Chapter 1 — The Weight of Shadows

Lila Rawlins

The cobblestones of Willow Falls glistened with the sheen of a recent rain, their surface slick and uneven under Lila Rawlins’ boots. Her auburn hair slipped loose from the frayed tie at the nape of her neck, tangling against her chilled cheeks as a biting wind cut through her threadbare coat. The cold gnawed at her, but she barely flinched. It was just another layer of discomfort to add to the weight that already pressed down on her: the ache in her shoulders from hauling wood, the raw sting of her palms, the empty pit of hunger twisting in her stomach, and the relentless specter of debt.

Tonight, the streets were quieter than usual, the few souls who dared tread them moving like shadows in the fog. She passed a hunched figure, their features hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat, and didn’t bother to look back. The fog clung to the air like the breath of something unseen, swallowing sounds and sharpening the dark. Her steps echoed unevenly, a hollow rhythm that carried through the narrow streets.

The Rawlins household sat at the edge of the town, wedged between a rotting fence and a dilapidated shed. The place sagged like an aging beast, its creaking boards and splintered windows barely warding off the elements. Lila pushed the door open with her shoulder, the hinges groaning in protest, and the scent of damp wood and creeping chill clung to the air, as though the house itself mourned its decay.

Inside, her younger brother, Sam, sat cross-legged by the hearth, bent over a battered book. The weak firelight flickered against his pale face, his dark hair sticking up in tufts where he had run his fingers through it. He looked up as she entered, his amber eyes—so much like hers—gleaming with a faint, fragile hope that made her chest tighten. For a moment, she wished she could bottle that look, keep it safe from the harsh truths that surrounded them.

“Did you find work today?” Sam asked, his voice light but edged with unease.

“I did,” Lila replied, sharper than she intended, as she set down the burlap sack she carried. Inside were a few scavenged vegetables and scraps of bread she had begged from the baker’s assistant after hauling wood half the day. Her hands were raw from the splinters, and the meager haul mocked her in its insufficiency.

Sam’s frown deepened, his mouth poised to question her further, but he caught her expression and wisely said nothing. Instead, he stood and began unpacking the sack, setting their paltry dinner on the rickety table. A candle stub burned low in the center of the table, its weak flame casting trembling shadows that crawled along the cracked walls.

Lila busied herself slicing the vegetables, her calloused hands moving with grim precision. She could feel Sam’s eyes on her, wary and searching.

“Lila,” he began hesitantly, his voice unusually small, “Mr. Thorn came by earlier.”

Her hand faltered mid-slice, the blade pressing into the wood of the cutting board, but she didn’t look up. “What did he want?”

“He said we’re late on payment. Again,” Sam said, his words rushed and trembling. “He said he won’t wait much longer.”

Lila inhaled deeply through her nose, forcing her hand to move again, the knife pushing through the pale flesh of the carrot with a steady rhythm. “I’ll handle it.”

“You always say that,” Sam mumbled, frustration slipping into his voice. “But how? We don’t have anything left.”

Her hands stilled, and she finally met his gaze. In the dim light, her amber eyes glimmered faintly, an almost unnatural sheen that made Sam’s expression falter. He didn’t comment, but Lila felt the weight of it. She reached out, brushing a strand of his hair away from his forehead with a rare gentleness.

“I said I’ll handle it, Sam,” she repeated, her voice quieter now, almost tender. “You don’t need to worry about it.”

But even as the words left her lips, they rang hollow. The truth was, she had no plan. Jasper Thorn was not a man to be kept waiting. He had already stripped them of everything—the few heirlooms their father had left behind, the meager savings their mother had scraped together before her illness claimed her. Lila’s hands tightened around the knife, the ache in her chest deepening.

Thomas Rawlins had been a hunter, a man spoken of in whispers and reverent tones throughout Willow Falls. He had been their protector, their provider—a hero, until his obsession consumed him. She could still hear her mother’s voice, sharp with bitterness, on that terrible night: “He went looking for monsters, and he found them.”

The memory of his broken body still haunted her, laid out on their doorstep, his chest torn open in a way no blade could mimic. The villagers had called it a werewolf attack, but to Lila, it had always felt like a cautionary tale. Her father had given everything to the hunt and left them with nothing but his failures. She had sworn never to follow his path. And yet, as her own desperation mounted, she couldn’t help but wonder if his monsters had been easier to face than the ones that now loomed over her.

A sharp knock at the door jolted her from her thoughts. Sam stiffened, his face draining of color. “Is that—?”

“Stay here,” Lila said firmly, her voice low and steady. She set the knife down and moved toward the door, her pulse quickening.

When she opened it, she found herself face-to-face with Jasper Thorn. The man’s gaunt, sharp-nosed face twisted into a smile that didn’t reach his beady eyes, and his thin frame seemed to shrink further beneath the shadow of the two brutes flanking him.

“Miss Rawlins,” he greeted smoothly, his voice oily. “I thought I’d save you the trouble of coming to see me.”

“We don’t have anything for you,” Lila said bluntly, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

Jasper clicked his tongue, feigning disappointment. “Now, now. That’s no way to treat a guest, is it? I’ve been patient. Generous, even.”

Lila gritted her teeth. “I just need more time.”

“Time,” Jasper repeated, his voice dripping with mockery. He stepped closer, forcing her back a step, and she could smell the sourness of his breath. “Time doesn’t keep the roof over your head, Miss Rawlins. Time doesn’t feed that scrawny brother of yours.”

Behind her, Sam’s voice rang out, trembling but defiant. “Leave her alone!”

Jasper’s smile widened, malice gleaming in his eyes as he glanced past Lila. “Ah, young Samuel. Such spirit for one so small. It’s a shame, really, that he’s stuck with a sister who can’t provide.”

Lila’s vision darkened at the edges, her hands trembling with the urge to strike. Her voice dropped into a low growl. “You don’t talk to him.”

Jasper raised his hands in mock surrender, chuckling darkly. “Easy, now. No need to get worked up. I’m just here to remind you of our arrangement. Maybe you should consider what you’re willing to sacrifice to keep it.”

Lila’s hand twitched, her nails digging into her palms. For a brief, terrible moment, she imagined plunging the knife into his sneering throat, silencing him forever. But then Sam shifted behind her, and that fragile hope in his eyes flashed in her mind. She forced herself to breathe.

“I’ll have the money,” she said through gritted teeth. “Give me until the week’s end.”

Jasper studied her for a moment, his smile faltering before snapping back in place. “Fine,” he said, stepping back. “But if you’re not at my door by sundown on the seventh day, Miss Rawlins, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

He turned sharply, his thugs following him into the fog. Lila watched as their silhouettes were swallowed by the mist, their footsteps fading into the oppressive quiet of the night.

Sam’s voice broke the silence, soft and trembling. “What are we going to do?”

Lila shut the door and leaned against it, closing her eyes. “I’ll figure something out,” she said, though the words felt empty.

As the candle burned low and the fire dwindled to embers, Lila sat awake long into the night, the knife resting on the table before her. The fog pressed against the windows like a living thing, thick and unyielding. When the faint, mournful howl of a wolf echoed in the distance, it sent a chill down her spine. For the first time, she wondered if her father hadn’t been entirely wrong to fear the darkness.