Chapter 2 - Whispers in the Fog

Morning broke in Blackwood, but it felt no warmer than the night before. The mist lingered, pale ribbons crawling through the streets even under the weak sunlight. Elara sat at the kitchen table, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea gone cold. Her mother fussed about with the laundry, humming faintly, but Elara barely heard her.

The words from Mara's notebook burned in her mind. See you soon.

Had she imagined them? The ink had looked too fresh, too deliberate. Yet when she checked the notebook again that morning, the page was blank. No words, no crimson stain. Just an empty sheet, mocking her.

"Elara, you're pale," her mother said suddenly, eyeing her. "Are you sleeping at all?"

"I'm fine," Elara lied, shoving the notebook deeper into her bag. "Just tired."

Her mother gave her a long, unreadable look before turning away. "Stay out of the woods, do you hear me? Until Mara is found. Nothing good lives there."

The warning settled heavy in Elara's chest. She nodded, though she knew she would not obey.

At school, the air was thick with whispers. Every hallway corner seemed to echo Mara's name. Some students claimed they saw her walking at night, drifting between the lamplights. Others swore she had joined the cult everyone joked about but never admitted to believing in.

Elara pushed through the crowd, her head low. That was when she noticed him.

A boy she had never seen before, standing near the back of the classroom. His hair was dark, nearly black, falling just past his eyes, and his skin was pale - unnaturally so. He wore a plain black coat despite the humid weather. And though he pretended to be reading, Elara swore she felt his gaze flick toward her, sharp as a blade.

When the teacher introduced him - "This is Adrian. He'll be joining us for the term" - a faint murmur rippled through the class. Elara kept her eyes down, but her stomach twisted. There was something off about him.

At lunch, she sat alone beneath the old oak in the courtyard, flipping through Mara's notebook. The sketches unsettled her more with every page. One showed the church again, this time with figures kneeling before it, their hands raised as if in prayer. Strange symbols circled them - loops and sharp lines that seemed to crawl across the paper.

"Elara," a voice said.

She jumped. Adrian stood before her, his eyes a dark gray, almost silver under the sun.

"You dropped this." He held out her pencil. She hadn't realized it had rolled away.

"Thanks," she muttered, taking it quickly.

His gaze lingered on the notebook in her lap. "Interesting drawings."

"They're not mine."

He tilted his head slightly, studying her. "Still. You shouldn't show them so openly. Some things invite attention you don't want."

Before she could ask what he meant, he walked away, leaving her staring after him with a chill down her spine.

That evening, Elara wandered the town streets, notebook in hand. She couldn't stop thinking about the symbols. She had seen one earlier that day - carved into the side of a lamppost, faint but unmistakable. Now she searched, eyes scanning walls, doors, even stones.

They were everywhere. Tiny, scratched marks, half-hidden, but spreading like veins through Blackwood.

Her pulse quickened. The cult wasn't just a story. It was here, living in the town's bones.

She stopped outside the bakery, where another symbol gleamed faintly under the lamplight. As she traced it with her finger, a voice whispered behind her.

"You shouldn't touch that."

Elara spun. Adrian stood in the shadows, hands in his coat pockets.

"You're following me," she accused.

He shrugged lightly. "Or maybe we're looking for the same thing."

Before she could reply, movement caught her eye. Across the street, a figure stood in the mist, watching them. The shape was wrong - too still, too sharp. When a car passed, its headlights swept over the figure, and Elara's blood ran cold.

It was Mara.

Or at least, it looked like her.

Her best friend stood beneath the broken lamplight, her skin ashen, her eyes glinting red.

"Elara?" the figure whispered, voice carrying across the empty street.

Elara staggered back, heart pounding, but when she blinked - the figure was gone. The mist swallowed her whole.

Adrian's voice was low, urgent. "You saw her, didn't you?"

Elara could only nod, her breath shaking.

"She isn't the same anymore," he said. "And if you want answers, you'll have to decide - are you ready to follow her into the dark?"

Elara's knees trembled. Her best friend was alive. Changed. Watching.

The fog thickened, and the silence pressed in. Somewhere beyond the streetlamps, footsteps echoed - slow, deliberate, drawing closer.

And Elara realized with icy certainty: the night wasn't done with her yet.

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