Chapter 1 — A Place to Hide

Ethan

The rain came down in torrents, hammering against the windshield of Ethan Calloway’s pickup truck as it rumbled along the winding coastal road leading into Clearwater Bay. The wipers struggled to keep up, smearing the water more than clearing it. In the passenger seat, Lily sat quietly, her small hands folded over the edges of a sketchbook balanced on her lap. She stared out at the blur of evergreens rushing past, her green eyes reflecting the storm beyond the glass. Ethan’s jaw tightened as he gripped the wheel, the steady rhythm of rain matching the dull ache in his chest.

The sign for Clearwater Bay appeared suddenly out of the mist, its white lettering weathered and faded: "Welcome to Clearwater Bay — A Place for New Beginnings." Ethan’s lips curved into a faint, humorless smirk. New beginnings. He hadn’t come here to begin anything. He’d come to disappear, to bury the mistakes and failures that followed him like shadows. A faded flyer taped below the sign flapped in the wind, its soggy edges obscuring most of the words, but Ethan caught a glimpse of "Harvest Festival" in bold letters. The sight barely registered before the truck sped past, swallowed by the mist.

“Are we almost there?” Lily’s voice was soft, but it carried over the patter of the rain. She didn’t look at him, keeping her gaze fixed on the trees.

“Almost,” Ethan said, his voice low and steady. He glanced at her briefly and noted the way her small fingers clutched the sketchbook, her knuckles pale against the dark cover. “You’ll like it here. It’s quiet.”

She nodded, her pigtails bobbing slightly. She didn’t say anything else, and Ethan let the silence settle again. Words had never come easy to him, especially the kind that made things better.

The truck rounded a bend, and the town emerged from the fog. Nestled between the cliffs and the ocean, Clearwater Bay looked like something out of a weathered postcard. Cobblestone streets glistened with rain, and the faint outlines of old brick buildings rose in the distance. A solitary fishing boat rocked gently in the harbor, its light a tiny beacon in the gray expanse. The sight was both quaint and unsettling to Ethan—a place where everyone likely knew everyone else’s business. He had no intention of letting them know his.

Turning off the main road, he followed the directions he’d memorized from the rental agreement. The house sat on the outskirts of town, just past a grove of towering pines. It was small and unassuming, its gray siding blending into the rainy landscape. A detached workshop stood to one side, its roof pitched like a tired man hunched against the cold. The whole property looked worn down by time and weather, yet sturdy enough to endure. Ethan could relate.

He parked the truck and killed the engine. For a moment, the only sound was the rain drumming against the roof. Then Lily reached for the door handle, her movements careful and deliberate. Ethan followed suit, pulling up the hood of his jacket as he stepped out into the downpour.

Lily hopped down from the truck, her boots splashing into a growing puddle. She hugged her sketchbook to her chest, her wide eyes scanning the house before drifting to the trees that loomed behind it.

“This is it,” Ethan said, pulling a box from the truck bed. He motioned toward the house. “You have the key?”

She nodded, pulling it from her pocket. The oversized brass key hung from a leather string around her neck, its weight tugging slightly against her sweater. She glanced at him, hesitating for just a moment. “Why do I get to keep it?”

Ethan shifted the box under one arm and looked at her. “Because it’s your house too,” he said, his voice gruff but steady. “You should have a key to your own place.”

A flicker of something—relief, maybe—crossed her face before she turned and dashed toward the porch. The rain quickly soaked her hair, making her pigtails cling to her sweater as she fumbled with the lock. Ethan followed, balancing the box awkwardly while holding the doorframe for balance. The door finally creaked open, revealing a dim interior filled with the faint smell of wood polish and damp air. Ethan stepped inside and set the box down, the thud echoing through the quiet space.

The house was as modest as the listing had promised. A small living room with a stone fireplace, a tiny kitchen with outdated appliances, two bedrooms upstairs, and a view of the forest stretching behind it. It wasn’t much, but it would do. It had to.

“Pick a room,” Ethan said, shrugging off his wet jacket and hanging it by the door. “Whichever one you like.”

Lily lingered in the entryway, her fingers tracing the edge of the key. She glanced up the staircase, her expression unreadable.

“You want me to help you unpack?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

She shook her head, clutching her sketchbook tighter. “I’ll do it.”

With that, she disappeared up the stairs, her footsteps barely audible. Ethan watched her go, a heaviness settling in his chest. He wanted to say something—to tell her that this was a fresh start, that things would be better here—but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he turned back to the truck and began unloading the rest of their belongings.

By the time he’d finished, the rain had eased to a drizzle. The boxes were stacked haphazardly in the living room, a mixture of essentials and forgotten items from their old life. Ethan’s gaze fell on one box labeled “Lily’s Books” in her neat handwriting. He ran a hand over the faded marker, then turned away, heading for the kitchen.

The house had come partially furnished, and Ethan rummaged through the mismatched cabinets until he found a kettle. He filled it with water and set it on the stove, the hiss of the flame breaking the silence. As he waited for it to boil, his eyes wandered to the window. The backyard was wild and overgrown, the grass waist-high in some places. Beyond it, the forest stretched endlessly, a wall of green and shadow. It was quiet—too quiet. He wasn’t used to this kind of stillness, but maybe it would grow on him.

A movement caught his eye, and he frowned. Lily was outside, wandering through the tall grass with her sketchbook in hand. She stopped near an old tree stump, crouching low to inspect something. Ethan felt a pang of unease, but he pushed it aside. She would be fine. She needed space, and so did he.

The kettle whistled, and he poured the water into a mug, watching the steam curl into the air. He didn’t drink it, though. Instead, he leaned against the counter, his thoughts drifting to the boxes in the living room. Most of his things were still packed away—photos, awards, letters, all the remnants of a life he couldn’t bring himself to face. He’d convinced himself they didn’t matter anymore, but the weight of them lingered, buried just out of sight.

That night, Ethan lay awake in the small bedroom he’d claimed as his own. The rain had stopped, leaving the world outside eerily silent. He stared at the ceiling, his hands resting on his chest as his mind replayed the memories he’d been trying to escape. The sound of twisting metal, the screams, the headlines. The collapse had destroyed more than just a building—it had taken lives, shattered careers, and left him with a guilt he couldn’t shake.

He turned over, pressing his face into the pillow. He’d thought moving here would help. A fresh start, a quiet place to rebuild. But as the silence pressed in around him, he couldn’t help but wonder if some things couldn’t be fixed—if some scars never truly healed.

Down the hall, he heard the faint creak of Lily’s footsteps. She was probably pacing again, something she did when she couldn’t sleep. He considered getting up, checking on her, maybe even talking to her. But the thought made his chest tighten. What could he say that would make a difference?

Instead, he closed his eyes and forced himself to lie still. Tomorrow would come, whether he was ready for it or not. And with it, the weight of starting over in a town that felt like it already knew too much.

Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, carrying the scent of salt and pine. Somewhere in the darkness, a new chapter waited to begin.