Irithiel finally asked.
She'd been circling it for a while—glances, half-starts, breath caught like she was rehearsing the question in her head. We were walking, the town moving around us in that quiet, curated way it always did, when she just blurted it out.
"So… what is the journal?"
I didn't answer.
She slowed a step, then tried again. "Where did you get it?"
I looked away, scratched the back of my neck. A nervous tell I hated. Inside my head, the thought flickered: Do I bring her in?
Then I actually laughed—silent, sharp.
Yeah. Right.
She sighed, resigned, like she'd expected that outcome. "Then why do you want to open it?"
"That one's easy," I said. "I'm bored."
She blinked.
"This town is terrible," I went on, leaning into it. "No signal. No real tech. Everyone smiles too much. I just need something interesting enough to keep my brain from rotting."
I almost added before it kills me, but I didn't.
As we passed a row of houses—too neat, too evenly spaced—it hit me again. For a town this size, everyone knowing everyone wasn't just friendly. It was… tight. Closed. Like a loop that never let anything slip through.
I felt my thoughts start to narrow, sharpen—
Irithiel sighed. Loud. Heavy.
"I know you don't like me," she said. "Or Daniel. Or Mystic Falls." She stopped walking, forcing me to stop too. "But I wish you'd be more open with me. Just a little."
She fidgeted, twisting a strand of her orange hair around her finger. When she smiled, it was shy and hopeful in a way that made my chest tighten—not warmly, just… uncomfortably.
"I'd really like that," she added. "I'd be happy."
There it was again.
The interruption.
Every time I started pulling on a thread—electricity, forests, the town's behavior—something yanked my attention away. Noise. People. Emotion. Right when things got close to meaning something.
I frowned, studying her. The way she stood. The way she looked at me like I was something important.
Is it her? The thought crept in before I could stop it. Not consciously. Not maliciously. Just… presence.
I pushed it aside.
"Fine," I said. "Truce."
Her eyes lit up.
"But," I added quickly, "this is conditional. If you perform well, I might—and I mean might—trust you enough to tell you what's going on."
She practically bounced. Way too excited for the word might.
Inside, I was already uneasy.
"I need you to do something," I continued. "Go home. Alone. The house should be empty. Check my grandmother's study. There's a key—I need it."
She didn't hesitate. "Okay."
She grabbed my arm suddenly, warmth through my sleeve, leaned in, and pressed a soft kiss to my knuckles. Then she ran off, face red, hair bouncing.
I stared after her for a second.
Then I wiped my hand on my coat with open disgust.
"Unbelievable," I muttered. "Some people die of thirst. Others drown."
And the worst part?
I wasn't into her. Not even a little.
Which should've been simple. Clean. Except every time I looked at her, my gut twisted—not with attraction, but warning. Like a quiet voice saying something's off.
I'd wished for a summer romance once. Thought it might make this place bearable.
But my instincts—sharp as they'd been since I arrived—hadn't been wrong yet.
And right now, they were whispering the same thing they had all night.
Don't trust how easy this feels.
I watched Irithiel disappear down the road, her footsteps light, almost eager, until the town swallowed her whole.
Then I turned.
Mystic Falls stretched out in front of me—clean streets, trimmed hedges, people moving with an unspoken rhythm. Too smooth. Too polite. It looked like one of those model towns you see in brochures, the kind that promises peace but smells faintly of lies.
"Alright," I muttered. "Time to investigate."
I walked with no real destination, letting my eyes do the work. People greeted each other by name. Stopped. Talked. Laughed. No rush. No tension. And that was the problem.
A town like this—surrounded by forest, hiding whatever the hell that thing was—shouldn't be this calm. There should be paranoia. Rules posted everywhere. Someone warning kids not to wander. Something.
Instead, nothing.
That's when I noticed him.
An old man sat alone on a bench, a paper bag in his lap, tossing crumbs to a flock of pigeons. Calm. Patient. Like time had forgotten him.
I sat beside him without asking.
He glanced at me once, eyes sharp despite the wrinkles, then went back to the birds.
"Good afternoon," I said, polite. On purpose. "Why pigeons?"
He grunted. "Why not?"
I waited. He didn't elaborate.
After a moment, he spoke again. "Why's a young one like you sittin' with an old fogey?" His voice was rough, dry. "Kids these days don't like talking to people they can't scroll past."
That's when it hit me.
I hadn't seen any kids.
No teenagers loitering. No bored adolescents glued to phones. No younger children running around—aside from my sisters and Irithiel. Everyone else was either fully grown or ancient. Nothing in between.
My spine stiffened.
"Why is this town so… strange?" I asked.
He smirked. A knowing, crooked thing. "Nothing strange about it. Just perspective."
That earned him a frown.
I leaned back, staring at the pigeons pecking at the ground. My head felt tight, like my thoughts were crowding each other. "I think I'm losing it," I said aloud. "No internet. No signal. Probably some kind of withdrawal. That explains the paranoia. The overthinking. The—"
The talking animals? my brain supplied.
My gut twisted.
The journal sat beside me on the bench. Quiet. Heavy. Waiting.
I stared at it.
It felt like the answer to everything. Not metaphorically—literally. Like it was the missing piece my brain kept circling but couldn't touch. Maybe I was just desperate. Maybe I needed a reason for the fear.
A pigeon hopped closer.
It tilted its head.
And smiled.
"You're not insane," it said.
My breath vanished.
"Mystic Falls," the pigeon continued pleasantly, "is a wondrous place of mysteries—if you dare to dwell in them."
I screamed.
I recoiled so hard I nearly fell off the bench. My heart tried to claw its way out of my chest.
I blinked.
Once.
Twice.
The bench was empty.
No pigeons. No crumbs. No old man.
Just the street. Quiet. Normal. Alive.
The journal rested beside me like it had never moved.
I swallowed, hands shaking, pulse roaring in my ears.
"Okay," I whispered. "Okay. That's new."
I grabbed the journal, fingers tight around the leather, and stood.
Whatever this town was—whatever it was hiding—it wasn't subtle anymore.
And whether it liked it or not…
I was getting to the bottom of it.