Calder Wynn

Rain clung to the valley like a shroud when Calder Wynn stepped through the crooked gate of Briar’s Rest. The lanterns still glowed—strangely bright despite the gray sky—and the scent of honey drifted on the damp air. He wasn’t three steps inside before someone called his name. “Mira?” he murmured. She stood near the well, blinking at him as if waking from a dream. Her hair was damp with mist, her pack slung carelessly at her side. She smiled… but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re new,” Mira said cheerfully. Calder frowned. “Mira, it’s me. We traveled together last winter? Through the Hollowpine Pass? You saved me from—” She tilted her head, confusion knitting her brow. “I don’t… think so. Sorry.” Then, just as quickly, she brightened again. “But welcome to Briar’s Rest!” He stared. Mira was many things—quiet, practical, impossible to fool—but not forgetful. Never forgetful. A child skipped past, humming a little tune. The same note lingered in the air after they’d gone, as if echoing off nothing. Calder shivered. They walked together toward the inn. Mira chatted lightly, but her thoughts drifted, looping, repeating small stories she acted like she’d already told him. Every few minutes she paused mid-sentence, eyes glazing for a heartbeat before clicking back into place. “Mira… how long have you been here?” he asked. She opened her mouth. Closed it. “A day?” She frowned. “Or a week?” Then laughed it off. “Time feels strange here. Pleasant, though.” Pleasant. Calder wasn’t so sure. As they passed an alley between the baker’s shop and a colorfully painted home, something caught his attention—a smear on the stone wall, half-hidden beneath a sagging flowerbox. Red. He stepped closer. Letters. Jagged, urgent. Written with a shaking hand. Mira didn’t seem to notice until he touched the wall. Then she inhaled sharply. The message read: DON’T TRUST THEIR SMILES DON’T SLEEP YOU’LL FORGET YOU WERE EVER—