Chapter 1: The Letter

The rain had been falling for three days straight, a relentless drumming on the roof of her cabin. Elena sat by the window, her paintbrush hovering over the canvas, though she hadn't made a stroke in hours. The colors on her palette had dried into muted shades of gray, mirroring the world outside. She stared at the unfinished painting—a half-formed memory of her sister, Mara, standing on the edge of the cliffs, her hair whipping in the wind. Elena could never get the eyes right. They always looked too alive, too full of a light she couldn't replicate.

The knock on the door startled her. No one came out here, not since she'd retreated from the town, from the whispers, from the pitying looks. She set the brush down and wiped her hands on her apron, leaving streaks of ochre and sienna. The knock came again, sharper this time.

When she opened the door, there was no one there. Just the rain, falling in sheets, and an envelope lying on the porch, its edges already curling with damp. Elena picked it up, her fingers trembling slightly. The paper felt heavy, as if it carried more than just words.

Back inside, she slit the envelope open with a kitchen knife. The letter was short, written in a hand she didn't recognize.

*Elena,

I know what happened to Mara.

Meet me at the old lighthouse.

Tonight.

Come alone.*

Her breath caught in her throat. The room seemed to tilt, the walls closing in. She read the words again, then a third time, as if they might change. But they didn't. They stayed there, stark and unyielding, like a wound reopened.

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