Whispers of the Turning Seasons (part 10)

The tenth night felt heavier than the nine before it—thicker, denser, as though the air itself sensed what Evelyn had uncovered at the library. Snow fell lazily outside her apartment window in Brooklyn, soft flakes drifting downward like a curtain that wanted to isolate her from the world. December was growing harsher, but what chilled her more was the knowledge she carried.

Her phone buzzed for the eleventh time in twenty minutes.
Detective Rowan.

She ignored it.

Not because she didn’t want to talk to him—she did. More than she wanted to. But there was something she needed to understand first, something she needed to confront alone before dragging someone else into the fire with her.

On the table in front of her lay the document she had copied from the library archive:
A missing person report from 1996.
Filed by Margaret Hart.
The missing person: A newborn girl, unnamed. Found abandoned near an isolated cabin in Vermont.

The notes made Evelyn’s stomach twist.

“Infant recovered alive. Mother unidentified. No trace of biological parents.”

She reread the name of the officer who responded to the call:

Officer Michael Rowan.

Her pulse spiked.
Rowan’s father.

The questions swarmed:
Had Rowan known?
Had he suspected something?
Was that why he was so insistent on helping her?

A rapid knock shattered the silence.

Evelyn nearly jumped out of her skin.

She didn’t even need to check the peephole—she knew who it was.

When she opened the door, Rowan stood there in the dim hallway, snow in his hair, shoulders tense beneath a heavy winter coat. His eyes scanned her face instantly.

“You didn’t answer your phone.”

“I know.”

“You okay?”

She stepped aside silently. He entered.

The moment the door closed, the warmth of the apartment felt suffocating.

Rowan took one look at the file on the table, and his expression darkened.

“You found something.”

“I found too much.” Her voice cracked. “Sit.”

He did.

Evelyn sat opposite him and slid the printed copy forward.

He read it slowly.

Line by line.

When he reached his father’s name, something in his jaw tightened. A shadow moved across his eyes. A shadow she had never seen before.

“El—” he began, voice low, “—where did you get this?”

“In the library. Buried inside local incident scans. Someone tried hard to hide it.”

He inhaled deeply, leaning back.
“My father responded to hundreds of calls. Thousands. This doesn’t mean—”

“It does.” She cut him off. “Because the abandoned baby? The one they found?”
Her breath shook.
“That baby was me, Rowan.”

The words might as well have been a thunderclap.

He stared at her, stunned. Not blinking.

When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible.
“You’re sure?”

“The date matches. The location matches. And the photo—it looks exactly like the blanket my mom kept in that box I found. She lied to me. She adopted me but never filed the paperwork legally. She hid who I was. She hid everything.”

Rowan was quiet for several long beats.

“Evelyn… this means someone left you alone in the woods. Intentionally.”

“I know.”

“And the person who found you—”
“My adoptive mother.” She finished. “Yes.”

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Okay. Okay. We’re not panicking. This is good. It’s something real, finally. A lead.”

But Evelyn wasn’t thinking about leads.
She was thinking about the message in the first box.

You will learn the truth when the world grows cold again.

December.
Snow.
Winter.

And the message left under her pillow two nights ago:

NOT YET.

Someone was watching.
Someone knew exactly what she discovered.

“Rowan,” she whispered, “I think whoever abandoned me… never left my life.”

He froze.
“What makes you think that?”

Her chest rose and fell faster.

“Because I think they’ve been following me.”
Her voice trembled.
“And I think they’re still here.”

A sudden thump outside the apartment door made both of them look up sharply.

Rowan stood instantly, hand moving to the holster under his coat.

Evelyn’s heart hammered.

Another sound—light, quick, definite.

Someone was outside.

Rowan moved silently toward the door and peered through the peephole.

Then he swore under his breath.

“What? Who is it?” Evelyn whispered.

“It’s not a person,” he muttered. “It’s… a package.”

Her blood ran cold.

A package.

Left at her door.

Just like the first box.

Just like before.

Rowan slowly opened the door, grabbed the package, and shut it again.

It was smaller than the last one. Wrapped neatly in plain brown paper. No sender. No markings.

Just her name.

Evelyn.

Written in the exact same handwriting.

Rowan looked at her.
“Do you want me to open it?”

“No.”
She swallowed thickly.
“I need to do it.”

Her fingers trembled as she tore the paper.

Inside was a small wooden ornament—hand-carved. Rough around the edges. A snowflake shape.

And tied to it with thin red string…

A note.

Evelyn unfolded it slowly.

One sentence.

“You were never supposed to find the report.”

Rowan’s hand moved protectively toward her shoulder.

But Evelyn wasn’t looking at him.

She was staring at the note.

At the handwriting.

The same handwriting from the previous boxes.

The same message style.

The same person.

Someone who knew her past.

Someone who didn’t want her to uncover it.

Someone who was getting closer.

Her voice cracked into a whisper.

“Rowan… they know.”

And with a sinking dread, she realized—

Whoever had abandoned her in the woods twenty-eight years ago…
was now standing in the shadows of her present.
And they didn’t want to let her go.