Chapter 7: Unseen Threads

Adrian stared at the girl, heart pounding faster than he wanted to admit. Her hair was darker now, but those ice-blue eyes were unmistakable.

"Camilla," he said, before she could even speak.

Her lips curled into a grin. "Oh, you do remember me!"

"Of course I do," he said, managing a smile. "Sorry I didn't recognize you right away."

He remembered now. Camilla used to spend summers in Bleakwood too, just like him. They'd build snow forts, race bikes down the icy backroads, and share stories over gas station candy. She was a constant in those memories—warm, funny, fearless.

So then why did every instinct inside him scream run?

His smile stayed glued in place, but his jaw clenched. Don't be paranoid, he told himself. It's just been a rough few days. You're jumpy.

They fell into a rhythm as they walked—easy conversation, light laughter—but beneath it all, Adrian's senses were on high alert. She hadn't changed much on the surface. And yet… everything about her felt off. Subtly wrong. Like a painting you didn't realize had an extra eye until you stared too long.

"So what brings you to Bleakwood?" she asked, tossing a snowball at a nearby post.

Adrian hesitated. "Vacation. Thought I'd do some hunting. Might stop by the gun store, actually."

Her eyes flicked to his. "Oh? Where are your parents?"

There was something casual about her tone—too casual. Like the question had been rehearsed.

"They're… back home. I came alone this time."

She tilted her head. "Wow. You really grew up, huh?" Her voice was teasing, affectionate even. But it chilled him.

"Yeah," he muttered, forcing another smile.

They arrived at the Bleakwood Outfitters shop. A hand-painted wooden sign hung crookedly above the door, a faded deer skull etched into the logo. Adrian opened the door and the bell overhead jingled. Inside, the place was dim and heavy with the scent of old leather and gun oil.

Wood-paneled walls were lined with rifles, crossbows, hunting knives, and survival gear. A taxidermied bear stood in the corner, glass eyes staring lifelessly out. A single aisle led to the counter, which was currently empty. No one was in sight.

Adrian and Camilla stepped inside, their boots crunching on rock salt scattered across the floor.

"So what are you up to these days?" Adrian asked, partly to fill the silence.

"I work at my mom's therapy clinic just down the road," she said, brushing snow from her shoulders. "As an assistant."

Adrian blinked. "Wait… there's a clinic here?"

She laughed and nudged him. "Of course there is, you dummy. You really don't remember?"

He forced a laugh too. "Guess not."

But I would've remembered that, he thought. Bleakwood was tiny. There wasn't room for a clinic to just appear. Yet when he tried to call up the town layout in his mind… it blurred, like static. Like something had been rearranged without his permission.

A quiet dread crept in.

Adrian rang the brass bell at the counter. Moments later, a tall man stepped through a curtain from the back—broad-shouldered and surprisingly youthful for his age, with a thick white beard and full head of silver hair. His voice was deep and carried a theatrical edge.

"Well now," the man said, sizing them up. "You two looking to bag a buck, or something with more bite?"

Adrian glanced at the weapons behind him. "I'll take a Glock 9mm—do you have any?"

"Of course." The man disappeared briefly and returned with a sleek, matte black pistol, still boxed. "Six hundred. Cash only."

Adrian handed him the bills. Then his eyes drifted toward the wall of melee weapons—hatchets, knives, and a few heavy-duty axes. Hanging in the corner were two tomahawk-style axes, made entirely of forged steel from blade to handle. Minimalist. Durable. Brutal.

He pointed at them. "How much for those?"

The man raised an eyebrow. "Both? Another two-fifty."

Adrian didn't hesitate. He reached into his jacket, peeled off more cash from the stack, and set it on the counter.

"Going heavy, huh?" the man asked with a grin. "You from the city?"

"Something like that," Adrian muttered, accepting the wrapped axes.

Camilla stood quietly beside him, watching, smiling faintly. There was no surprise in her expression. No curiosity about why someone would need firearms and melee weapons on a vacation hunting trip.

That made him like this less.

He slid the Glock into his inner coat pocket and slung the tomahawks into a backpack he'd picked up near the register. The metal felt cold, unyielding. Reliable.

They stepped outside, cold air slapping their faces.

And there it was.

The clinic.

It stood directly across the street. A pristine glass front, white letters on a soft blue sign: Bleakwood Wellness & Therapy Center.

Adrian froze.

"…That wasn't there before" he muttered.

Camilla turned to him, head cocked. "You okay?" with a faint smile in her eyes.

"Yeah. Just tired, I guess."