I left him there and started up the narrow road that wound through the upper part of town. The fog grew thinner as I climbed, but the air grew warmer.
The scent of herbs drifted from somewhere ahead, mingling with the sea's salt breath. The sound of the bell tower faded behind me, replaced by the soft hum of something older.
The shop came into view. A small, crooked building with pale paint and a hanging sign that read *Haven's Nook*. The wood was worn smooth by wind and time. It looked harmless, but the air around it shimmered faintly, alive in a way that made the wolf inside me stir.
When I opened the door, a bell chimed softly. The sound was simple, but it felt like it reached farther than it should. Light poured through the windows, catching on the rows of glass jars and the bundles of herbs hanging from the ceiling.
The air smelled of sage and rosemary, of earth and something sweeter that I could not name.
Then I saw her.
She stood behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, a faint streak of dust across her cheek. Her hair was a soft tangle of gold, pinned loosely as if she had forgotten she meant to fix it. Light caught in the strands, turning them almost copper near the ends. Her skin was pale from the northern sun, her lips soft but unpainted. When she looked up, her eyes met mine, green edged with silver, and for a moment, the world went quiet.
"Can I help you?" she asked. Her voice was low, calm, the kind that could steady the storm inside me.
"I need something for a headache," I said. "Something strong."
Her mouth curved, not quite a smile. "You look like the sort of man who prefers pain to remedies."
"Today I prefer neither."
She turned to her shelves, her movements graceful but sure. The air shifted with her. When she began to mix the herbs, I caught the scent of lavender and something else, something that did not belong to this world.
I watched her hands, the way her fingers moved as if guided by instinct rather than habit.
When she handed me the pouch, our fingers brushed. The room changed.
The air thickened. The light bent. For one heartbeat, the world itself seemed to pause. Power flared beneath my skin, familiar and wrong all at once. Her breath caught. My pulse stumbled.
Then it was gone.
"Drink it with warm water," she said softly. Her voice trembled on the last word.
I took the pouch and met her eyes again. "What is your name?"
"Ava," she said.
The sound of it felt like memory, like something I had been waiting to remember. I nodded once, unsure what to say, and turned for the door.
When I stepped outside, the fog hit me again, colder now. The street felt smaller, the air heavier. I could still feel her in the air around me, a faint warmth clinging to my skin.
Nicholas waited by the fountain when I returned. "You found something?" he asked.
"Maybe," I said.
"Or someone?"
I ignored the question. My eyes went to the cliffs again. The shimmer of the Veil was stronger now, flickering like a candle on its last breath. I could feel its pull in the space between heartbeats.
"The rift is close," I said quietly.
Nicholas followed my gaze. "Then we stay until it shows itself."
I nodded, though my thoughts were far from him. I could still see her eyes, still feel the way the air had bent when she touched me. Whatever she was, she was not mortal. The Veil knew her, even if she did not know it herself.
That night, the fog thickened again. The sea below the cliffs began to glow faintly, pale silver threading through black waves. The air hummed with quiet power. I stood at the window of the inn, watching the horizon tremble. Somewhere out there, I could feel her heartbeat again, faint and steady, matching mine.
I should have been afraid of it. Instead, I felt something close to peace.
The Veil whispered her name in my mind. Ava.
I whispered it back to the dark, not knowing why….
Ava
The bell above the door had not stopped echoing in my mind since he left. It was a small sound, soft and ordinary, yet it clung to the air long after the shop went still.
I stood behind the counter with my hand resting on the same spot where his fingers had brushed mine. My pulse had not calmed. It was as if something in me had woken, something that had been sleeping for years.
He was unlike anyone I had ever met. There had been power in him, not loud or reckless, but quiet and steady, like the sea before a storm.
When our hands touched, the air had changed. I had felt my power stir in response, rising to the surface before I could stop it.
The shop felt strange now, heavy and alive. The candles flickered though no wind touched them. The scent of herbs hung sharp, restless.
I moved to the window, peering out into the fog that swallowed the town, hoping the sight of the sea might steady me. Only mist answered back.
The bell chimed again. Isla stepped in, her curls damp from the rain, her apron dusted with flour. She brought with her the smell of warm bread and the kind of laughter that could fill an empty room.
"Tell me," she said without greeting, setting a basket on the counter. "Who was he?"
I blinked. "Who?"
"The handsome stranger. The one every woman in Havenscove suddenly wants to bake for. He came to your shop this morning, did he not?"
I smiled faintly. "He wanted medicine for a headache."
"A headache," she repeated, eyes wide with disbelief. "Men like that do not come all the way to the edge of the world for headaches."
"Maybe they do when they are running from worse things."
She leaned closer. "Did he tell you his name?"
"He did not," I said quietly. "And I did not ask."
She stared at me, then sighed, dramatic as ever. "You are hopeless. If a man like that walked into my bakery, I would forget how to speak."
"You never forget how to speak," I said.
She laughed, the sound light and familiar. "Perhaps not. But something has changed in you, Ava. You look different."
"Do I?"
"Yes. As if you have seen something you cannot forget."
Her words unsettled me more than I wanted to admit. I looked away, busying myself with the jars behind the counter. "He was only a customer."
"Then why are your hands trembling?"
I glanced down. My fingers did shake slightly, the way they sometimes did after healing. I hid them behind the counter. "Because I have not eaten."
She gave me that look that said she did not believe me but let it go. "Fine. Then eat this." She pushed the basket toward me. "And stop thinking too much. It ruins your face."
After she left, the silence returned heavier than before. I sat for a long time, staring at the door. The scent of him still lingered faintly in the air, rain and smoke and something I could not name.
I told myself it was foolish to think about him. Yet when I closed my eyes, I saw his face, the way his eyes had caught the light, the strange mix of shadow and gold. And beneath that memory, I felt the faint hum again, that quiet rhythm that was not my own heartbeat.
It called to me like the tide.