The morning light spilled through the balcony doors like liquid gold, soft and warm, painting Laura's room in shades of amber and cream. The white curtains danced lazily in the breeze, and beyond them, the lake shimmered under the early sun, its surface smooth as glass, reflecting the pale blue sky. The air smelled fresh—rain-washed and clean, with a hint of pine drifting in from the distant hills.
Laura stirred, her face buried in the pillow, one arm flung across the bed. She groaned softly, her body still heavy with sleep, reluctant to leave the warmth of the blankets.
Then—knock, knock, knock.
"Laura! Wake up!"
She groaned louder, rolling over and pulling the pillow over her head.
Knock, knock, knock. "Laura, come on! Open up!"
"Go away," Laura mumbled into the pillow.
"LAURA!"
With a frustrated sigh, she threw the pillow aside and stumbled out of bed, her hair a chaotic mess, eyes barely open. She shuffled to the door and yanked it open.
Taya stood in the hallway, already dressed, looking far too awake and cheerful for someone who'd gone to bed past midnight. She grinned. "Good morning, sunshine!"
Laura squinted at her like she was speaking a foreign language. "What time is it?"
"Nine-thirty."
Laura blinked. "What?"
Yeah. We slept in. Breakfast was at 8 a.m., remember? Martha's not doing a second round." Taya said this with a mix of amusement and mild panic.
Laura groaned, rubbing her face. "Of course we did."
Taya stepped past her into the room, her eyes immediately drawn to the open balcony doors. "Whoa. Laura, your room is gorgeous."
Laura followed her gaze, still half-asleep. "Yeah, it's... nice."
Taya walked to the balcony, leaning against the railing, and let out a low whistle. "Nice? This is stunning."
Laura joined her, the cool morning air waking her up properly. The lake stretched out before them, calm and endless, bordered by the narrow road they'd driven down last night. Across the street, small stone buildings lined the shore—shops, cafes, houses with flower boxes in the windows. The whole scene looked like a postcard, peaceful and timeless.
Taya exhaled heavily, her smile fading slightly. "So... where do we even start?"
Laura stared at the view, her mind still foggy. Then her eyes landed on a small building directly across from the inn—a charming little cafe with a red door, flower baskets hanging from the eaves, and a thin plume of smoke curling from a stone chimney.
She pointed. "First, we get coffee. Then we figure it out."
Taya glanced at her, and they shared a look—an unspoken understanding. Neither of them had a real plan. They were winging it, stumbling forward on instinct and desperation. But for now, coffee seemed like a solid first step.
"Deal," Taya said.
Laura ducked back inside, splashing water on her face and throwing on jeans and a sweater. She ran a brush through her hair—barely—grabbed her bag, and met Taya at the door.
Together, they headed downstairs and stopped outside John's room. Laura knocked. "John! Wake up!"
Silence.
She knocked harder. "JOHN!"
A muffled groan came from inside. "What..."
"Get up!"
"Five more minutes..."
Taya grinned and pounded on the door. "John, if you don't open this door right now, we're leaving without you!"
There was a crash, a curse, and then the door swung open. John stood there, hair sticking up in every direction, glasses crooked, still in his pajamas. "What is happening?"
"We overslept. No breakfast. We're getting coffee. Come on," Laura said, already walking toward the front door.
John blinked, processing. "Coffee... right. Okay. Give me two minutes."
"You have one," Taya called back.
True to his word, John emerged a minute later, looking only slightly more presentable, and the three of them stepped outside.
The morning hit them like a dream.
The rain from the night before had left everything fresh and gleaming. Flowers bloomed along the pathways—bright pinks, purples, and yellows bursting from terracotta pots and hanging baskets. The cobblestones glistened, still damp, and the air was cool but not cold, kissed by a soft breeze that carried the scent of wet earth and pine.
The sky was a moody patchwork of gray clouds and patches of blue, the sun breaking through in golden streaks that made the lake sparkle. It felt like spring—gentle, hopeful, alive.
At the front of the inn, Martha sat in a wrought-iron chair, a newspaper spread across her lap, a steaming mug of tea on the small table beside her. Mr. Pickles lay at her feet, lazily batting at a beetle crawling across the stone path.
Martha glanced up as they approached, her eyes flicking to the clock mounted on the inn's wall. 9:37 a.m.
She raised an eyebrow.
The three of them froze, then burst into sheepish laughter.
"Good morning, Martha!" Laura said brightly, waving.
"Morning," John added, adjusting his glasses.
Taya just grinned and gave a little salute.
Martha shook her head slowly, folding her newspaper with deliberate precision. "Mm-hmm. Y'all lucky I'm in a good mood."
They scurried past her, still laughing, and crossed the narrow road toward the cafe.
Behind them, Martha watched, sipping her tea, her expression somewhere between amused and exasperated. Mr. Pickles wheezed, gave up on the beetle, and went back to sleep.
The street was busier than Laura had expected.
Locals moved about their morning routines—an older man in waders standing knee-deep in the lake, casting a fishing line with practiced ease. A group of children splashed near the shore, their laughter echoing across the water. A woman cycled past, a basket of flowers strapped to the back of her bike.
There was a tiny library tucked between two buildings, its window filled with stacks of books and a hand-painted sign that read "Take One, Leave One." Everything was impossibly clean, the kind of clean that only existed in places where people still cared.
The gothic stone houses lining the street added a strange contrast—beautiful but foreboding, their tall windows and ivy-covered walls giving the place an almost fairytale quality. It was peaceful, charming, but there was something underneath it all—something old and watchful.
They reached the cafe. John pushed open the red door, and a cheerful bell chimed above them.
Inside, the cafe was everything they'd hoped for.
The air was thick with the smell of freshly baked bread and rich coffee. A glass display case near the counter held rows of pastries—croissants, scones, cinnamon rolls—all golden and perfect. The walls were exposed brick, lined with vintage posters and shelves of books. Soft indie music played in the background, and sunlight streamed through the front windows, casting warm pools of light across the wooden tables.
A few locals sat scattered around—two older women chatting over tea, a man reading a book in the corner, a couple sharing a plate of pastries.
"This place is beautiful," John said, his eyes wide.
They claimed a table near the window, and Laura pulled out her laptop, flipping it open. She frowned, watching the loading circle spin endlessly. "Come on..."
Taya leaned back in her chair, glancing around. That's when she saw him.
A guy emerged from the kitchen—visible through a glass door at the back—and Taya's breath caught.
He was... stunning.
Tall, lean, with tousled brown curls that fell just above his eyes—bright green eyes that practically glowed in the morning light. He wore dark jeans and a kitchen apron tied around his waist, his forearms dusted with flour. He moved with easy confidence, wiping his hands on a towel as he approached their table.
Taya's mouth fell open slightly.
John, oblivious, was still admiring the cafe. "Seriously, this place is beautiful."
Taya, eyes locked on the guy, nodded slowly. "Yeah... so beautiful..."
Laura glanced at her, then followed her gaze, and smirked.
The guy reached their table, pulling a small notepad from his apron pocket. He smiled—warm, genuine, effortlessly charming.
"Morning! What can I get for you?"
Laura grinned. "One cappuccino, please."
John adjusted his glasses. "Americano. And a slice of cheesecake."
The guy nodded, scribbling, then turned to Taya. "And for you?"
Taya just stared at him, her brain completely offline.
He tilted his head slightly, amused. "Excuse me?"
John elbowed her gently. "Taya. Order."
She blinked, her cheeks flushing. "Oh! Um... whatever you like."
The guy raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. "Sorry?"
"Whatever you recommend," she said quickly, her voice a little too high.
He studied her for a moment, clearly entertained. "You sure about that?"
Taya nodded, smiling like an idiot. "Yes. Definitely."
"Alright then," he said, chuckling softly as he wrote it down.
John shot Laura a look—bombastic side-eye—and Laura bit her lip to keep from laughing.
As the guy turned to leave, Laura called out, "Hey, do you have Wi-Fi? The signal here is terrible."
He paused, turning back. "Yeah, weather's been messing with it. But you can use ours." He gestured to her laptop. "Want me to type in the password?"
"Please."
He leaned over, typing quickly, and as he did, he glanced up. "So, you guys new here?"
"Yeah," Laura said. "Just got in last night."
He smiled. "Welcome to Kirkby. I'm Jeremy, by the way. "
"Nice to meet you," three of them said and introduced thier names.
"So youn own this cafe?" John asked.
"uhmm.. ya..." Jeremy straightened, handing the laptop back. "Alright, you're connected. I'll be back in five with your order."
He disappeared back into the kitchen, and Taya's eyes followed him the entire way.
Laura leaned forward, grinning. "So... 'whatever you like,' huh?"
Taya groaned, covering her face. "Shut up."
John shook his head, smirking. "Smooth, Taya. Real smooth."
Laura's expression shifted, her tone turning serious. "Alright, guys. Listen up."
They both looked at her.
"We need a plan," she said. "Where do we even start with this?"
John shrugged. "Police station?"
Taya frowned. "A library? Archives?"
Laura shook her head. "No. We start with people. Locals know more than any official report ever will. We talk to them first, then we hit the police station."
They both nodded, the logic sinking in.
Laura pulled up her research on the laptop, turning the screen so they could see.
"In the last ten years, over thirty people have gone missing near Haceol. Most of them women between twenty and thirty. But there are boys too—teenagers, even a few older folks."
John leaned in, eyes wide. "Thirty people?"
"Yeah. And it's always the same pattern—different locations, but all of them near the woods. Haceol is this small, brown-stone town, but it's surrounded by massive pine forests. Like, massive. The woods basically cut it off from the rest of the world."
Taya frowned, studying the screen. "That's... creepy."
Laura scrolled through the cases, pointing at names and photos. "Last year alone, three people went missing." She tapped on each photo—two young women and a man in his twenties, their faces frozen in smiling snapshots. "All vanished without a trace."
She paused, her finger hovering over another photo—a girl with dark hair and bright eyes, barely out of her teens.
"And seven years ago..." Laura's voice dropped, quieter now. "A girl named Elenor. Nineteen. She disappeared while coming home from school."
John and Taya exchanged a glance, both remembering the old man Laura had told them about—his crumpled note, the name scrawled across it.
"Elenor," Taya whispered. "That's the same one, isn't it?"
Laura nodded slowly. "Has to be."
"And... they never found her?" John asked.
Laura shook her head. "No body. None of them. But..." She scrolled down, pulling up another article with a grainy photo of police tape strung between trees. "Their clothes were found. Hanging from branches deep in the woods. Just... left there."
The table went silent.
Taya's face paled. "That's insane."
Laura kept scrolling. "And the last one went missing..." She paused, her eyes widening slightly. "A month ago."
John's breath caught. "A month ago? That's... recent."
"Too recent," Laura muttered, her stomach twisting.
There was a heavy silence, the weight of it pressing down on them.
Then John, ever the one to break tension, frowned and leaned back. "Wait... do you think monkeys did it?"
Laura and Taya both slowly turned to stare at him.
"What?" he said defensively. "I'm serious! Who else hangs clothes on tree branches?"
Taya blinked. "John, what the—"
"Actually," Laura interrupted, tilting her head thoughtfully, "that's... not the worst theory."
Taya's jaw dropped. "Are you kidding me right now?"
"I mean, something put them there," Laura said, gesturing at the screen. "And if it's not people... then what? It's weird enough that it could be—"
"Here we go."
They all looked up. Jeremy had returned, carrying a tray of drinks and pastries. He set them down carefully, then paused, his eyes landing on the laptop screen.
He smiled slightly. "You guys detectives or something? Researching Haceol?"
Laura's eyes lit up. "Actually, we're making a documentary. You know about it?"
Jeremy hesitated, then gave a small, awkward laugh. "A little. Everyone around here does."
Laura, John, and Taya all leaned forward like cats spotting a fish.
"Perfect," Laura said, grinning and gesturing to an empty chair. "Sit. Tell us everything."
Jeremy glanced back at the kitchen. "I'm... working."
Laura's face fell. "Oh. Right. Sorry—after you're done, maybe?"
Jeremy studied them for a moment, then smiled. "Yeah, alright. I can spare a few minutes."
Jeremy called toward the kitchen, "Sam!"
A younger guy poked his head out—and all three of them looked up.
Sam was... wow. Tall, with dark hair swept back, a sharp jawline, and striking blue eyes that stood out even from across the room. He wore a simple black t-shirt and jeans, an apron slung casually around his hips.
Laura raised her eyebrows. John blinked, adjusting his glasses. And Taya's mouth fell open for the second time that morning.
Sam looked annoyed at being called, but he came out anyway, wiping his hands on a towel.
Jeremy gestured to the room. "Cover the tables for a bit."
Sam rolled his eyes, muttered something under his breath, and headed toward another table—but not before shooting a curious glance at the trio, his gaze lingering for just a second.
Taya leaned over to John, eyes still glued to Sam, and whispered breathlessly, "I am in heaven."
John snorted, trying not to laugh. "You're ridiculous."
"Two gorgeous guys in one cafe, John. Two," she hissed back, grinning like she'd just won the lottery.
Laura smirked, shaking her head, then turned her attention back to Jeremy.
Jeremy pulled up a chair, settling in, completely oblivious to Taya's internal meltdown.
"Alright. So... Haceol. What do you want to know?"
Jeremy pulled up the chair and sat down, settling in with a small smile.
Laura sipped her cappuccino, savoring the rich, smooth taste. John was already devouring his cheesecake like a man who hadn't eaten in six days, washing it down with gulps of his Americano. Taya delicately nibbled on a flaky pastry, sipping her black coffee, trying to look composed—but her eyes kept drifting toward the kitchen where Sam had disappeared.
All three of them turned their attention to Jeremy.
He laughed awkwardly under their intense stares. "Uh... you guys are staring pretty hard."
Laura set down her cup and pulled a small notepad and pen from her bag, flipping it open with practiced ease. "So. Tell us everything you know."
Jeremy exhaled slowly, his smile fading as his expression shifted from amused to something darker, more guarded. He leaned forward, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret that could get him in trouble.
"Alright. Well... basically, people around here know Haceol as The Whispering Maw. I know, sounds kinda funny, right? Like something out of a bad horror movie." His laugh was hollow, forced. "But trust me, nobody's laughing when they talk about it."
He paused, his fingers drumming nervously on the table. "You said in your research that people started going missing about ten years ago?"
Laura nodded, pen poised.
Jeremy's jaw tightened. "Yeah, well... that's not exactly true. People have been disappearing around Haceol for decades. Maybe longer. It's like... an old wound that never healed. Every generation has their stories—whispers of people who went into those woods and never came back."
John's fork slowed, his earlier enthusiasm for the cheesecake fading.
Jeremy's voice dropped even lower, almost a whisper now. "The pattern's always the same. Someone goes missing near the woods—no screams, no struggle, just... gone. And then, days later, sometimes weeks, their clothes turn up. Hanging from tree branches, deep in the forest. Perfectly intact. No blood, no tears, nothing. Just... empty."
Taya's hand trembled slightly as she set down her coffee cup. "That's... that's not normal."
"No," Jeremy said quietly, his green eyes darkening. "It's not."
Laura's pen scratched furiously across the page. "But there was one case that was different. Wasn't there?"
Jeremy hesitated, his gaze flicking away for a moment, like he was debating whether to continue. Then he sighed, rubbing his face. "Yeah. There was this girl who got disappeared a month ago. Her family moved away about a year ago—couldn't take it anymore. She'd been... struggling. Mentally ill, dealing with a lot. People said she heard voices, saw things that weren't there."
He paused, his voice tightening. "She went missing like the others. Near the woods. One week later, they found... part of her."
The cafe seemed to hold its breath. Even the low hum of conversation from other tables felt distant, muffled.
Jeremy swallowed hard, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the table. "They found her tongue. Just that. Placed on a stone near the edge of the forest, like it was... left there on purpose."
John's fork clattered onto his plate, the metallic sound sharp and jarring. His face drained of color, and he shoved the cheesecake away, his appetite completely gone.
Taya's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God..."
Laura's pen hovered over the page, her stomach twisting, but she forced herself to keep writing. Her voice was steady, controlled. "That wasn't in any of the articles."
"No," Jeremy said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It wouldn't be."
Laura looked up sharply, her eyes locking onto his. "Why not?"
Jeremy leaned back, exhaling heavily, his expression bitter. "Because they buried it. Literally. The police, the local government—they made sure it didn't get out. Said it would cause panic, hurt the town's reputation, scare off tourists." His laugh was sharp, humorless. "As if people weren't already terrified."
He leaned forward again, his gaze intense, piercing. "You said thirty people have gone missing in the last ten years, right?"
Laura nodded slowly.
Jeremy's voice turned cold, steady. "Trust me. It's way more than thirty."
The air felt heavier, colder. All three of them stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in like stones dropping into dark water.
"How many more?" Laura asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I don't know the exact number," Jeremy admitted, his jaw tight. "But I know people who've lived here their whole lives. Old families. They talk about cousins, friends, neighbors who just... vanished. No investigation, no search parties, nothing. Just gone, and everyone pretends it didn't happen."
John, still pale, managed to speak, his voice shaky. "So that's why the population in Haceol is so low. People are literally being... taken."
Everyone turned to look at him.
He shrugged weakly. "Just... facts."
Taya frowned, her voice trembling. "But why? Why aren't they being reported? If that many people are disappearing—"
"Because the government doesn't want them reported," Jeremy said, his tone sharp, angry now. "They say it would scare people, cause mass hysteria, tank the economy. So they bury it. Only report the ones they can't hide—the ones with families who won't shut up, who demand answers."
He paused, his expression softening slightly, but his eyes remained dark. "And even then, the investigations go nowhere. Files get lost, witnesses recant, evidence disappears. It's like the whole system is designed to make people forget."
Laura's pen flew across the page, capturing every word, her mind racing. She looked up at Jeremy, her voice careful. "Do you think this is serial killings? Like... one person doing this?"
Jeremy shook his head slowly, his expression troubled. "I don't know. That's the thing—there's no pattern to the victims. Different ages, different genders, locals and tourists.That girl's tongue... that's the only time they ever found... anything like that."
He exhaled, running a hand through his curls. "It doesn't make sense. And that's what scares people the most."
The table fell silent, the weight of the conversation pressing down on them.
Then Laura spoke, her voice hopeful but cautious. "Would you be willing to say all this on camera? For the documentary?"
Jeremy let out an awkward laugh, shaking his head quickly. "No....No way... ."
Laura's face fell slightly, but Jeremy held up a hand, his expression softening. "But... I know someone who might help you. Someone who knows a lot more than I do."
Before Laura could ask who, the bell above the cafe door chimed, loud and clear.
A deep, commanding voice cut through the room. "Guess we've got some curious people in town."
All four of them turned.
Standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the morning light, was a man in his late forties, broad-shouldered and solid, with the kind of presence that made people sit up straighter. His sheriff's uniform was crisp and well-worn, a walkie-talkie clipped to his belt, a badge gleaming on his chest that read SHERIFF MICHAEL. His hair was dark but streaked with silver at the temples, and his face was rugged, weathered by years of dealing with things most people couldn't stomach. But his smile—warm, easy, disarming—softened the intensity in his sharp, watchful eyes.
Jeremy stood up, grinning despite the heavy conversation. "Speaking of the devil."
Michael strolled in, boots thudding softly on the wooden floor, his hands resting casually on his belt. His gaze swept over the trio—assessing, curious, but not unkind. "You can ask him whatever you want," Jeremy said, and disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving the three of them alone with the sheriff.
Michael pulled out the chair Jeremy had vacated and sat down with a casual ease, leaning back, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp as knives. For a moment, he just looked at them, studying, weighing.
Then he smiled—slow, deliberate. "Alright. Let's start simple. I'm Sheriff Michael. And you are?"
Laura straightened, offering her hand. "Laura. This is John and Taya. We're from Bristol."
Michael's handshake was firm, controlled. He shook John's hand next, then Taya's, his gaze lingering on each of them for just a second longer than comfortable. "Bristol. Long way from home." His tone was light, conversational, but there was an edge underneath—like he was already ten steps ahead in a conversation they hadn't even started yet.
"What brings you up to our quiet little corner of Scotland?" he asked, though the way he said quiet made it clear he knew exactly why they were here.
Laura met his gaze evenly. "We're making a documentary. About Haceol."
The cafe seemed to quiet. Michael's smile didn't falter, but something flickered in his eyes—something dark, guarded. He nodded slowly, as if confirming something he'd already suspected.
"Haceol," he repeated, his voice soft, almost thoughtful. "Of course." He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his hands clasped. "Just so we're clear—this isn't an interrogation. I'm not here to scare you off or tell you what to do. I'm just... curious." His eyes glinted. "You folks planning to poke around the woods? Talk to people? Dig up old stories?"
"That's the plan," Laura said carefully.
Michael studied her for a long moment, then nodded. "Can't say I blame you. Place has enough stories to fill ten documentaries. Maybe twenty." He paused, his expression darkening just a fraction. "Question is—are you ready for what you might find?"
The weight of his words settled over the table like a shadow.
John shifted uncomfortably. "So... you're okay with us doing this?"
Michael chuckled, the tension breaking slightly. "Kid, I'm a sheriff, not a dictator. You're not breaking any laws. Yet." He winked, but there was something behind it—a warning, subtle but unmistakable.
Laura seized the moment. "Actually, Sheriff, we were hoping you could help us. Do you have access to files? Reports on the disappearances?"
Michael leaned back, his gaze never leaving hers. For a moment, he didn't answer, just watched her with those sharp, calculating eyes. Then he nodded, slow and deliberate. "I do."
He let the silence stretch, just long enough to make them wonder if he'd say more.
Then he continued, his voice low. "Tell you what. Swing by the police station this evening. Around six. I'll pull what I can for you." He paused, his expression hardening. "But I'm not making any promises. Some of those files are... complicated. And some of them? They don't exist anymore. Not officially, anyway."
Laura's heart pounded. "That's more than we hoped for. Thank you."
Michael's smile returned, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Don't thank me yet."
Laura leaned forward eagerly. "And would you be willing to be interviewed? On camera?"
Michael let out a deep, rumbling laugh, the kind that filled the room. "Only if you make me look good. Maybe get me on one of those true crime podcasts. Could use the fame. Retirement's boring."
All three of them laughed, the mood lightening—but only slightly.
Then Michael's gaze shifted to John, and his expression turned mock-serious, his eyes narrowing playfully. "You, though. You look like trouble."
John blinked, caught off guard. "Me?"
"Yeah, you." Michael leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I got my eye on you, kid. Something about you screams 'gets lost in the woods and needs rescuing.'"
Laura and Taya burst out laughing as John turned bright red, stammering, "I—I wouldn't—"
Michael grinned and stood up, clapping John on the shoulder hard enough to make him wince. "Relax, kid. I'm messing with you." But his smile faded slightly as he added, "Mostly."
Jeremy appeared from the kitchen, holding a brown paper bag. " Here you go " he handed.
Michael took it with a nod. "Thanks, son." He turned back to the trio, his tone shifting—still friendly, but edged with something more serious, more final. "See you folks this evening.. ."
He paused at the door, his hand on the handle, and looked back over his shoulder. His expression was no longer smiling. His eyes were dark, intense, and deadly serious.
"It's good you're making a documentary. People should know what's going on up here. But do me a favor—" His voice dropped, cold and sharp. "Stay out of the woods. Especially at night. And if you hear whispers..." He paused, his jaw tightening. "Don't follow them."
The door chimed as he left, and through the window, they watched him climb into his patrol car and drive off, the sound of the engine fading into the quiet morning.
The cafe felt colder somehow.
Laura turned to Jeremy, who was wiping down a nearby table. "So... you're pretty close with the police, huh?"
Jeremy chuckled, though his smile was strained. "Yeah. But not as a cop. As a son."
All three of them froze.
"Wait," John said slowly. "He's your father?"
Jeremy nodded. "Yep."
Taya leaned back in her chair, eyes wide, a slow grin spreading across her face. "Wow. Blessed with good genes, huh?"
Jeremy laughed, some of the tension easing. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Laura finished scribbling in her notepad and stood up, slinging her bag over her shoulder, her eyes alight with determination. "Alright. Let's go."
John blinked. "Go where?"
Laura grinned, wild and reckless. "To Haceol."
John's face went pale. "Now? But Sheriff Michael said to meet him at six—"
"We've got time," Laura said, her voice brimming with excitement. "And we need to add some spice to this documentary, don't we? Let's start the vlog there. Get some footage, scout the area, talk to locals."
John looked like he wanted to protest, but Taya was already standing, grabbing her jacket, her earlier fear replaced by adrenaline.
Laura walked to the counter, pulling out her wallet. "Jeremy, what do we owe you?"
Jeremy waved her off. "It's on the house. Consider it a welcome gift."
Laura smiled. "Thanks. And thanks for the Wi-Fi. And the info."
"Anytime," Jeremy said, his expression serious now. "Just... be careful out there, yeah? dad wasn't joking about staying out of the woods."
"We will," Laura promised, though her grin suggested otherwise.
The bell chimed as they stepped out into the cool morning air, the lake glittering in the distance, the gothic stone buildings casting long shadows across the cobblestones.
Laura took a deep breath, her heart pounding with anticipation and fear and something electric.
TO BE CONTINUED-