When I step outside, the rain has turned to mist, silvering the streets of Shadow Falls. Down in the valley, the distillery lights burn through the fog—cold, bright, and watchful.
It feels like they’re already waiting for me.
CHAPTER 1
Raine
The storm rollsin just after midnight.
Thunder presses against the valley like a heartbeat—steady and angry. The air tastes metallic, thick with electricity and the scent of crushed grapes from the barrels stacked beneath the porch. The whole house hums with ghosts tonight—old pipes, old secrets, old names that still make people lower their voices in town.
I’ve been here a week, and Shadow Falls hasn’t welcomed me.
First, it was the contractors Tristan Blackwell sent up the hill “by mistake.” Then, the water inspection “errors.” And finally, polite letters offering to “buy me out before the season turns.”
I shredded every one of them, giving each letter a middle finger before I did.
The rain starts to fall harder, drumming against the roof of the Voss Estate until the lights flicker once… twice… then cuts out entirely.
“Perfect,” I mutter, reaching for the flashlight on the counter.
Outside, wind pushes through the vines, bending them like they’re bowing toward something unseen. Somewhere beyond the ridge, lightning rips the sky open—and for a second, I swear Isee movement among the rows. A figure. Tall. Still. A white glint where a face should be.
I blink, and it’s gone.
I tell myself it’s the storm playing tricks. Or the paranoia everyone warned me I’d inherit along with this place.
But then gravel crunches outside the window.
I kill the flashlight. My pulse trips over itself as I edge closer to the glass.
Someone stands in the rain between the vines. Broad-shouldered, unmoving, a mask catching what little light bleeds from the storm—smooth, white, and blank.
A hockey mask.
A streak of lightning illuminates it just long enough to see him tilt his head—slow and deliberate, like he’s listening for something.
I push down the fear, letting my anger guide me.
The sound that leaves me is half laugh, half breath. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
My fingers tighten on the flashlight as I shove open the porch door and step into the rain.
“Whoever you are, you’re trespassing!” My voice wavers more than I want it to.
No response.
Only the patter of rain on gravel and the dull gleam of that mask.
“You think this is funny?” I shout, turning on the flashlight. Rain drips over me, dripping from my lashes. “Because I’ve got a?—”
He moves then—just one step closer. Calm. Purposeful.
The beam of my flashlight trembles across black fabric, the outline of broad shoulders, the faint shimmer of water sliding down the mask’s surface. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move again. Just stands there, the storm hissing between us.
“Stay back!”
Nothing.
