head, but instead it only made her dizzy, as though the night itself had absorbed the smoke and secrets inside and pressed them back into her lungs.
She pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders and paused on the sidewalk. Millbrook had always been quiet after dark, the kind of town where you could hear the crickets and the distant rush of the river if you stood still long enough. But tonight, silence felt less like comfort and more like a warning.
Elena rubbed her arms as she started walking, her heels clicking against the uneven pavement. The club sat at the edge of town, far enough away that she had to take the long road back to her grandmother's house. She could have called a cab, but something in her resisted the idea. Maybe she needed the walk, the time to burn off the strange energy crawling under her skin.
Every step seemed to echo louder than it should. The streets were empty, windows dark, except for the occasional porch light casting soft halos onto wet grass. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling of being observed. Not followed, not exactly just watched.
She stopped once, glancing over her shoulder. The street stretched behind her, empty. A dog barked in the distance. Nothing. And yet, her pulse stayed high, drumming in her ears.
"Elena, get a grip," she muttered to herself, forcing her feet forward.
But no matter how much she tried to rationalize, her body wouldn't calm. There had been something in Obsidian tonight, something thick in the air that clung to her even now. It wasn't just the music, or the heat of too many bodies pressed together, or even the glances from strangers curious about the outsider. No. This had been different. She had felt… targeted.
Not by Marcus.
Not by the past.
By something else entirely.
The gravel of her grandmother's driveway crunched beneath her shoes, snapping her from her spiraling thoughts. Relief washed over her at the sight of the old Victorian house, tired but waiting, the porch light she'd left on casting a dim circle of welcome. She mounted the steps quickly, fumbling with the key. Once inside, she let the door fall shut with a soft thud and leaned against it, the familiar must of lavender and mothballs filling her senses.
Home. Or something like it.
She dropped her coat on the hall chair and wandered toward the living room. The lace curtains shifted faintly in the breeze sneaking through a cracked window. Dust motes danced in the dim lamplight, making the room feel like a preserved museum instead of a place where life had once unfolded.
On the mantel, Rosa's photo smiled out at her her grandmother holding a younger Elena, both of them laughing, faces pressed together. Elena reached out, brushing her fingers against the frame. "I wish you were here," she whispered.
Her gaze drifted to a small stack of papers left on the sewing table. Curious, she crossed over and found an envelope addressed in Rosa's delicate cursive. Elena.
Her throat tightened. The letter inside was short, written in shaky handwriting:
Mija, if you are reading this, it means I didn't get the chance to tell you in person. Don't let fear decide your life. Fear is loud, but love is stronger. Promise me you'll choose love, even if it terrifies you. Especially if it terrifies you.
Elena sank into the chair, letter trembling in her hands. Rosa had always known her too well. Fear had been the compass of her life, guiding her away from Marcus, away from this town, away from everything that made her heart beat too fast.
And now she was back, holding words that felt like both blessing and condemnation.
Sleep felt impossible, but exhaustion eventually dragged her upstairs. She slipped beneath the quilt in her old room, the familiar creak of the bedframe reminding her of childhood nights spent listening to Rosa's sewing machine hum downstairs. But instead of comfort, her body thrummed with restless energy.
Every time she closed her eyes, she was back in Obsidian the lights flashing, the heat pressing in, the unmistakable sensation of eyes fixed on her from across the room. She hadn't seen him. She didn't know him. And yet her body remembered, as though every nerve ending had been lit on fire by a glance she couldn't explain.
She shifted under the covers, cheeks flushing hot despite the cool night air. Her skin prickled, recalling the phantom brush of awareness that had slid down her spine inside the club. She told herself it was nothing, just imagination. And yet… imagination didn't make her thighs clench or her breath hitch like this.
"Stop it," she whispered to herself, throwing back the blanket. But her heart wouldn't slow. Her body wouldn't stop remembering.
She padded barefoot to the window, pushing it open to let the night air in. Millbrook looked calm, peaceful, moonlight silvering the rooftops. Nothing threatening. Nothing unusual. And yet, Elena wrapped her arms around herself, as though warding off more than just a chill.
By dawn, she had barely slept an hour. She gave up the pretense of rest and brewed coffee in Rosa's chipped percolator. The bitter smell filled the kitchen, grounding her. She sat at the old oak table, staring at the cup, her mind circling the same questions:
Why had she gone to Obsidian?
What was she chasing or running from?
And why, of all nights, did her body feel like it had woken from a long, restless slumber?
Her phone buzzed. Manhattan. Work. The firm. The life she'd built brick by brick, layer by layer, designed to prove she wasn't her mother, wasn't Rosa, wasn't destined to be trapped in this town. She ignored it. For once, the urgency of boardrooms and mergers felt hollow, like static she couldn't bring herself to tune into.
Instead, her gaze drifted back to Rosa's letter. Love is stronger.
Was it?
She thought of Marcus, of the way his eyes had pierced her like she'd never left. That was love. But it was love tangled in five years of silence and scars.
And then there was… something else. Something nameless.
A shadow she couldn't pin down.
A memory of heat and danger that made her pulse quicken even now, though she hadn't seen a face in the club.
She pressed her hand against her collarbone, feeling the familiar scar beneath her fingertips. A promise broken. A life split in two. And now, standing on the edge of something she couldn't define, she wondered if she had come home not just for Rosa's funeral but for something larger, something waiting in the dark.
That night, when she finally drifted into sleep, dreams tangled her past and present into a single thread.
She was back in the car, headlights blazing, tires screeching Marcus's voice shouting her name. But when she turned, it wasn't Marcus's face she saw. It was someone else, a stranger cloaked in shadow, eyes like fire cutting through the chaos. His gaze pinned her, claiming her, and her scar burned as though freshly made.
Elena woke with a start, breath ragged, the sheets twisted around her legs. Her chest heaved as she pressed her hand against her heart.
"What am I doing here?" she whispered to the empty room.
But the house didn't answer. The silence only pressed heavier around her, as though holding its own secrets, waiting for her to discover them.