The first sound I really heard in Black Hollow wasn’t the wind through the pines or the creak of my new front porch.
It was a howl.
Thin and distant, it slipped through my cracked car window as I sat in the gravel driveway with both hands locked on the steering wheel, knuckles pale in the late afternoon light. The sound rose, wavered, and bled away into the trees that circled the town like dark, waiting hands.
“Dog,” I told myself. “Coyotes. Whatever. Small-town nature soundtrack.”
My voice sounded too loud in the cramped car, too brittle. I let go of the wheel, flexing my fingers. I’d driven four hours from the city with the radio off, just me and the endless two-lane road and the low, constant hum of my own anxiety. Now that I’d arrived, my body hadn’t caught up to the idea of stopping.
The house in front of me was smaller than in the listing photos, the paint more peeled, the steps more slanted. But there were flower boxes under the front windows with last year’s dead stems still poking up like bones, and someone had swept the porch recently. The gravel was neatly raked. It felt…seen.
I did not want to think too hard about that.
I popped the trunk. Autumn air bit at my cheeks as I stepped out, cooler than it had any right to be in early September. The town lay quiet beyond my little rental—narrow street, leaning telephone poles, the faint smell of woodsmoke. No honking, no sirens. No one watching from a car parked too long outside my building.
That alone should have made my shoulders drop. Instead they stayed hitched around my ears like they’d been sewn there.
“New start,” I muttered. “You wanted quiet. This is quiet.”
The second howl came closer. Lower. It shivered across my skin like something with teeth.
“Or not,” I said under my breath.
“Wolves,” a voice answered.
I jerked so hard I almost dropped the box I’d just lifted. A man stood at the edge of the front walk, half-shaded by the wild lilac bush that had claimed one corner of the yard. Tall, broad-shouldered, black coat despite the mild weather. His hair was dark, his jaw was hard, and his eyes—
His eyes were a color I didn’t have a ready word for. Not quite gray, not quite green. Sharp as cut glass, locked on me with an intensity that did not feel neighborly.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice thin. “What?”
“Wolves.” He nodded toward the tree line beyond the neighboring houses, the forest a wall of shadow and pine. “You hear them this time of year. They come down closer when the nights cool.”
I swallowed. “That’s…comforting.”
The man didn’t smile. He didn’t move closer, either, which somehow made him more imposing. He had the stillness of someone who knew exactly what he was capable of and saw no reason to advertise.
He lifted something I hadn’t noticed he was holding—a set of keys on a plastic tag. “You’re Avery Clarke.”
My heartbeat snagged. Instinct screamed stranger; old lessons whispered don’t confirm, don’t engage. But I’d been emailing with the rental agency for weeks. Someone had to bring the keys.
“And you are?” I kept the box between us like that would do anything.
“Laeton Hart.” The name landed like a gavel. “School director. Your landlord’s brother-in-law. He asked me to meet you. He’s out of town.”
I’d expected a friendly middle-aged real estate agent with a clipboard and too-bright lipstick, maybe. Not…this. Not a man who looked like he’d be more at home striding out of that forest than onto a school stage with a microphone.
I set the box down on the gravel. It scraped, loud in the stillness. “Right. Okay. Thanks for…” I gestured vaguely at the keys.
He walked up the path, steps soundless on the stones, and stopped a careful distance away. Close enough to hand me the keys if I reached. Far enough that I’d have to choose to.
I hesitated, then stepped in and plucked them from his fingers, my skin prickling as if I’d brushed a live wire.
His gaze flicked over my shoulder, quick and assessing. “You came alone.”
It was an observation, not a question. My hand tightened around the keys.
“Yes.” I met his eyes, because I’d promised myself I wouldn’t be small anymore, not even in ways that felt safer. “Is that…a problem?”
“It’s your choice.” No judgment. No warmth, either. “The town’s small. People notice new cars, new faces.”
“That supposed to be a warning?” I hated that my pulse stuttered with the word.
His jaw flexed once, like he was holding something back. “Just information. I’m responsible for the kids here. I pay attention when things change.”
Kids. Right. Director of the school. Not my warden.
I forced a breath into my lungs. The scent of him reached me then—clean soap, cold air, a faint metallic tang I told myself was just the old wrought-iron fence beside us.
“Well, I’m just the new librarian,” I said. “I’ll be the one shushing them.”
A flicker. Not quite a smile, but something eased around his mouth. “The library’s needed someone steady for a while. The last one only lasted two months.”
My stomach kicked. “Why?”
He held my gaze for a heartbeat longer than was comfortable. “You’ll hear stories. Make up your own mind.”
I looked away first, toward the house, the porch, the door that would be mine to lock. Mine to open.
As if summoned by the thought, another sound drifted over the street—a car door closing, a light, easy laugh. I glanced back to see a second man coming up the sidewalk from the opposite direction, hands full of cardboard boxes, a grin already in place.
Where Laeton Hart was angles and shadow, this one was all warmth and sun. Lighter brown hair in a messy sweep, stubble that wanted to be a beard when it grew up, worn jeans and a flannel shirt rolled at the sleeves. His eyes caught mine—blue, open, delighted in a way that made something in my chest lean forward without my permission.
“You must be Avery,” he called, like we were old friends spotting each other across a crowded café. “I promise I’m not a serial killer, I just look like I own too many power tools.”
The line was ridiculous. It worked anyway. A startled laugh escaped me, shaking something loose.
“Cade Rowan,” he said, adjusting his grip on the boxes as he reached the bottom of my steps. “I’m next door. Your neighbor, not your stalker.”
The word hit me like a slap. For an instant, the quiet street flickered and became a loud one: honking, engines, the heavy tread behind me that never quite caught up but never quite fell back. My vision tunneled.
Then Cade’s expression changed, just a fraction—concern tightening his brows, his voice dipping softer. “Hey. Too much? Sorry. Bad joke.”
I dragged myself back to the present, to the scent of pine and dust and the man in front of me lowering the boxes carefully to the porch so his hands were empty, nonthreatening.
“It’s fine,” I lied. “Just…long drive.”
His gaze searched my face like he wanted to say more, but Laeton cleared his throat behind me, the quiet sound somehow slicing the moment in two.
“Rowan,” he said.
Cade straightened, the easy friendliness stiffening around the edges. “Hart.”
They looked at each other for a second—a weighty silence I didn’t understand passing between them. The air seemed to grow heavier, thicker, as if the wind itself was waiting.
“Helping the new neighbor,” Cade said, smile returning, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “Figured she shouldn’t break her back on day one.”
“I’ve given her the keys.” Laeton’s tone had cooled by several degrees. “I’ll need a few minutes inside to go over the locks, Ms. Clarke. After that, it’s up to you who you invite in.”
The phrasing snagged me. Up to you. As if there might be some question about that.
Cade’s fingers curled loosely around the edge of one box, knuckles paling. “I’m sure we can sort out locks later. She looks tired.”
I was right there, and yet somehow I felt like a flag in the middle of someone else’s territory line.
“I can handle a tour,” I said quickly, looking from one to the other. “And then I’ll…probably crash. Alone.”
Cade’s gaze snapped back to me. For a fleeting moment, something unguarded flickered there, like hurt, or disappointment, or just the bruised ego of a man who’d expected a different answer.
Then the grin was back, brighter. Too bright. “Of course. Hey, I’ll still unload these on the porch so you don’t have to. Welcome committee, okay?”
He lifted the boxes again before I could protest and bounded up the steps. His body brushed past mine, solid heat and the faint scent of cedarwood and coffee. My skin lit up in its wake, traitorous and aware.
Compared to him, Laeton felt like a winter storm standing too close to the glass—dangerous if you stepped outside, but safely distant so long as you stayed in.
“Thank you,” I said to Cade, because my mother had raised me to be polite and because it was easier than addressing whatever weird pissing contest was happening in my front yard.
He flashed me another soft, crooked smile that made my insides go oddly weightless. “Anytime. Seriously. If you need anything, my place is the one with the ridiculous porch lights. I’ll leave them on tonight so you know which door to bang on if it gets too quiet.”
“Laeton’s right,” he added, tipping his chin toward the trees with a rueful shrug. “You’ll hear the wolves. They sound closer than they are. Don’t freak out.”
“Lock your doors,” Laeton said, the words clipped. “Especially after dark. To everyone, no matter how well you think you know them.”
The last part was unmistakably aimed at Cade.
Cade only spread his hands, the boxes balanced easily in his arms. “You’re terrifying enough, Hart, I doubt she’ll be opening to anyone.”
“I’m cautious,” Laeton said. “There’s a difference.”
“Says the man who carries a gun to PTA meetings.”
Laeton didn’t react, but the muscle in his jaw jumped again. My gaze dropped, almost against my will, to the line of his coat. Was there a gun there? A knife? Both? Was that normal here?
“You’re scaring her,” Cade murmured, angling his body slightly in front of mine, a subtle shield that made my heart twist in both gratitude and unease.
“I’m informing her,” Laeton corrected. He looked at me then, his eyes softer than his voice. “Ms. Clarke. Black Hollow is…isolated. We get our share of drifters. People who think no one will notice what they do here. You’re new. That makes you interesting to them.”
His gaze flicked, infinitesimal, toward Cade.
I felt the room I hadn’t even entered yet tilt under my feet.
“Okay,” I said. “So…I lock my doors. Common sense.”
“And your windows,” he added. “Especially the bedroom ones. Even if it’s hot. Even if you ‘just crack them a little.’ Don’t leave them open at night.”
Cade huffed a soft laugh. “You planning to terrify her straight back to the city?”
“I’m planning to keep her alive.” The words were flat, but something inside them hummed.
It was too much. The empty house at my back, the forest at my front, these two men tangling invisible lines between them over my head. My skin felt too tight.
“I appreciate the advice,” I said, carefully. “But I can—” I almost said take care of myself and choked on it. Because hadn’t I spent the last year learning the limits of that sentence?
Cade’s shoulder brushed my arm as he set the boxes down just inside the doorway I’d finally unlocked. “You’re not alone here,” he said, low. For me, not for Laeton. “Okay? Not anymore.”
The words slid in too easily. I swallowed them with a nod I didn’t mean to give.
Laeton watched, eyes narrowed the slightest bit, reading tension in my body I didn’t want anyone to see. “I’ll walk the perimeter,” he said abruptly. “Make sure everything’s as it should be.”
“Is this a crime scene or a rental?” I muttered, but he was already moving past the porch, along the side of the house toward the narrow strip of yard and the sagging fence.
Cade chuckled. “He’s always like that. Don’t take it personally. He catalogues exits and potential threats for a living. Or for fun. Hard to tell.”
“He said he’s the school director.”
“Yeah.” Cade’s smile turned wry. “And Black Hollow’s resident boogeyman. Kids behave when they think he might appear behind them if they talk in class.”
I looked past Cade to where Laeton’s dark form moved along the fence line, head tilted as if listening to something beyond the normal sounds of a late afternoon.
“Is it safe?” I asked, before I could stop myself.
Cade followed my gaze. For a beat, the warmth in his face cooled, eyes narrowing just enough to make his features seem sharper. Then he shook it off, turning back to me with that easy brightness.
“Safer than most places,” he said. “You picked a good town. It’s…special here.”
Special. I thought of the howls, the way the forest seemed to lean in. The keys were a weight in my hand. The door, solid and old, waited.
“Come on,” Cade said gently. “Let’s get you inside before Hart starts checking under the bed for monsters.”
He stepped back, giving me space to cross the threshold first. I did, the floorboards sighing under my boots, dust ghosting up in the slanting light. My new life smelled like old wood and forgotten paper.
Behind me, the house settled. The wind stirred the trees. Somewhere in the distance, impossibly close, something howled again.
I turned toward the sound, pulse tripping, and found Laeton Hart framed in the back doorway that led to the small yard, his silhouette blocking the fading sun. His gaze was fixed not on me, but on the tree line.
When he finally spoke, his voice was so soft I almost didn’t catch it.
“Just remember,” he said. “If someone knocks after dark…
Don’t open the door. Even if you know their voice.”
The last word lingered in the air between us, clinging like smoke.
I wrapped my fingers tighter around the doorknob, suddenly aware of how thin wood could be.
And for the first time since I’d decided to move to Black Hollow, I wondered if my monsters had simply traded city streets for trees.
