Whispers of the Turning Seasons (part 14)

Rowan didn’t sleep.
Neither did Evelyn.

The inn felt less like shelter and more like a thin shell keeping out something ancient, persistent, and patient. Snow hammered the roof with steady force, and the storm wrapped the building in an eerie cocoon of white noise.

But Evelyn wasn’t thinking about the storm.

She was thinking about the face in the window.
The eyes.
The faint, unsettling smile.
And the way the woman had vanished into the dark like she belonged to it.

By sunrise, the storm had calmed, and pale winter light crept through the curtains. Evelyn sat on the bed, wrapped in a blanket, unable to shake the cold lodged deep in her chest.

A knock sounded at the connecting door.

“Evelyn?” Rowan’s voice.

She opened it.

He stood fully dressed, badge clipped to his belt, gun holstered, snow on his shoulders—like he hadn’t stepped away all night.

“You ready?” he asked.

No.
But she nodded anyway.

“We’re following the footprints,” Rowan said. “Her trail goes deep into the woods, maybe toward another structure. Clarke has a local tracker meeting us there.”

Evelyn swallowed.

“Do you think she wants us to follow her?”

Rowan hesitated.

“Yes,” he admitted quietly. “But that doesn’t mean we’re doing it recklessly.”

Evelyn looked down at her hands.

“I need to know who she is, Rowan.”

He stepped closer, voice steady.

“And we will. Together.”


---

Into the Vermont Woods — 9:15 AM

The forest was painfully silent.

Fresh snow had covered most of the prints, but the older ones—the ones from last night—were still visible. Small. Precise. Leading inward.

The tracker, a seasoned man named Alder, crouched near the first print and traced it with a gloved finger.

“She’s light-footed,” Alder murmured. “Long stride. Confident. Not lost. She walks like someone who knows these woods… and isn’t afraid.”

Evelyn felt a tremor run through her.

Rowan nodded. “She wants to be found.”

Alder stood. “Then let’s find her.”

They followed the trail deeper and deeper into the forest. Sunlight filtered weakly through branches heavy with snow, creating broken beams of light across the path. The cold bit through Evelyn’s clothes, but she didn’t complain. She barely noticed.

Every few minutes, she listened.
For a breath.
A whisper.
A footstep.

Nothing.

Then, after nearly half an hour of walking—

Alder raised his fist sharply.
“Stop.”

Rowan moved to his side.

“What do you see?”

Alder knelt, brushing the snow aside.

Evelyn leaned forward—

Then froze.

A drop of blood.
Brilliant red against the snow.

Another.
And another.

Alder stood slowly.
“She’s injured. Or she wants you to think she is.”

Rowan’s eyes darkened.

“Evelyn, stay close.”

They continued following the blood trail until it reached a small clearing. In the center stood a fallen tree trunk, split by age and weather. Snow clung to its bark like frostbitten hands.

But what lay on top of the trunk made Evelyn’s breath catch sharply.

A paper.

Folded once.
Held down by a stone.

Rowan grabbed it carefully.

“It has your name on it,” he said quietly. “Again.”

Evelyn’s heart thudded painfully as Rowan unfolded the note.

His expression shifted immediately—shock, then confusion, then cold anger.

“What?” Evelyn demanded. “What does it say?”

Rowan handed her the note.

There was only one sentence:

“If you keep him with you, he will die.”

Evelyn’s blood turned to ice.

She looked at Rowan, her voice cracking.
“Rowan… she means you.”

Rowan’s jaw set.

“She’s threatening us because we’re close. This is intimidation.”

But Evelyn shook her head violently.
“No. This isn’t intimidation. This is personal.”

Alder scanned the clearing, suddenly alert.
“Fresh tracks. She’s very close.”

Evelyn's breath came faster.
“She’s watching us. Right now. I can feel it.”

Rowan moved instinctively, stepping in front of her.

“We're leaving. Now.”

But Alder raised a hand sharply.
“Wait. There’s something else.”

He pointed toward the left side of the clearing, where a cluster of trees knotted together, forming a natural archway.

Carved into one of the trunks—

Deep, rough, unmistakable—

Was another word:

“HOME.”

Evelyn stared at the carving, her throat tightening.

Home.

What did that mean?
Was she leading Evelyn somewhere?
Calling her back to where it all started?

Or…

Was she luring her into a trap?

Before Evelyn could speak, Alder stiffened.

“Someone’s approaching.”

Rowan unholstered his weapon.
From his stance, Evelyn knew—
He believed it was her.
The woman.

But it wasn’t.

A man stumbled through the trees, gasping, clutching his side. Blood seeped between his fingers.

Clarke.

Deputy Clarke.

He collapsed into the snow.

“CLARKE!” Rowan dropped to his knees.

Evelyn rushed beside him.

Clarke coughed, blood splattering onto the white ground.

“She—she…” he choked out. “She knew… we were—coming…”

“Who? The woman? Did she attack you?” Rowan demanded.

Clarke grabbed Rowan’s coat, desperate.

“She said… ‘Tell Evelyn… it wasn’t supposed to be this fast.’”

Evelyn felt her entire body go still.

“She’s controlling this,” Rowan murmured. “Every step. Every clue. Every threat.”

Clarke struggled to breathe.
His voice dropped to a whisper.

“She… she’s not alone.”

Evelyn’s heart stopped.

Rowan leaned closer.
“What do you mean? Who’s with her?”

But Clarke’s eyes widened in terror.

He lifted a shaking hand, pointing behind them.

Rowan spun—

And froze.

A shape stood at the edge of the trees.

A silhouette.

A woman.

Still.
Silent.
Watching.

Evelyn couldn’t breathe.

Rowan raised his gun.
“Don’t move!”

But the woman didn’t flinch.

Instead—

She slowly lifted her hand.

And pointed directly at Evelyn.

Then she whispered, voice carrying like wind:

“Come home.”

And disappeared into the trees.