Chapter 1 — Whispers in the Fog

Amelia Blackwood

The fog hung thick over Blackthorn like a suffocating veil, muffling the world in a gray blur. Amelia Blackwood tugged the hood of her coat further over her face as she walked down the main road, her boots crunching against frost-crusted gravel. The whispers had been relentless since dawn, a low, indistinct murmur threading through her thoughts, nudging at her consciousness like insistent fingers. Today, they were louder than usual, a tangled cacophony that crept under her skin and clawed at her composure. Her head throbbed from the effort of ignoring them, and every so often, a sharp pang lanced through her temple, leaving her breathless.

She focused on the quiet rhythm of the town waking up around her. A faint light flickered in the windows of the general store, the comforting scent of fresh coffee and frying bacon wafted from Maya’s family diner, and the distant clatter of shutters being opened echoed faintly through the fog. These familiar anchors usually gave her solace, but today they felt distant, unreachable. The whispers pressed down on her, rising in intensity until they seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat, a deafening static that made her stomach churn. She shoved her hands deep into her coat pockets and quickened her pace.

As she approached the diner, the whispers surged. Amelia’s steps faltered as her gaze fell on the noticeboard outside. A new flier had been pinned to the peeling wood, its ink still smudged from the damp air.

Missing: Jacob Lorne

Below the boy’s name was a grainy black-and-white photo of a teenager with a wide grin and messy blond hair. He looked younger than she remembered. Jacob had been in her grade at school—quiet, unassuming, a boy who preferred the company of books to people. She hadn’t spoken to him in years, but the sight of his face sent a cold knot forming in her chest.

The whispers rose in pitch, their murmurings sharp and frantic, like overlapping voices clawing to be heard. Amelia staggered, gripping the edge of the board for support as a wave of dizziness blurred her vision. For the briefest moment, she thought she could make out fragmented words—*forest... danger... guilt*—before they dissolved into incoherent noise. Her nails scraped against the weathered wood as she fought to steady her breathing, the sharp pain in her temple flaring again.

“Amelia?” A familiar voice sliced through the haze, and she turned sharply, her heart still racing. Maya Everett stood on the diner’s stoop, her hands on her hips and a concerned frown creasing her face. “You okay?” Her eyes flicked over Amelia, taking in her pale complexion and the tension in her posture.

Amelia forced a tight smile, brushing her hand against her coat as if to smooth away her unease. “Yeah. Just... thinking.” Her voice sounded hollow even to her own ears, but Maya didn’t press. She never did.

“Well, come on inside. You look like you could use some breakfast.” Maya’s tone was brisk, but her gaze lingered on Amelia, her hazel eyes soft with unspoken worry.

Amelia hesitated, her gaze flicking back to the flier and the boy’s face frozen in time. The whispers thrummed like a low warning at the base of her skull, but she turned away, following Maya into the diner. The bell above the door jingled as she entered, the sound bright and cheerful against the oppressive fog outside.

The warmth inside was a stark contrast to the chill that had seeped into Amelia’s bones. The air was heavy with the mingled aromas of coffee, syrup, and grease, and the steady hum of chatter and clinking dishes created a comforting rhythm. The diner was half full, with locals tucked into their usual spots. Old Mrs. Hart sat by the window, her wrinkled hands cradling a cup of tea, while two hunters in flannel shirts muttered over their plates of eggs and toast, their voices low and somber.

Maya waved Amelia toward their usual booth in the corner, her ponytail swishing as she moved. Amelia slid into the seat, the cracked vinyl cool beneath her hands as her eyes roamed the room. She tried to focus on the mundane bustle of the diner, hoping it would drown out the whispers, but they clung to her like smoke, sharp and insistent.

Maya returned a moment later with a steaming mug of coffee, setting it in front of Amelia with a loud thunk. She slid into the booth across from her, her brows drawing together. “You heard about Jacob,” she said quietly. It wasn’t a question.

Amelia nodded, wrapping her hands around the mug. The warmth seeped into her fingers, but it did nothing to thaw the chill in her chest. “I saw the flier outside,” she murmured. “Do they... do they know what happened to him?”

Maya shook her head, her expression darkening. “His parents said he never came home after going into the woods last night. The sheriff’s been out there with search parties, but no luck so far.” She hesitated, her voice dropping lower. “You don’t think it’s... y’know, that, do you?”

“That” hung in the air between them, unspoken but heavy with meaning. The curse. The werewolves. The unspeakable shadow that loomed over Blackthorn. Amelia’s grip on the mug tightened, her chest tightening as the whispers hissed and flickered at the edge of her awareness. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But... they’re louder today. The whispers.”

Maya frowned, glancing around the diner as if to ensure no one was listening. “Louder how?” she asked, leaning closer.

Amelia hesitated, her gaze dropping to the scuffed surface of the table. “It’s like they’re trying to tell me something, but I can’t make sense of it. Just... noise. Like static.” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard, willing herself to stay composed.

Maya reached across the table, her fingers curling around Amelia’s in a firm grip. “You’re not imagining this,” she said, her tone steady. “And you’re not alone, okay? Whatever this is, we’ll figure it out.”

The words were a fragile buoy in an endless sea, and for a fleeting moment, Amelia felt the weight on her chest lighten. But the relief was short-lived. The sharp trill of the diner’s bell jolted her, and she turned toward the door as a gust of cold air swept through the room.

A man stepped inside, tall and wiry, his dark clothing blending into the shadows that clung to him like a second skin. A jagged scar curved along his jawline, and his piercing green eyes scanned the room with unsettling precision. He moved with a quiet confidence that made Amelia’s skin prickle, his presence magnetic yet unnerving.

Her breath caught as his gaze landed on her, sharp and knowing. The whispers fell eerily silent, as if holding their breath. Amelia’s pulse quickened, her fingers trembling slightly as she gripped the edge of the table. Maya followed her line of sight, her brows knitting. “Who’s that?”

“No idea,” Amelia said, her voice barely steady. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he was watching her, even as he approached the counter and began speaking in low tones to the diner’s owner. The murmur of their voices was drowned out by the whispers, now thrumming faintly at the base of her skull, subdued but ever-present.

The rest of the day passed in a haze. Amelia’s mother deflected her questions at breakfast with the same practiced ease, her pale face tight with barely concealed worry. The whispers remained subdued but thrummed ominously, like an unseen storm gathering on the horizon.

When night fell, the town was thrown into chaos. News spread quickly: Jacob’s body had been found at the edge of Blackthorn Woods. The whispers roared to life, a deafening chorus that made Amelia’s knees buckle. Her hands trembled as she pulled on her coat and stepped into the frigid night, drawn by an inexplicable force.

The scene at the woods’ edge was a blur of flashing red and blue lights, the low murmur of onlookers blending with the whispers’ screams in her ears. Amelia lingered at the edge of the crowd, her hood pulled low as she strained to see past the sheriff and his deputies. The whispers reached a fever pitch, their voices overlapping in a chaotic din that made her head spin.

“It’s hard to ignore them tonight, isn’t it?”

The voice was calm, low, and unshakably certain. Amelia turned sharply, her breath catching in her throat. The man from the diner stood beside her, his green eyes gleaming with an eerie intensity. There was something almost predatory in the way he held himself, his presence both magnetic and deeply unsettling.

Before she could respond, he offered her a faint, cryptic smile and slipped back into the shadows, disappearing into the throng.

Amelia’s heart pounded as his words echoed in her mind. He knew. He *knew* about the whispers. But how? And why?

The crowd began to disperse, the murmurs fading into the stillness of the night. Amelia stared at the dark line of trees that loomed beyond the scene, her breath visible in the cold air. The forest seemed to call to her, the whispers shifting in tone, their cacophony taking on a strange, almost melodic quality.

Something was coming. She could feel it in her bones. And this time, she couldn’t run from it.