Whispers of the Turning Seasons (part 8)

Snow swirled around them like white ghosts drifting through the cold night. Evelyn pulled her coat tighter as Rowan lowered his hood completely. Now she could see his face clearly — not dangerous, not cold, just haunted.

Haunted, she realized, in the same way her mother used to look when she thought no one was watching.

A strange ache tugged at her chest.

“What do you mean my mother asked you to save my life?” Evelyn demanded, though her voice came out softer than she intended. “What was she involved in?”

Rowan glanced up the street, making sure they weren’t being watched, before stepping closer. His breath fogged the air between them.

“Evelyn… there is something you need to hear. But you must promise to stay calm.”

She almost laughed. “Calm? Someone’s inside my house. You’ve been following me. I’m getting messages dated before my birth. Calm isn’t exactly an option.”

He nodded slowly, accepting her panic.

“Fair enough. But listen carefully, because this is where everything starts making sense.”

Evelyn swallowed, snow landing on her lashes.

“Eighteen years ago,” Rowan began, “your mother vanished for three days. Not kidnapped. Not lost. She disappeared because she was running.”

“From what?” Evelyn whispered.

“From a man,” Rowan said, “who believed she possessed something he needed. Something she shouldn’t have had.”

Her heartbeat quickened.

“What was it?”

Rowan looked directly into her eyes.

“A list.”

Evelyn blinked. “A… list?”

He nodded.

“A list of names. People who were being watched. People who were supposed to disappear. But she stole it before it could be completed.”

Her stomach dropped.

“My mother? Why would she do something like that? She was a librarian—”

“She was a librarian,” Rowan interrupted gently, “because she wanted to disappear from that world. But before she found safety in books and quiet rooms, she worked… somewhere else.”

“Where?”

Rowan hesitated. Snowflakes floated silently between them, as if waiting.

“She was part of an agency that tracked people likely to become threats or targets,” he finally said. “Not a spy agency. Not police. Something in-between — a private intelligence network with no official oversight.”

Evelyn shook her head. “That doesn’t sound like her at all.”

“That’s because you knew the version of her she wanted you to see,” Rowan said softly. “For your protection.”

Evelyn’s breath hitched.
A memory stabbed through her — her mother locking drawers at night, her mother pausing at windows, her mother flinching at certain knocks on the door.

Had she misunderstood all that?

“Why did she disappear for three days?” Evelyn asked, voice barely audible.

“Because she refused to hand over the list,” Rowan said. “And the man hunting her gave her a deadline — seventy-two hours.”

“Who was he?”

Rowan exhaled, long and troubled.

“A man named Santoro.”

Evelyn’s pulse stumbled.

“And he’s the one in my house now?”

Rowan’s jaw tightened.

“No. Santoro is dead.”

A chill far colder than the snow crept up her spine.

“Then who is inside?” she whispered.

Rowan took a step closer.

“The person who took Santoro’s place,” he said. “Someone far more patient. Far more calculated. Someone who has been waiting eighteen years to finish what Santoro started.”

Evelyn felt the world tilt again.

“And what does this have to do with me?”

Rowan looked at her with something like sorrow in his eyes.

“Because your mother didn’t destroy the list,” he said.
“She hid it.”
“And everyone who wants it now… believes she hid it inside something only you can find.”

Evelyn stared at him, unable to breathe.

“The box,” she whispered.

“Yes,” Rowan said softly. “The box. The letters. The dates. Everything was meant for you. Because she knew one day… they would come looking.”

Lightning cracked through the clouds overhead — a sharp, cold flash across the sky. The winter storm had arrived.

Evelyn’s voice trembled as she spoke.

“Rowan… what’s on that list?”

His eyes darkened.

“Names of people who were supposed to vanish,” he said.
“And Evelyn—”

He took one slow breath before finishing:

“Your name is on it.”