Whispers of the Turning Seasons (part 13)

Even after leaving the cabin, Evelyn could still hear the voice.

Soft.
Feminine.
Unmistakably intentional.

It replayed in her mind over and over again as Rowan drove away from the Vermont woods, faster this time, the wheels cutting through slush and fresh snow like a warning siren. The tension inside the car was thick enough to crush the air itself.

Evelyn stared out the window without blinking, her breath fogging the glass.
“Rowan…” she whispered.
“She said my name like she’s known me my whole life.”

Rowan kept his eyes on the road.
“She probably has.”

His answer made her stomach twist.

“She said I wasn’t ready,” Evelyn murmured. “Ready for what?”

“I don’t know,” Rowan replied, gripping the wheel. “But whoever she is, she’s unstable. She’s unpredictable. And she’s watching every move we make.”

Evelyn shook her head slowly.
“No. She’s not unstable. She’s too calm. Too deliberate. She chooses her words carefully.”
Her eyes darkened.
“She’s planned this.”

Rowan was silent.

Outside, the snow began falling again, heavier now—thick flakes swirling through the beams of the headlights like ash in a storm.

“We need to get you somewhere safe,” Rowan said.

“The cabin wasn’t enough proof already?” Evelyn muttered bitterly. “She was right there, Rowan. Right there. So close I could feel her breath.”

Rowan glanced at her.
His eyes held a mix of fear and something else—a protective edge she couldn’t ignore.

“We’re not going back to New York tonight,” he said. “It’s a two-hour drive in this weather. You’re exhausted. We’ll stay somewhere nearby and regroup.”

Evelyn didn’t argue.

She didn’t have the strength.


---

One Hour Later — A Small Inn in the Woods

The inn was small, warm, and looked like it had stood in that exact clearing since the 1800s. Wooden beams. Pine scent. A fireplace crackling in the lobby.

The owner, a kind elderly woman, handed them two keycards without question.
“Storm’s coming,” she said. “You two picked a good night to stay inside.”

Evelyn wished she could believe that.

Inside their rooms, Rowan insisted on checking every corner—closet, bathroom, window locks. When he finished, he stood in the doorway between their rooms.

“If anything happens,” he said, “call my name. I’ll hear you.”

Evelyn nodded faintly.
“Thank you.”

He didn’t move for a moment, watching her with a concern that felt heavy.

Then he closed the door quietly.

For a few minutes, Evelyn simply sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the faint hum of the heater and the storm gathering outside. Snow whipped against the window, and the wind hissed through the trees like whispers.

She should sleep.

She knew she should.

But her mind was too loud.

After a long stretch of silence, she reached into her bag and pulled out the wooden snowflake ornament.

The note was still tied to it:

“You were never supposed to find the report.”

Her fingers trembled.

“What do you want from me?” she whispered into the empty room.

No answer.

But something shifted.

A cold breeze brushed across her neck.

Evelyn whipped around.
The curtains near the window had moved.

No—were moving.

Slowly.

Silently.

As if a hand had brushed past them.

Her heart leaped into her throat. She grabbed her phone.

Call Rowan.

But before she could press the button, something hit the window.

Hard.

She jumped back, choking on a gasp.

Then she realized—

It wasn’t something.

It was someone.

A face.

A woman’s face.

Pressed against the glass.

Eyes wide.
Unblinking.
Staring straight into her room.

Straight at Evelyn.

Evelyn froze, unable to move, unable to breathe.

The woman’s lips moved.

Forming words Evelyn couldn’t hear but understood.

“Not yet.”

Evelyn stumbled back, phone slipping from her hand.

The woman raised her hand and placed her palm against the glass—
almost tenderly.

Snow swirled around her.
Her hair whipped wildly in the wind.
But her expression remained calm.

Too calm.

Too familiar.

Evelyn’s voice broke as she whispered:
“Who are you?”

The woman responded with a faint smile.

Then—

She stepped back.
Turned.
And disappeared into the trees.

Evelyn finally found her voice.

“ROWAN!”

The door burst open within seconds, Rowan rushing inside, gun drawn, eyes sharp.

“What happened?!”

Evelyn pointed to the window, shaking uncontrollably.

“She was here—she was right here—outside—watching me—”

Rowan ran to the window.

But the woman was gone.

Only her footprints remained.

Small.
Deliberate.
Leading straight back into the woods.

Evelyn sank onto the bed, burying her face in her hands.

Rowan closed the curtains sharply and knelt in front of her.

“Evelyn,” he said, voice firm, “look at me.”

She lifted her head, tears streaking her cheeks.

Rowan’s eyes locked onto hers.

“She’s escalating,” he said. “But so are we. Tomorrow, we go deeper. We follow the footprints. We find where she’s hiding.”

Evelyn swallowed, forcing air back into her lungs.

“Rowan…”
Her voice shook.
“She looked like me.”

Rowan stiffened.

Evelyn’s words hung between them like a blade.

“She looked like me,” Evelyn repeated. “Same jawline. Same hair. Same eyes.”
Her voice cracked.
“She could be my mother.”

Rowan exhaled sharply—

A realization settling in.

A truth they had been circling without naming.

If the woman looked like Evelyn…

Then “L” was no stranger.

She was blood.

And she wasn’t running from Evelyn.

She was calling her home.