Villx_Projekt

When Evelyn Hart, a reclusive novelist haunted by her sister’s unsolved disappearance a decade earlier, returns to her fog-drenched coastal hometown of Blackthorn Cove, she seeks solace—not answers. But the past refuses to stay buried. As Evelyn reconnects with her estranged childhood sweetheart, **Liam Kane** (now a brooding detective with secrets of his own), she uncovers cryptic journal entries hidden in her family’s abandoned lighthouse. The pages hint at a clandestine society of women who once ruled the town… and a curse tied to every Hart woman since the 1800s.

Whispers in the Mist (Evelyn Hart)

The Blackthorn Historical Society occupied a converted funeral parlor, its shelves lined with urns repurposed as bookends. Ronan stood at a drafting table, magnifying glass hovering over a quilt fragment pinned like a specimen.

"Admiring your family's handiwork?" Evelyn held up the red thread he'd given her.

"Preserving it." He didn't look up. "This quilt lined Clara Voss's coffin. Note the stitching—double knots at every intersection. A Hart trademark."

Evelyn leaned in. The stitches formed a serpent swallowing its tail. "Ouroboros. Symbol of cycles."

"Or consumption." Ronan's finger traced the serpent's jaws. "The Cove devours what it can't control. Your sister understood that."

"You talk about her like you knew her."

"I know her work." He opened a drawer, withdrawing a photo of Evelyn's sister at age 16, standing beside the lighthouse with a quilt draped over her arms. "She documented every missing woman. Even the ones the town erased."

Evelyn's breath caught. "Where did you get this?"

"Archives." Too smooth, too quick.

She studied the photo. Her sister's smile was forced, eyes darting to the left—where someone stood just out of frame. A man's leather shoe peeked into the shot.

Ronan slid the photo into a folder. "A ghost, perhaps."

The door slammed open. Liam stood in the threshold, rain dripping from his coat. "Get away from her, Voss."

Ronan raised an eyebrow. "Protective, isn't he? Tell me, Detective—do you warn all witnesses, or just the ones you've kissed?"

Liam's jaw twitched. "Evie, outside. Now."

She didn't move. "Did you know Clara Voss was Ronan's great-aunt?"

Liam's gaze cut to Ronan. "You're a Voss?"

"Guilty." Ronan flourished a hand. "Though I prefer reformed."

Liam gripped Evelyn's arm. "The Voss family owned the cannery where half the town 'disappeared.' You're playing with fire."

Ronan laughed. "And you're hoarding matches, Kane. Who's really burning this town?"

As Liam dragged Evelyn out, Ronan called after her: "Ask him where the quilts go! The ones the police don't find!"

The Historian