Chapter 2: The Stranger

Evelyn’s second day at The Hollow’s Nook began much like the first. The morning mist lingered in the air, hanging low over the town of Black Hollow, shrouding its cobblestone streets and Victorian architecture in an ethereal veil. Inside the bookstore, the scent of old paper and leather-bound covers mixed with the faint smell of freshly brewed coffee from a small pot that Mrs. Abernathy kept in the back room. The shop was quiet—too quiet. The type of silence that seemed to thicken the air, like the pages of the books absorbed every sound, every breath.

Evelyn busied herself with organizing a stack of vintage novels that had come in the previous day, her hands moving methodically across the worn spines. She had always loved this kind of work—the solitude of it, the feeling of slipping into another world through the words of long-dead writers. She had found a small corner of peace here, a temporary reprieve from the turmoil that had driven her to Black Hollow. But as she shelved the last book, she felt it—a prickle on the back of her neck, an awareness that she was being watched.

She turned slowly, scanning the room, her gaze drifting over the rows of bookshelves that stretched toward the high, shadowed ceiling. At first, she saw nothing, just the empty aisles and the dust motes floating lazily in the beams of dim morning light filtering through the window. But then she saw him—a man standing at the far end of the shop, partially hidden in the gloom. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a dark, brooding presence that seemed to pull the very light out of the room.

Evelyn’s breath caught in her throat. The man’s gaze was fixed on her, intense and unyielding, as if he were studying her every movement, her every breath. His eyes were dark—so dark they almost seemed black—and they glinted like shards of obsidian in the low light. His face was sharply defined, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw shadowed by the beginnings of a beard. He wore a black wool coat, buttoned up to his collarbone, and his hair was dark, unruly, and damp from the mist outside.

She should have looked away. Something in his stare was too raw, too penetrating. But she couldn’t. She was caught in his gaze, held there by something she couldn’t quite name—a mixture of fear and a strange, unwelcome thrill. The seconds stretched out like hours, and for a moment, the world outside of his eyes seemed to fade into nothingness.

Then, as if sensing her discomfort, he turned away, breaking the spell. He moved further into the shadows of the store, his long fingers trailing over the spines of books as he walked, his footsteps muffled on the thick, faded carpet. Evelyn released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She felt a strange heat rise in her cheeks and quickly turned back to her task, trying to focus on the books before her, but her hands trembled slightly.

“Alexander Thorne,” Mrs. Abernathy’s voice rasped softly beside her, making Evelyn jump. She hadn’t noticed the old woman approaching. “That’s who you were staring at. Dangerous man,

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