Whispers of the Turning Seasons (part 7)

Evelyn stayed frozen on the corner, breath forming trembling clouds in the cold air. Her heartbeat thudded painfully in her ears. The second-floor windows of the house remained dark, like hollow eyes staring back at her.

Someone was inside.
Someone who knew exactly when she’d be there.
Someone who wanted her home at 7:42.

But who?

And why?

Her shaking hand reached into her coat pocket, gripping her phone. She checked again — still no call back from Detective Marcus. No missed calls. No messages. Just the echo of that chilling voice from the unknown number:

"Seven minutes."

Evelyn swallowed hard.

Should she call 911?
Should she wait?
Should she run farther?

The wind carried a sudden sound behind her — snow crunching under a slow, deliberate step.

She spun around.

Her breath hitched.

The hooded man was standing under a streetlamp, half his face shadowed. But he wasn’t approaching her. He kept distance, as if giving her a choice.

Evelyn’s instinct screamed to run…
Yet something held her in place.

The man lifted both hands slowly, palms open, showing he wasn’t armed.

Her voice came out barely above a whisper.

“…Are you following me?”

He shook his head.

“I was protecting you.”

His voice was deep, but warmer than she expected — not distorted, not threatening. Real. Human.

She tightened her grip on her keys.

“From what?”

He hesitated. Snowflakes drifted between them like drifting ash.

Finally, he said:

“From the one inside your house.”

A chill ran down her spine.

She glanced back at the dark windows.

“You know who it is?” she asked.

“No,” he said softly. “But I know who it is not.”

She stared at him.

“Meaning… you’re not the one breaking in.”

He nodded once. “Correct.”

Evelyn took a breath, studying him. His coat was thick, dusted in layered snow — he had been outside longer than she realized. His posture wasn’t aggressive. If anything, he looked tired. Worn down. Like someone who had been carrying a burden for too long.

“What do you want from me?” she demanded.

“To keep you alive.”

The sincerity in his tone cut through her fear for a moment.

“Why me?” she pressed.

He lowered his eyes.

“Because of the box you found,” he said. “And because of the letters.”

Her pulse spiked.

“You wrote them,” she said.

It wasn’t a question.
It was a certainty settling inside her.

He looked up, meeting her gaze beneath the shadow of his hood.

“Yes.”

Evelyn stepped back instinctively, hugging her coat tighter around herself.

“Why? Why send me cryptic warnings instead of just telling me what’s happening?”

His jaw tightened.

“Because you wouldn’t believe the truth yet,” he said. “You still aren’t ready. But I couldn’t let you walk into that house tonight.”

Her breath trembled.
The snow kept falling.
The silence between them grew heavy.

“Then tell me now,” she whispered. “Tell me everything.”

A long pause.
He glanced toward her house — dark, silent, menacing.

“It started eighteen years ago,” he said quietly.
“The year your mother disappeared for three days without explanation.”

Evelyn felt the ground tilt slightly beneath her feet.

“That’s impossible,” she said. “I would’ve known. My mother never—”

“She hid it from you. From everyone.”

Evelyn shook her head, backing up another step.

“No. No, my mother wasn’t involved in anything dangerous. She was just a librarian. She—”

“She was more than that,” he interrupted gently. “And she left you clues. The box, the letters, the dates. She knew the past would resurface this winter.”

Evelyn’s throat closed.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

She felt tears sting her eyes — from frustration, fear, disbelief.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

That was when he finally lowered his hood.

Evelyn sucked in a breath.

His face was younger than she imagined — early thirties, sharp cheekbones, tired blue eyes. A faint scar curved along his jawline.

“My name is Rowan,” he said.
“And I was your mother’s last request.”

Evelyn’s heart nearly stopped.

“My mother… knew you?”

He nodded.

“She saved my life once. And in return, she asked me to save yours.”

Evelyn stared at him, snowflakes melting on her cheeks.

Save her from what?

From whom?

Rowan took a step closer, voice dropping to a careful whisper:

“And tonight was only the beginning.”