Episode 2

The storm had passed by morning, leaving the world damp and glistening. Mist clung low to the ground as if reluctant to leave, wrapping the Hayes property in a pale shroud.

Luna woke early, her body still tense from the night before. She hadn’t slept much. Every time she closed her eyes, she swore she could hear footsteps outside her door—soft, deliberate, as though someone lingered just to remind her she wasn’t alone.

She pushed the thought aside, forcing herself to breathe. It’s just the house. Old wood creaks. Nothing more.

When she descended the stairs, the smell of coffee and toasted bread greeted her. Aunt Marjorie was bustling in the kitchen, humming cheerfully.

“Morning, darling!” Marjorie said, beaming when she saw her niece. “I made your favorite—scrambled eggs with cheese. I remember you loved them when you were little.”

Luna smiled politely, touched by the effort. “Thanks, Aunt Marjorie.”

Before she could sit, she noticed Rick already at the table. He leaned back in his chair, half in shadow, a steaming mug in front of him. His eyes lifted to hers, sharp and unblinking.

“You didn’t sleep,” he said. Not asked—stated.

Luna hesitated, her fingers tightening on the back of the chair. “I… guess I’m still adjusting.”

Rick tilted his head slightly, studying her. “You used to talk in your sleep when we were kids. I remember. You’d call out for your mother.”

Her stomach tightened. She glanced toward Aunt Marjorie, but her aunt was too busy fussing with the kettle to notice.

Rick’s gaze lingered. “I’ll make sure you don’t have to wake up afraid anymore.”

Luna sat down quickly, breaking eye contact. The warmth of the eggs and toast on her plate did little to ease the chill crawling across her skin.

After breakfast, Marjorie left for town, insisting she needed groceries and new candles for the house. That left Luna alone with Rick.

She wandered into the library, the one room she remembered fondly. Dusty shelves stretched high, filled with books bound in cracked leather. A large window overlooked the back garden, where roses tangled in wild abandon.

Luna traced her finger along the spine of a book, enjoying the quiet—until she realized she wasn’t alone.

Rick leaned against the doorway, arms folded.

“You always loved this room,” he said softly.

Luna startled, clutching the book to her chest. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

His lips curved faintly. “I move quietly.”

He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving hers. “I kept the library clean while you were gone. I knew you’d come back.”

The way he said it unsettled her. Like he had been waiting, not just hoping.

Luna forced a small laugh. “You couldn’t have known that.”

Rick’s expression hardened for a flicker of a second before softening again. “Family always comes home,” he murmured.

That night, Luna unpacked the last of her things, arranging her books on the desk and placing her father’s watch in the drawer. She told herself she was safe, that Rick’s intensity was nothing more than awkwardness after years apart.

But as she slipped into bed, something caught her attention.

The curtains. She was sure she had drawn them shut earlier, yet now they hung slightly open, just enough to expose the window.

Her heart pounded. She crossed the room, pulling them closed again, hands trembling. She told herself it was nothing—maybe she’d forgotten. Maybe the wind had shifted them.

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes pressed against the glass. Watching.

And when she returned to bed, pulling the blanket tightly around herself, she thought she heard it again—footsteps in the hallway.

Slow. Deliberate.

Stopping right outside her door.

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