Preface
(Samarra point of view)
I've often wished to live in a fantasy world, like I'm sure many other people do.
Fantasy worlds always seemed less… complicated.
There's a heroine who doesn't know she's the hero.
A soldier who protects her with his dying breath.
And a villain, boyfriend-shaped, just to really mess with your head.
They fight.
They love.
They win.
They live.
Simple.
So much less complicated than packing up your entire life into mismatched boxes, driving until the scenery blurs, and starting over in yet another town where no one knows your name, but everyone eventually learns your weirdness.
My life isn't a fairy tale.
It's not even a one-star-rated novel.
It's that book you kind of start reading, get bored halfway through, and abandon on a coffee table forever.
At least… it was.
The moment we moved to Mill Hollow, that all changed.
Chapter One: Rain and Other Bad Omens
Mill Hollow smells like wet earth and old secrets.
That was my first thought when we crossed the town line. No welcome sign, no cheerful slogan. Just rain. Relentless, quiet rain that felt less like weather and more like a metaphor for my life.
"Home sweet nowhere," I muttered, pressing my forehead against the fogged-up car window.
"You're being dramatic," Derrick said from the driver's seat. "It's charming."
"Of course you'd think that. You think abandoned gas stations are 'full of character.'"
"They are," he replied calmly. "That one back there had integrity."
I snorted. Derrick has this way of saying ridiculous things with complete sincerity. It's unsettling. But comforting. Like if the world ended tomorrow, he'd nod and say, 'Well, at least traffic will be better.'
The town slid into view slowly, old brick buildings, narrow streets, and trees crowding in from every side like they were eavesdropping. Everything looked… muted. As if someone had turned the saturation down on reality.
From the back seat, Catherine didn't comment.
She rarely does.
She sat perfectly still, hands folded in her lap, eyes tracking the treeline as if counting something only she could see. Catherine has this way of being present without being present. Like a shadow that learned manners.
If Derrick is the voice that fills silence, Catherine is the reason silence exists in the first place.
"You're staring again," I said.
"I'm watching," she corrected, without looking at me.
"Same thing."
"No," Derrick said. "It's not."
I sighed and turned back to the window.
The town slid into view slowly, old brick buildings, narrow streets, and trees crowding in from every side like they were eavesdropping. Everything looked… muted. As if someone had turned the saturation down on reality.
I rubbed my arms.
Catherine noticed.
She always notices.
"Ground yourself," she said quietly.
"I am grounded."
"You're dissociating."
"I'm observing dramatically," I corrected.
Derrick smiled. Catherine didn't.
She reached into her coat pocket and pressed something cold and metallic into my palm — a small, worn token etched with symbols I wasn't allowed to ask about.
"Just in case," she said.
I curled my fingers around it automatically.
I never ask what the 'cases' are anymore.
When the car stopped in front of the house, Catherine was out first. She scanned the street, the windows, the forest line. Not paranoid. Methodical.
"This is it?" I asked.
"This is it," Derrick said.
Catherine nodded once. "It definitely has… history."
"All it needs is a new coat of paint," Derrick said dryly.
"It looks like it needs an exorcism" I tried for jokey, but it came out way too judgy.
Catherine stepped onto the porch, boots heavy against the wood. "Can you try to be positive," she added. "Just this once."
I waited for her to turn and then pulled a face, which of course Derrick saw and gave me a look before ruffling my hair and walking to the front door.
Derrick popped the trunk, and it immediately began to rain harder.
Of course it did.
"That's personal," I muttered at the rain.
"I told you," Derrick said calmly, reaching in and lifting two full boxes at once like they weighed nothing. "This town is like a teenage girl. It loves to add a little drama to everything" he winked and went to drop the boxes in the living room.
I turned back to the truck and spotted the bag.
My bag.
The one Derrick had explicitly told me not to touch.
It was massive. Overstuffed. Probably violating several laws of physics. Derrick had tossed it in earlier like it was a pillow.
"Don't," he said, without turning around.
"I didn't say anything."
"You were thinking loudly."
"I can help."
He finally looked at me, rain slicking his golden locks. He ran a hand through his hair pushing it back off his face, expression flat. "Leave it, Mouse."
I scowled. "I hate when you call me that."
"You've hated it for sixteen years. Yet here we are."
He turned back toward the house.
Which was rude.
So obviously, I grabbed the bag.
It was heavier than I remembered.
Like offensively heavier.
I dug my heels into the wet gravel and yanked.
The bag slid.
I felt victorious for exactly half a second.
Then my foot slipped on the moss-coated ground, the bag yanked me instead, and suddenly gravity decided to remind me who was in charge.
I went down hard.
Flat on my back.
Rain soaking instantly through my hoodie.
The bag landed beside me with a dull, smug thud.
There was a pause.
Then Derrick sighed.
Not rushed. Not alarmed.
Just… resigned.
"Please tell me," He said, stepping into my field of vision, "that you didn't just try to prove a point to a bag that outweighs you."
"I had it," I said weakly, staring up at the grey sky. "It was cooperating."
He crouched, hands on his knees, looking entirely too amused. "Ah yes. The rare cooperative duffel bag."
Catherine glanced over.
Said nothing.
Which somehow made it worse.
Derrick offered me a hand. I ignored it on principle.
"I'm fine."
"You're horizontal."
"I'm acquainting myself with the moss," I snapped. "Becoming one with the land."
He laughed, actually laughed, low and warm, the sound cutting through the rain. "Well, I'm proud of you, Mouse. Mill Hollow appreciates commitment."
He scooped the bag up with one hand, like it had personally offended him, then grabbed my wrist and hauled me upright with zero effort.
I stumbled into him.
He steadied me instantly. My head spun and my vision blurred until all I could see was his piercing blue eyes.
For half a second, I forgot it was raining. Forgot the town. Forgot the way my skin always felt too tight.
Then he let go.
"Next time," he said lightly, "let the supernatural being handle the supernatural luggage."
I brushed wet hair out of my face. "You're not supernatural."
He smiled sideways. "Sure."
From the porch, Catherine finally spoke. "Inside. Before you try lifting the house."
I stuck my tongue out at Derrick and trudged past him.
Behind me, he murmured, "such a pain in the ass."
"I heard that!"
"Good."
And somehow, despite the rain and the watching forest and the weight in my chest,
I smiled.