The sky had not yet decided what colour it wanted to be.
Crescent Lake lay in that silent moment before dawn—where everything felt suspended, breathless, waiting for something that would never come. Mist crawled over the water like a living thing, dragging its cold fingers across the rocks, creeping toward the old wooden pier. The air tasted metallic, as if the world was holding a secret it didn't want to spit out.
Officer Dane Harlow tightened his coat and pulled his flashlight nearer to his chest.
He had seen bodies before. Too many, in fact.
But nothing prepared him for this.
Elara Myles lay on the shoreline like a fallen statue.
Motionless, fragile… and blue.
Not bruised.
Not frostbitten.
Blue—as though the colour had seeped into her veins and claimed her.
Her hair, once a soft chestnut, clung wetly to her cheek. Her lips were parted slightly, as if she were whispering to the lake even after death. Her hands rested calmly over her stomach—placed there, not fallen there. Whoever left her wanted her to look peaceful.
Harlow swallowed. "This isn't natural."
The forensic tech beside him didn't answer. Her gloved hands trembled.
There were no marks.
No blood.
No mud scraped under her nails.
No sign of a struggle.
Just Elara, drained of life, the colour of the sky before dawn.
A soft vibration buzzed in Harlow's pocket—his phone lighting up with the name of someone he wasn't ready to call.
Mara Hale.
Elara's best friend.
Her other half.
The woman who had called the station last night in panic because Elara wasn't answering her phone.
He ignored the call—for now.
How did you tell someone that their best friend wasn't just dead?
She was wrong.
A rustling sound came from behind him. Harlow turned, expecting another officer.
Instead, he saw Alec Rowan trudging forward from the pier.
He looked like a shadow pulled into human shape—tall, dark curls disheveled from the wind, camera bag slung carelessly over his shoulder. His eyes, usually sharp with detail, were hollow. Carved out. Haunted.
"Harlow," Alec rasped. "You called me. Tell me you didn't find—"
The photographer's words froze as his eyes settled on the body.
On her.
The world seemed to fold in on itself.
Alec dropped to his knees before Harlow could stop him. His breath hitched, a quiet, broken sound escaping him. The kind a man makes when the person he loved—no matter how long ago—has been ripped from the earth.
"Elara…" he whispered. His fingers hovered above her cold cheek but didn't touch. "No. No, not like this."
A shutter clicked.
Harlow spun around, thinking Alec had taken a picture. But Alec's camera was still zipped in his bag.
The click came from the water.
The lake rippled—once, softly, like something had dipped beneath the surface after watching them.
Alec stiffened. His eyes locked on the movement.
"Did you see that?"
Harlow swallowed. "It's just the current."
"There is no current this early," Alec replied, voice trembling.
The forensic tech stepped back. "Officer… look at her arm."
Elara's left wrist—hidden under strands of her soaked hair—held a faint, smudged streak of colour.
Not dirt.
Not ink.
A blue fingerprint.
Small.
Delicate.
Pressed gently, almost lovingly, into her skin.
Alec's hand shook as he reached into his bag and pulled out a photograph—one of the last he had taken of her a year ago. Harlow had seen it before. Elara sitting in the meadow behind the old chapel, sunlight warming her face, her smile soft and unguarded.
A beautiful photograph.
Until Alec lifted it to the dawn light.
And Harlow saw it too.
A faint blue haze behind her.
A blur shaped almost like a hand on her shoulder.
"I thought it was a lighting issue," Alec whispered. "But it's in every photo I ever took of her. Every single one."
The lake shuddered again.
Far out, a ripple circled slowly—too deliberately to be natural.
Alec stood, fists clenched. "Something did this. Something followed her. And I'm going to find out what."
Harlow sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alec, we don't know anything yet. Let us handle this."
"You won't," Alec said quietly. "You'll treat it like a cold case with weird weather effects or a freak accident. But Elara… she was scared. She told me, before we ended things—she felt watched. Touched. Cold at night." He swallowed hard. "I didn't believe her."
He turned to Harlow, eyes burning with a mix of grief and determination.
"I believe her now."
Before Harlow could answer, his phone buzzed again.
Mara Hale — Calling.
This time he picked up.
The moment her voice pierced the speaker, raw and frantic, Alec flinched as if struck.
"Harlow? Please tell me you found her. Tell me she's okay. Tell me she's—"
Harlow closed his eyes.
There was no gentle way to say it.
"Mara… you need to come to Crescent Lake."
Silence.
Then a choked breath.
"No… no, please. Not Elara. I should've stayed with her. I should've—"
Her voice broke into sobs.
Alec looked toward the lake as the first hint of dawn—faint, cold, blue—crept over the horizon.
A breeze swept past them, swirling Elara's hair.
And for a moment—so brief Harlow nearly dismissed it—he heard a whisper carried with it.
A woman's voice.
"Alec…"
Alec stiffened.
Eyes wide.
Breath frozen.
"You heard that?" he whispered.
Harlow didn't answer.
Because he had heard it too.
And the lake, as if satisfied, fell silent.
Dawn refused to break that morning.