Episode 13: It's over.

The late January sky hung low over Crestwood, a shroud of gray clouds spitting snow as the small chapel on the town's edge buzzed with muted anticipation. The pews were half-filled—locals, a few campaign stragglers, Nina perched near the back with a scowl—dressed in winter coats and forced smiles, their whispers a hum beneath the organ's somber drone. At the altar, a makeshift arch of evergreen boughs stood draped with white ribbons, a stark contrast to the storm brewing within the bride.Anne stood in the vestry, a cramped room off the chapel's nave, her reflection staring back from a cracked mirror. The white dress—simple, borrowed from a thrift shop—clung to her like a lie, its lace edges fraying at her wrists. Her hands trembled as she adjusted the veil, her gray eyes hollow, her jaw set with a fury she could barely contain. She'd said yes to Gary—choked out the word under his blackmail, his threat to expose Deon's dream-world origins a noose around her neck—but every fiber of her screamed to end him. She imagined it now, vivid and sharp: a knife from the bar's kitchen, plunged into his chest, his smug grin fading as blood bloomed through his suit. The thought was a dark comfort, a wish she whispered to herself as the clock ticked toward the ceremony.She hadn't told Deon—not the full truth. He'd begged her to fight it, his voice breaking over the phone two nights ago—"Don't do this, Anne, we'll find a way"—but she'd shut him down, her resolve brittle. "It's to protect you," she'd said, the lie tasting of ash. Gary's video, his glimpse of the dream world, was a weapon she couldn't counter—not yet—and marrying him bought time, silence, a chance to shield Deon from ruin. But the cost was her soul, and the wish to kill Gary pulsed louder with each step toward this day.Across town, Deon sat on the edge of his bed in Kim's spare room, where he'd crashed since Anne's decision tore them apart. The room smelled of stale coffee and ink, his notebooks scattered like wreckage, his green jacket slung over a chair. His hands gripped his knees, knuckles still bruised from Gary's face, his sky-blue eyes red-rimmed and raw. He'd lost her—his anchor, his love—to a man he'd nearly killed once, and the frustration gnawed at him, a beast he couldn't tame. She'd chosen Gary—or been forced to, he couldn't tell—and the wedding today was a blade in his chest.He'd tried to stop it—stormed the bar last night, his voice hoarse with pleading, but she'd turned away, her face a mask of pain. "It's over, Deon," she'd said, her words a final cut, leaving him to stumble into the snow, fury and sadness warring within. He'd punched a wall, his fist bleeding, and now sat in silence, the chapel's bells tolling in his mind—a death knell for what they'd had. He couldn't go—couldn't watch her marry him—but the loss consumed him, a storm he drowned in alone.At the chapel, the organ swelled, a signal for the groom to take his place. Gary was late—unusual for his calculated flair—and the crowd shifted, murmurs rippling through the pews. Anne stepped from the vestry, her veil a shroud, her hands clenched at her sides, when a scream pierced the air from the back hall. She froze, her heart lurching, then ran toward it, the dress tangling around her legs, the crowd parting in confusion.The hall led to a small storage room, its door ajar, and Anne pushed through, snow gusting in from an open window. There he was—Gary, sprawled on the floor, his suit jacket open, a knife buried deep in his chest. Blood pooled beneath him, stark against the white shirt, his hazel eyes wide and unseeing, his mouth frozen in a gasp. A single stab, clean and brutal, had ended him before he could reach the altar.Anne stumbled back, a choked cry escaping her, her hands flying to her mouth. She'd wished it—dreamed of it—but not this, not real. The knife's hilt gleamed, a kitchen blade she recognized from the bar, and panic clawed at her—had she done it? No, she'd been in the vestry, her hands clean, but the wish lingered, a ghost in her mind. She turned, her veil catching on the doorframe, and ran back to the nave, her voice breaking as she shouted, "He's dead—Gary's dead!"The chapel erupted—gasps, shouts, chairs scraping as people surged toward the hall. Nina bolted up, her face paling, and raced to Anne, grabbing her arms. "What happened?" she demanded, her voice sharp with shock."Stabbed," Anne managed, trembling, snow melting into her shoes. "I found him—knife in his chest. He's gone."Nina's eyes widened, her grip tightening. "Who—?""Don't know," Anne said, her mind spinning, the crowd's chaos a roar around them. "I didn't—I couldn't—"Police sirens wailed in the distance, summoned by a panicked guest, and the chapel became a crime scene—officers flooding in, cordoning the hall, voices barking orders. Anne stood frozen, Nina at her side, the wedding dress a cruel irony as snow swirled through the open door. Gary was dead—her wish granted, but not by her hand—and a mystery unfurled, dark and sharp, in the bloodstained shadow of her intent.Deon heard the news an hour later, Kim bursting into the room, her coat dusted with snow, her voice urgent. "Gary's dead—stabbed at the chapel, right before the wedding. Anne found him—she's a mess."He shot up, his heart lurching, frustration and sadness twisting into something raw—relief, guilt, fear. "Dead?" he croaked, grabbing his jacket. "How?""Knife," Kim said, breathless. "One stab—clean kill. Cops are there, asking questions. No suspect yet."Deon's mind raced—Gary gone, Anne free, but at what cost? He'd hated the bastard, nearly killed him himself, but this… this was a blade he hadn't swung. "I've got to see her," he said, pulling on his boots, the storm in him shifting to need.Kim nodded, keys jangling. "Let's go."They drove through the snow-choked streets, the chapel's steeple a grim beacon, police lights flashing red and blue against the white. Deon stormed inside, pushing past officers, and found Anne in the vestry—still in the dress, her veil torn, her face pale as she sat on a bench, Nina beside her. She looked up, her gray eyes meeting his, and the world shrank to them."Deon," she whispered, standing, tears spilling as he crossed to her, pulling her into his arms."I'm here," he said, his voice rough, holding her tight, the wedding's wreckage forgotten in her tremble. "What happened?""He's dead," she said against his chest, her words muffled. "I found him—stabbed. I didn't—I wanted to, but I didn't—""I know," he said, his hands framing her face, wiping her tears. "You're okay—we'll figure this out."Nina stood, her expression hard. "Someone did—knife from the bar. Cops are sniffing around—think it's personal."Deon's gut twisted—personal, yes, but whose hand? His own anger at Gary, Anne's wish, Nina's clash—motives tangled like the snow outside. "They'll look at us," he said, his voice low. "I hit him—everyone saw."Anne shook her head, clinging to him. "Not you—you were with Kim. I was in here. But… who?"The question hung, unanswered, as an officer approached—gruff, clipboard in hand. "Anne Baker? Deon Travers? Need statements—now."They nodded, stepping apart but staying close, the mystery a shadow over their reunion. Gary's death freed Anne from his grip, but the knife—its origin, its wielder—opened a wound of its own, a puzzle they'd unravel together or fall to.Across town, Madame Lazare sat in her shop, the opal pendant flaring as she crossed into the dream world—a silver forest, a starry river, shadows stirring with fresh blood. Elias stood beside her, his coat swapped for a dream-form shimmer, his dark eyes wide as she probed the veil."He's dead," she rasped, her voice echoing in the mist. "Gary—stabbed, not an hour ago. The world's awake—feels it."Elias frowned, scanning the restless shadows. "Murder—here? Linked to them?""Yes," she said, her pendant pulsing. "The thread—Anne and Deon—holds, but this… it's a crack. Someone cut his life—fed the hunger. We're too late to stop it—now we chase the why."He nodded, grim. "A mystery—killer's out there. We find them, or it pulls more."She turned back, the dream world's hum a warning, her childhood lessons—give to take, hunger's law—ringing true. Gary's death was a spark, and the shadows stirred, ready to claim what came next.At the chapel, Anne shed the dress, Deon's jacket warm around her shoulders, as the snow fell thicker, burying Gary's blood in the hall. The wedding was over—his life ended, their fight begun—a mystery born in frost and fury, its answers hidden in the storm.