Mag-log in
The road to Hallow’s Edge swallows us whole. Fog curls around the car in thick, dragging sheets, smearing across the windows like fingers trying to get in. The air smells damp and metallic, like pennies, or blood, and every mile we drive feels like we’re sinking deeper into something ancient.
Ms. Carter hums along to the radio, tapping the steering wheel like this is just another Tuesday. Another placement. Another kid. Another town. For her, maybe it is. For me, it’s the seventh home in three years.
The fog presses closer, nosy and alive, and I can’t shake the feeling that it’s watching me. That the whole town is. Like Hallow’s Edge already knows I’m coming.
A dark shape darts across the road ahead. Too fast to be human. The headlights flicker. The engine stutters. A cold ripple slides through the car, raising goosebumps along my arms.
“Did you see...” I start.
But Ms. Carter doesn’t react. She just keeps humming, oblivious. Of course she didn’t see it. Things like that only ever happen around me.
I pull my knees up to my chest and rest my forehead against the cold glass. The fog thickens, swallowing the trees, the road, the world. For a moment, I swear I hear something in the static of the radio—a soft tone, almost like a voice. Almost like my name.
Raven.
My heart jumps. I look at Ms. Carter again, but she doesn’t flinch. Maybe I imagined it. Wouldn’t be the first time.
We pass a crooked wooden sign:
WELCOME TO HALLOW’S EDGE — WHERE HISTORY LIVESSomeone painted pumpkins along the bottom. Someone else scratched them out. The air changes the second we cross the town line. Heavier. Older. Like the town has been holding its breath and finally lets it out.
My hand goes to the silver crescent moon pendant around my neck. the only thing I had when they found me on the church steps as a baby. No last name. No note except my first name. No explanation. The pendant is warm. Too warm. It pulses once, like a heartbeat.
I swallow hard. Strange things have always happened when I’m upset, lights flickering, books falling, dreams that feel too real, but this feels different. Like the pendant is reacting to something out there. Or calling to it. The fog thins as we turn onto a narrow road lined with lanterns shaped like pumpkins. They sway even though there’s no wind.
“Hallow’s Edge goes all out for Halloween,” Ms. Carter says cheerfully. “Biggest festival in the county. You’ll be here just in time.”
My birthday is on Halloween. Eighteen this year. A cliché, I know. The car slows in front of a white farmhouse with a wraparound porch and a yard full of marigolds. Warm light spills from the windows. A dog barks somewhere inside. My new home. My new family.
I clutch the pendant until it bites into my palm. The front door opens. A boy steps onto the porch. Tall. Dark hair. Warm brown eyes that catch the porch light and look almost gold. He stares at the car like he’s been waiting for it. Waiting for me. Something inside me stutters.
Behind him, a girl with auburn hair bounces down the steps, waving like we’re already friends. For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel the urge to run. I feel… something else. Recognition? Warmth? Fear? Maybe all three.
Ms. Carter parks and turns to me. “Ready?”
No. Yes. Maybe. I open the door. The air hits me, cool, sharp, electric. It smells like woodsmoke and something humming just beneath the surface. The boy walks down the steps slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid to break the moment.
“Raven?” he asks.
I nod. He smiles, small, real. “I’m Noah. Welcome to Hallow’s Edge.”
The way he says it sounds like a secret. Or a warning. Before I can answer, the auburn‑haired girl practically launches herself off the porch.
“I’m Emily!” she announces. “I call dibs on giving you the house tour. Noah’s tours are boring.”
“They’re not boring,” Noah mutters.
“They are,” she fires back, then turns to me with a conspiratorial whisper. “He’ll show you where the towels are. I’ll show you where the good snacks are.”
I blink at her. She’s a lot. But not in a bad way. More like a burst of sunlight in human form.
Emily links her arm through mine. “Come on! Mom’s making chili. And cornbread. And pie. She stress‑bakes when she’s excited.”
Ms. Carter clears her throat. “Let’s grab your bags.”
“I’ve got them,” Noah says immediately.
He reaches for my duffel. When our fingers brush, a jolt snaps through me, hot, sharp, electric. Not static. Not nerves. Something else. Noah freezes. His eyes widen just a fraction. He felt it too. Emily tugs me toward the porch. “Don’t let him scare you. He’s nice, just broody.”
“I’m not broody,” Noah says behind us.
“You are,” she calls back.
The porch creaks under our feet. The pendant warms again, pulsing softly. Emily glances at it.
“That’s pretty. Where’d you get it?”
“I… had it when they found me.”
Her expression softens. “Oh.”
Noah steps beside us, my duffel over his shoulder. “You okay?”
I nod, though I’m not sure. The house smells like cinnamon and smoky wood. The lights glow warm and golden. It feels like stepping into a memory I never had.
Emily opens the door. “Welcome home, Raven.”
Home. The word hits harder than I expect. I step inside. The lights flicker. Just once. Emily doesn’t notice. Ms. Carter doesn’t either. But Noah does. His eyes snap to mine, sharp and searching. My pendant pulses again, harder this time.
A whisper curls through the air, soft as breath.
You’re late.
I spin around. No one is there. The house is quiet. Too quiet. Noah steps closer, voice low. “Raven… did you see that?” I swallow because I did. And whatever whispered to me? It wasn’t human.
I can’t stop laughing as Noah pulls me toward the cabin, our hands tangled together, the matebond humming like warm sunlight under my skin. The sky behind us is streaked with pink and gold, the lake shimmering like it’s holding its breath. Everything feels lighter. Brighter. Easier. Like the world finally paused long enough for me to breathe. Noah opens the cabin door and steps aside, letting me walk in first. The cozy warmth hits me immediately, the soft glow of the lamps, the faint smell of cedar, the quiet crackle of the fireplace he lit earlier. It feels like stepping into a safe place. A place meant for us.He closes the door behind us, and for a moment, we just stand there, facing each other, both a little breathless. His cheeks are pink. Mine probably are too. The matebond pulses gently, like it’s waiting.Noah clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay. So. Before anything else… I want you to be comfortable. And sure. And not overwhelmed.”I smile. “I’m not overwhe
I’m unpacking groceries in the tiny cabin kitchen when Raven asks the question that nearly makes me drop an entire bag of potatoes.“Noah… what happens when we complete the matebond?”I freeze. Absolutely freeze. My brain short‑circuits. My heart stumbles. The matebond flares so hard I swear the lights flicker.She’s standing there looking innocent and curious and completely unaware that she just knocked the air out of my lungs.I recover...barely. “We’ll… talk about it over dinner,” I manage. “Go freshen up. I’ll get things started.”She nods and disappears down the hall. The second she’s out of sight, I grip the counter and exhale hard. I want it. I want her. I want the bond complete, settled, whole. But that’s not what this weekend is for. This weekend is for breathing. For healing. For letting her be a person, not a prophecy.So I start chopping vegetables, hoping the rhythm will help me figure out how to explain something sacred without overwhelming her. How do I tell her what it
A week. It’s been a full week since my birthday, since the flames, since the prophecy, since the Nothing, since hearing my dad’s real voice for the first time in eighteen years.And somehow… life kept going. Mom and I have spent every day together. Cooking. Talking. Laughing. Crying. Learning each other in ways we never got to before.Emily has dragged me into town twice for “normal girl things,” which apparently includes milkshakes, thrift stores, and her trying to convince me to get a tattoo, since I'm eighteen now.Liam and Grace have been hovering like bonus parents. And Noah…Noah has been my anchor. Our matebond is still new, still glowing, still settling into place like a second heartbeat. Every time he touches me, even just brushing my hand, my magic calms.But even with all of that… I’m still spiraling. Because every night, I hear my dad’s voice in the Nothing. Every morning, I wake up wondering how to save him. Every hour, I feel the Hallow pressing at the edges of my mind. A
The moment I drag him back, he screams. Brad’s essence, what’s left of it, thrashes like a trapped animal as I slam him into the dark corner of our shared mind. The Nothing collapses behind him, sealing shut like a wound. “You pathetic fool,” I hiss.He gasps, flickering like a dying ember. “She… she heard me.”I tighten my grip around him, squeezing until his form fractures into shards of light. “She wasn’t supposed to,” I snarl. “You weren’t supposed to break free.”He laughs. Weak. Broken. But defiant. “She’s stronger than you think.”I slam him against the inside of our skull, the cabin around us flickering as my rage bleeds into the physical world. Shadows crawl up the walls, pulsing with my heartbeat. “She is mine,” I growl. “My vessel. My key. My destiny.”Brad’s voice softens. “She’s my daughter.”I twist him tighter, savoring the crack in his light. “She is the One,” I whisper. “Born of dual flame. Born to open the door you died to protect.”He shudders. “I didn’t die to prot
By the time we finish talking through the prophecy, my head feels like it’s full of static. Everyone looks exhausted, even Mom, and she’s usually the last one to admit she needs sleep.Grace suggests we call it a night.Liam agrees.Emily yawns so hard she nearly falls off her chair.I nod, ready to collapse. But when I stand, my feet move on their own. Not toward my room. Toward Noah’s. I don’t even realize it until I’m already inside, sitting on the edge of his bed with the prophecy book open in my lap. The pages glow faintly in the dim light, like they’re whispering to me.Noah closes the door behind us, watching me with that soft, steady look he always has when he’s worried. “You’re spiraling again,” he says gently.“I’m not,” I lie. He raises a brow. I sigh. “Okay, maybe a little.”He walks over, sits beside me, and without a word, slides the book out of my hands. He sets it on the nightstand like it’s a dangerous weapon. Maybe it is. Then he pulls me into his arms. Warm. Safe. S
The cabin materializes around me in a rush of cold air and dying embers. My head throbs. My ribs ache. My magic flickers like a candle in a storm. But none of that matters. Because I saw her. Raven. My daughter. My blood. My legacy. And now I know what she truly is.Jason storms into the room the second I appear, eyes blazing. “Where the hell have you been? Delaney and Drake got away! We had them...”“I don’t care,” I say flatly.Jason freezes. “What?”I brush ash from my sleeve, ignoring the pain in my side. “Let them run. They’re irrelevant now.”His jaw clenches. “Irrelevant? Delaney was the key to...”“She was,” I correct. “Past tense.”Jason stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. Maybe I don’t care. Because everything changed tonight.He steps closer. “Where’s Raven?”I look up slowly. “She got away.”Jason’s face twists with fury. “You let her escape?! Brad, we need her! We need—”“I need the prophecy book.”That shuts him up. Jason blinks. “What? Why? We don’t need
The farmer's market feels too bright today. Too cheerful. Too normal. Like the whole town is trying to pretend Drake isn’t still missing.Noah and his dad left a little while ago to join the search party. I watched them disappear toward the trail entrance, the bond tugging at me until they were out
Drake has been missing for a week. Seven days. Seven nights. Seven times waking up hoping someone found him, only to hear the same thing:Nothing.They found his backpack two days ago, torn, muddy, half‑buried under leaves deep in the woods. The sight of it made my stomach twist so hard I thought I
The second the final whistle blows, I know something’s wrong. Not because we lost, we didn’t. I played one of the best games of my life. But I barely remember any of it. Every throw, every snap, every hit… it all blurred under the constant pull in my chest.The bond. It started tightening during ha
The days after the farmer's market blur together in a strange mix of normal and not‑normal.Normal:My lotions and creams were a hit. Grace nearly cried when we sold out of the lavender jars. Emily insisted we celebrate with milkshakes. We spent two evenings restocking supplies and refilling jars,







