“Some would say a single snowflake of truth isn’t worth the avalanche it could cause,” he continues quietly. “Though,” he adds, eyes fixed on the fire, “the avalanche tends to come whether you speak or not.”
The village feels different—louder somehow. For late afternoon, it’s far from its usual docile self. Normally, the brick walls of myfather’s cottage seem to swallow sound whole, but today, noise seeps through, restless and sharp.
Our town is small. Dusty roads, a single convenience shop, one pub. Everyone knows everyone, and nothing ever really changes. My father is a welder—most lightworkers are. It’s an easy trade for them; they don’t need tools, only themselves.
As we pass the lake, I notice the looks on people’s faces. Hurried and focused, like they’re bracing for something unseen, a threat just around the corner.
“What’s going on with everyone?” I ask, sitting beside my father on the bench overlooking the water. The lake is unusually still, its surface stretched tight like glass.
“They’re preparing for the storm,” he says, though there’s a subtle tightness in his voice that betrays his words. “This town sees a few dark clouds in the distance and suddenly thinks the world’s going to end.” He lets out a soft chuckle, waving the worry away like smoke.
Across the path, our neighbour is already at work, hammering thick sheets of wood over her windows. Each strike echoes sharply, too loud in the late afternoon air. She pauses when she notices us watching and meets my gaze, her mouth set in a hard line.
“It’s going to be a bad one,” she calls out. Her eyes flick briefly to the sky, then back to us. “You should be doing the same, Leon.”
My father nudges my shoulder, suppressing another chuckle, but it sounds thinner this time. “We’ve seen worse, haven’t we?” he says, more to himself than to me.
He slips an arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer, grounding and familiar. I can feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, warm and real against the growing chill in the air.
“I quite like the rain,” he says softly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Because it washes away the dirt.”
Chapter Three
The forest whispers with the sounds of night.
Branches creak like old bones in the wind, and twisted pines shudder above me, their needles trembling as they loom. A thin ribbon of moonlight threads through the underbrush, guiding my steps, yet the ache in my chest slows me all the same.
Each step toward him grows heavier. Branches nip at my ankles, as though the earth itself is trying to drag me back. Memories of his touch—of soft lips and kisses that once awakened my soul and left me aching for more—urge me forward. But the memory of the night he changed pulls just as hard, like a twisted rope that cannot be severed.
The serum turned his love into a weapon, reshaping him into someone I didn’t recognise. A stranger. A man who still stares back at me whenever I close my eyes.
And though he insists he’s better now, his eyes betray him. They betrayed him when his temper slipped during training. When he pressed me into the ground, desire burning unchecked, something darker flickering beneath it.
I want to believe he’s still the Ryder I fell in love with.
But doubt clings to me like mist against my skin, cold and impossible to shake.
His silhouette becomes clear in the distance, leaning against a familiar tree, the same tree we once kissed upon without fear. My heart leaps for a minute and then sinks.
“There you are. I was starting to think you’d never come.”
His voice is soft when he speaks, but it still sends a shiver racing down my spine—a sensation that used to be desire, now tangled with something darker.
“Here I am.” I force a smile, keeping a careful distance between us. My arms ache to wrap around him, to pull him close and pretend nothing has changed. But his hands were once relentlessly locked around my throat. I bury the memory deep, schooling my expression as he takes a step toward me.
My body betrays me. I step back.
The silence stretches, heavy and brittle. His eyes linger on me too long, sharp and searching.
“What the fuck is going on with you, Asha?” His voice is edged with hurt now, confusion bleeding through.
“Nothing,” I say, the lie slipping out too easily. Because if he finds out that the serum still runs through his veins, there’s no telling what the thing inside him might do.
The avalanche tends to come anyway.
I shake my father’s words away; this could cause more than an avalanche, more than a hurricane.
“Don’t lie to me, Asha.” His teeth grind together as he takes another step closer. “You’ve been acting strange for weeks.”
