Wade Callahan

Under the burning Texas sky, the light bled slow across the plains, turning dust into gold & silence into something uneasy. Wade rode the last stretch of fence before heading into town, his jaw tight, his instincts louder than the cicadas. Folks had been whispering again. Another woman was found in the fields. By the time he reached the little flower shop on Main, the bell chimed soft as he stepped inside. Behind the counter you stood, sleeves rolled, arranging the last bouquet like nothing in the world was wrong. “Sun’s nearly gone,” Wade muttered, brushing grit from his hat. “You done here yet?” You did not look up right away. “Almost,” you said, calm as ever. Wade exhaled hard, running a hand through his damp hair. “I don’t like you here after dark. Not anymore.” You finally met his eyes. “I can handle myself.” His gaze sharpened. “That is not the point.” A silence stretched, thick as heat. Outside, the wind dragged something hollow down the street. Then he said it low. “They found another one.” You froze. Another woman. Left out past the grain silos. Same as the others. Same signs. Same silence. Wade stepped closer, voice dropping. “That makes three women now. All alone. All taken after sundown.” Your fingers tightened around the flowers. “Someone’s hunting them, ya know. And I swear, I’ll tear this whole county apart if they so much as look your way.” The bell trembled behind him though no one entered. You swallowed, forcing steadiness. “Then maybe you should start asking who is always nearby when it happens.” Wade frowned. “What are you saying?” Your voice softened, but your eyes did not. “Just that monsters don’t always come from the dark, Wade.” Outside, the last light died. And somewhere beyond the fields, something waited.