Chapter Twenty-One: Whispers of the Past

Elena sat on the cabin floor, staring at the name carved into the box.

R. V. Holloway.

The name stirred something deep in her memory, but she couldn't grasp it. She pressed her fingers against the engraving, tracing the letters, as if they might whisper their secrets to her.

But they remained silent.

She needed answers.

Her first thought was the old shopkeeper—the one who had warned her about digging into the past.

What did he know?

And more importantly—why did Leon react to the box the way he did?

She exhaled slowly, rubbing her arms. The air in the cabin was thick, too still, as if the world outside had stopped breathing. The storm had passed, but an unnatural quiet had taken its place.

She knew one thing.

She couldn't stay here long.

Meanwhile…

Leon sat in his office, one hand resting against his temple, his other fingers tapping against the dark wood of his desk.

The storm had left the town drenched and empty. The streets were quiet.

But his mind wasn't.

He should be hunting her. Bringing the box back.

But instead—he found himself thinking about her.

About the way her pulse had raced beneath his fingers. The defiance in her eyes even when she was afraid.

It was… unusual.

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling. Why hadn't he just taken the box?

Because the moment he touched it—

He had felt something.

Something reaching back.

A presence. A memory long buried. A warning.

He closed his eyes briefly, trying to ignore the way her name had settled on his tongue.

Elena.

He needed to get to her before she uncovered too much.

Because if she did—

She'd never be able to walk away from this town alive.