Page 21 of What the Shadows Hide
The sound of it rumbles low through the fog, vibrating against the quiet morning like a warning.
From inside, a light comes on again—faint, second-floor, bedroom window. She moves past it, unaware.
I rest my hand on the steering wheel, my thumb tapping anxiously.
“She’s fine,” I mutter to myself. “She’s fine. You’ve done your part.”
But the longer I sit there, the clearer it becomes.
It isn’t the land I can’t stay away from.
It isn’t the feud or the ridge or the water.
It’sher.
And the way she keeps drawing me back like gravity—bright, stubborn, untouchable.
Like sunlight that doesn’t realize it burns.
CHAPTER 11
Raine
The hardware storesmells like cedar, oil, and fresh coffee from the pot someone keeps behind the counter. It’s the closest thing Shadow Falls has to a home-improvement store, and I’ve already been here twice this week.
The clerk—same kid from earlier this week—gives me a wary smile when I walk in. “Back again, Miss Voss?”
“Apparently I have a thing for lightbulbs,” I say, holding up my list.
He laughs too quickly, then retreats to restock shelves. Everyone’s polite here—just not warm. The kind of courtesy that keeps you in your place.
I check prices on sandpaper, add duct tape, and realize halfway down the aisle that my hands are shaking.
I slept horribly again. The estate feels too big, too alive at night. Every sound carries. Every shadow feels like company.
Not to mention the dreams.
Focus, Raine.
I’m aimlessly wandering down an aisle, scrolling through a list of paint codes on my phone, when someone rounds the corner at the same time I do.
I ram right into a hard chest with zero warning.
The collision knocks my phone out of my hand.
“Oh my god—sorry!” I drop to grab it, but so does he. Our fingers brush. His hand closes around the phone first—steady, callused, confident.
He straightens before I do. “No harm done.”
The voice hits low—smooth but edged, like whiskey poured over ice. I look up and nearly forget to breathe.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Black T-shirt stretched across muscle and clean-cut jeans. Dark hair still damp from a shower, jaw dusted with the start of a beard. And his eyes—gray, cool, and assessing. The kind that don’t just lookatyou; they take measure.
“Guess I should watch where I’m going,” I manage.
His mouth tilts, not quite a smile. “You should.”
Something about the way he says it makes warmth crawl up my neck. I take my phone when he offers it, my fingers grazing his again. He doesn’t move away.
