External Point of View
He vanished the same way he had arrived—silently, like a sudden gust of wind.
The cemetery returned to its stillness, yet something unspeakable lingered in the air.
Behind the trees, a figure remained hidden in the shadows, perfectly motionless.
It watched Avery walk away, her silhouette slowly dissolving into the morning mist.
Then, slowly, the presence moved toward the grave of Thomas Greenne.
With each step, the grass beneath its feet seemed to wither, as if life itself recoiled from its passage.
When it reached the headstone, it inclined its head slightly.
Its eyes—burning red—settled on the freshly laid white roses.
A flicker of satisfaction crossed its gaze as, under that stare, the flowers wilted, darkening until they turned black.
A hoarse breath broke the silence.
Then everything went still again.
The shadow slipped back into the woods without looking back.
---
Avery's POV
My heart still pounding, I left the cemetery in long strides.
The air felt heavier, clinging to my skin.
I cast one last glance at the gates before whispering,
"Goodbye, Dad…"
The walk back felt longer than the way there.
When the house finally came into view, I let out a sigh of relief.
Inside, everyone was already awake.
Daniel was half-asleep, slumped on one of the kitchen stools, a half-empty bowl of cereal in his hands.
Mom stood in front of the coffee maker, stirring her cup absentmindedly.
The smell of fresh coffee filled the kitchen, mixing with toasted bread.
An ordinary scene.
Almost comforting.
I approached quietly and, without warning, wrapped my arms around Daniel.
He jumped, nearly spilling his bowl.
"Seriously—you're drenched in sweat!" he shouted, disgusted.
"Mmm, love you too, germ," I replied.
"You're gonna give me your germs," he muttered, trying to pull away.
"They're love germs," I shot back, squeezing him tighter.
"I feel nauseous now…" he groaned, though the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement.
Mom smiled tiredly as she set her mug down.
"You should listen to your brother—you don't exactly smell like roses," she said, handing me a towel.
"Okay, I'm going upstairs," I said, releasing Daniel.
"Thank you, Mom!" he added, relieved.
I lightly smacked him with the towel before walking away.
"And don't touch my plate while I'm gone."
"I'd rather die than eat whatever you call breakfast," he replied.
"It's organic!"
"Organic my ass—that's food poisoning."
"You know nothing!" I called as I climbed the stairs.
He stood up too, hands still full of food.
Barely had he crossed into the living room when a loud noise echoed—
that idiot had spilled something on Mom's precious rug.
"Oops," he said, eyes wide, a slice of bread still clenched between his teeth.
"Oh my God, my rug!" Mom cried.
"I told you not to bring your two left hands into my living room with food!"
A faint smile formed on my lips as their voices faded behind me, replaced by the soft creak of the floorboards.
That morning banter had at least grounded me a little.
But the moment my bedroom door closed, the illusion shattered.
Silence fell like a weight.
I dropped my shoes beside the bed, then my sweatshirt.
My reflection in the mirror showed a face that almost felt familiar: fewer dark circles, a bit more color in my skin.
But my eyes… they were still empty.
I sighed deeply and stepped into the bathroom.
The tap water ran cold at first, then warmed, filling the room with soothing steam.
I closed my eyes. The water slid over my fingers—soft, gentle.
But the more I tried to relax, the more my thoughts drifted back to him.
The stranger from the cemetery.
His deep voice.
His unsettling calm.
And the way he had said my name.
Ava.
I placed my hand over my wrist.
Where he had touched me.
Beneath my fingers, my skin felt warmer, marked by something invisible.
It wasn't pain.
Not a burn.
More like a presence.
A trace that refused to fade.
I rubbed gently, but the shiver returned—cold, sharp—like a draft rushing through my body.
And that scent—wood and cold wind—came back suddenly, as real as it had been before.
My heart sped up.
I opened my eyes abruptly.
Nothing.
Just steam, the sound of running water, the quiet rhythm of my breathing.
And yet…
Something vibrated in the air.
A subtle tension, almost electric—like a breath being held.
Part of me wanted to run.
The other wanted to see him again.
I closed my eyes once more, took a deep breath, and whispered,
"Who are you…?"
A faint creak answered somewhere in the room.
A tiny sound, almost muffled—
as if the house itself had heard my question.