With a sigh, she peeled off her raincoat, the plastic stiff and saturated, water sheeting off in long streams. She hung it on the old coat rack by the door, watching as it wobbled slightly under the weight. Her rain boots came next, thumping against the mat with a heavy sound. Hazel stepped out of them carefully, her socked feet immediately absorbing the chill of the floor as she crossed the room.
The house smelled like cinnamon and clove from the tea blend her grandmother had always reached for when the weather turned. She flicked on the kettle, the burner clicking before settling into its low, steady roar, and opened the cupboard to retrieve a mug.
As the water heated, she padded into the living room, leaving a trail of wet prints across the hardwood. The room glowed in warmlamplight, the quilted throw blanket still rumpled from where she’d curled up earlier with a book she hadn’t really been able to concentrate on. She picked up her phone from the coffee table and thumbed through a playlist until she found something quiet and familiar, a mellow acoustic track with no lyrics, just guitar and cello and the occasional breath of piano. She sent it to the speaker on the shelf next to the fireplace. Music filled the space like steam a moment later, slow and soft, curling into the corners of the room. Hazel exhaled, stretching her arms up and letting her body lean into the comfort of it all.
The kettle began to rumble in the kitchen and outside, the wind shifted, slamming a gust hard against the side of the house. The windows trembled in their frames. Hazel turned toward the noise, heart picking up. A dull crack echoed above the music— a sharp, unfamiliar pop that didn’t belong to the song or the storm.
She stilled and tilted her head, listening.
Then came another groan, like wood twisting, and a hardsnap.
Hazel jolted, bumping her knee against the coffee table as she moved. Behind her, in the kitchen, the kettle rattled faintly on the stove.
“Shit,” she hissed, pressing a hand to the sore spot on her leg. Her pulse was faster now, her eyes scanning the front window. She couldn’t see much beyond the blur of rain and shadows. Maybe it was just a shutter coming loose. Maybe a branch hitting the siding. Something in her gut twisted, warning her that it might have been more than that.
She headed toward the door again with a rough exhale, dragging her raincoat back off the hook and shrugging it on. Her fingers moved fast, still fumbling as she grabbed her boots and shoved her feet into them without bothering to straighten her socks.
The kettle began to whistle now from the kitchen but she ignored it.
Hazel yanked open the front door. The wind caught it immediately, shoving against her as she stepped out onto the porch. Rain slashed sideways, stinging her cheeks. The house groaned behind her, a wordless protest, and she reached up to hold her hood in place, blinking water from her eyes.
She stepped forward, one foot, then the next, and that was when she heard it.
The sound of something giving way. A deep, splinteringcrack. Close. Too close.
She looked up.
And the tree she’d once spent whole summers reading beneath was falling, heading straight for her.
There wasn’t time to think, just instinct.
Hazel stumbled backward, her boots slipping against the slick wooden boards as she threw herself toward the door. She didn’t make it, not fully. The tree struck with a sound like the sky splitting apart— a thunderous, wetcrunchas bark and branch slammed through the railing of the porch and crushed one of the support beams clean in two. The porch trembled in response, shaking from side to side like an earthquake had hit.
A branch lashed out mid-fall like a claw. It caught her thigh just as she twisted, tearing through the fabric of her sweatpants and dragging a bright, sudden line of fire across her skin. Hazel cried out, more in shock than pain. She landed hard on her side just inside the doorway, one leg still half on the porch, half beneath a tangle of fallen leaves and splintered wood.
Rain poured in through the open door, soaking the welcome mat and spilling over the floor. Hazel scrambled up on her elbows, pulled her leg free, and slammed the door shut behind her with a kick from her good leg, her heart hammering against her ribs.
She could hear the kettle hissing insistently from the kitchen.
She pulled herself to her feet with shaky movements and backed into a nearby wall, one hand pressed flat against it for balance as she looked down. Her hands trembled as she pulled aside the ripped material of her sweatpants, trying to get a better look at the damage. Her thigh was bleeding. The cut wasn’t too deep, but it was messy.
For a long second she just stood there, dripping and stunned, listening to the storm rage against the roof, to the water beating thewindows, to her own breath shaking loose in her throat.
She hobbled down the hall, dragging mud and water behind her, teeth gritted with each uneven step. The hallway light flickered once but held. Hazel pressed her shoulder to the wall as she reached the powder room and shoved the door open with her elbow.
The mirror above the sink caught her immediately— a sudden, unforgiving reflection. She turned her face away, breathing hard, and pulled open the medicine cabinet. Bottles clattered. A tin of vapor rub tipped sideways. She rifled through the contents, past painkillers, expired ointments, an old bottle of antihistamines with a faded label.
“Come on,” she muttered. Her voice sounded too loud in the small room. “Comeon.”
No first aid kit, no bandages. Nothing that would help.
With a sharp, frustrated breath, she slammed the cabinet door shut. The glass rattled, then stilled.
And there she was.
She stared at herself in the mirror, chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. Her eyes looked feverish in the low light— greener than usual, the way they always got when she cried or when she was angry. Her cheeks were flushed high with color, her freckles pronounced against the pallor of her olive-toned skin.
She looked like a ghost version of herself. Like someone who had just barely outrun something she didn’t have a name for.
