Chapter 2: Mystery

As Isabel and I walked through the uneven cobblestone streets, I took a moment to soak in my surroundings. My new home. The air carried a peculiar charm—something old and untouched, yet oddly alive. It wasn’t just the smell of damp earth or the faint scent of wildflowers; it was deeper, like the place itself breathed beneath the surface.

When we crested a small hill, the town unfurled before me. Houses dotted the landscape, clustered like they had been gently scattered by hand. People milled about, moving through the day’s rhythms, and a few rusty cars rolled by on streets that seemed as ancient as the town itself. It wasn’t the bustling chaos I was used to, but it wasn’t lifeless either.

I smirked, nudging Isabel. "Oh, look, there are actual people here! For a second, I thought it was just trees and grass."

Isabel snorted, unimpressed by my humor. "Ha. Ha. Ha. What did you expect? A desert?"

To my surprise, the houses were closer together than I’d realized. Life stirred in every corner—families sweeping porches, kids chasing stray dogs through narrow alleys, and the occasional farmer pushing carts filled with vegetables or tools. The place felt like a living diorama, a snapshot of simpler times.

"I chose to live here because the community is close-knit," Isabel explained, gesturing to the surroundings. "Simple people. Farmers, teachers, shopkeepers. Honest work. Unlike the other village."

She pointed to a distant area, where sprawling mansions gleamed like ivory towers amid manicured lawns that glimmered unnaturally in the afternoon sun.

"Let me guess, that’s the snobby rich neighborhood?"

She nodded. "Only one clan lives there—the Laurents."

I raised an eyebrow, laughing. "What, the Laurents monopolized an entire village? That’s corny as hell!"

"Cas, I’m serious," she warned, her tone sharper now. "Don’t mess with them. The Laurents own Mistletoe. Their great-great-whatever-grandfather founded this place, and they’ve ruled it ever since. They keep the peace here, but..."

"But?"

Isabel hesitated, glancing over her shoulder as if expecting someone to be listening. "Let’s just say, stick to this part of town. I love having you here, but if you start trouble, I’ll personally throw you out."

I grinned, raising my hands in mock surrender. "Relax. No trouble this time. I promise. Where else would I even go?"

"Good."

We continued walking, the cobblestones giving way to dirt paths flanked by wooden fences and rows of crops. Every now and then, I caught someone giving me a strange look—curious, wary, or outright unfriendly.

"Wow, so welcoming," I muttered. "It’s like they’ve never seen a girl in a black dress before."

Isabel rolled her eyes, but she didn’t comment.

The village center was quaint, with a few small eateries and shops lining a cobblestone square. Isabel pointed out her favorite spots, insisting that one particular bakery had the best bread in the entire region.

As we neared the square, a weathered sign caught my eye:

**SLOW DOWN. BE CAREFUL WITH WILD ANIMALS.**

Charming. The road narrowed here, flanked by clusters of trees whose branches seemed to intertwine like protective arms. It felt like the perfect setting for a horror movie.

"But you know," I said, stretching my arms and letting the breeze wash over me, "I think I can live peacefully here. For now."

"Cas!" Isabel’s voice broke through my thoughts, sharp and panicked.

"Cassandra!"

I heard it before I saw it—a low, guttural roar of an engine. A sleek, black convertible tore down the road like a bat out of hell. The tires kicked up a plume of dust, the car’s glossy exterior gleaming like a predator in the sunlight.

Instinctively, I froze. My gut told me the car would stop before it hit me, so I didn’t flinch. Sure enough, the tires screeched to a halt, leaving mere inches between me and a hospital-worthy trip.

The roof folded back, and its occupants came into view.

The driver, a tall guy in a black leather jacket, climbed out first. His confidence was palpable, radiating off him in waves. His dark hair was perfectly messy, and the glasses perched on his nose did nothing to soften the sharpness of his gaze.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asked, his voice calm yet emotionless, as if he wasn’t entirely invested in the answer.

"Yeah," I replied flatly, dusting myself off. "You didn’t hit me, so I’m fine."

His eyes lingered on me for a moment, flicking down to my necklace—or maybe my throat. Whatever it was, his gaze was unnerving, like he was sizing me up or trying to solve a puzzle.

"Cassandra!" Isabel finally reached my side, her face flushed with worry. She grabbed my arm, checking me over as though I might shatter.

But I couldn’t look away from the driver. His eyes… they were strange. For a split second, I could’ve sworn they flashed pale gold in the sunlight. No, that had to be a trick of the light.

"I’m sorry," he said, though his tone was clipped. "I was driving too fast. I didn’t think there’d be anyone on the road."

"Oh, so you just assumed you owned it?" I shot back, annoyance lacing my voice.

His brows furrowed, as though the concept of being called out was entirely foreign to him. "I didn’t mean—"

"Vince, let’s go!" a woman’s voice interrupted from the car.

I glanced at the passengers.

The man in the backseat had been staring at me the entire time. His piercing green eyes bore into mine with a kind of intensity that made my skin prickle. He didn’t say a word, but his presence was impossible to ignore, like he was silently cataloging everything about me.

Then there was the woman. Long blonde hair framed her flawless face, and she had the kind of polished elegance that made you instantly feel underdressed. She leaned out the window, her gaze sharp but curious.

"Are you new to Mistletoe?" she asked, her voice melodic yet commanding.

"Yeah," I replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

She smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Welcome, then."

"Thanks."

As the car sped away, the unease lingered, settling into my chest like a lead weight.

"Cas!" Isabel hissed, dragging me aside. Her fingers dug into my arm, and her voice dropped to a whisper. "Those were the Laurents! I told you to stay away!"

"They were?" I glanced over my shoulder, though the convertible was long gone. A knot formed in my stomach. "Well, crap. Guess I’m a magnet for bad luck."

Isabel groaned, rubbing her temples. "Just stay out of their way, okay? The Laurents don’t play by normal rules."

"Got it," I muttered, though my thoughts were elsewhere.

That guy—Why did he look so familiar? And what was with that look in his eyes?