Mark’s body—the crimson snow surrounding it. The deep gouge marks down his face. Shredded nails, like he’d clawed at his skin until nothing was left. Lips pulled tightly over teeth that were far too white.
This isn’t grief. This isn’t trauma.
It’s real.
Something is walking in Mark’s shadow, and it’s following me.
“Lumi.” Andrik’s voice calls me back to myself. He’s pointing toward the cabin. I follow his hand with my gaze?—
Just outside the front door, sits an obnoxiously large bouquet of snowdrops. Positioned deliberately so it can’t be missed. A sick little taunt of the nickname Andrik gave me. There’s no vase, just long green stems wrapped in?—
My breath hitches.
Anna’s scarfis wrapped tightly around the stems, knotted into a bow like a present. The fabric still smells like the perfume I got her on her sixteenth birthday.
I fall to my knees, snow soaking through my pants as bile hits the ground.
Andrik gathers my hair back gently while I dry-heave.
“Breathe, Saelûn. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
But I can’t. It feels like there’s a chain wrapped around my throat. Like the air’s been siphoned from my lungs.
How did he get this? She had it the night she was murdered, but it was never recovered.
I would’ve stayed out here in the snow on my hands and knees if it weren't for Andrik. He carries me inside despite my protests, tucks a blanket around my shoulders, starts a fire, and places a mug of something warm into my hands.
I think I nodded when he spoke—maybe even answered. But it’s all static.
The world is moving too fast and too slow at the same time.
I saw him. I heard him.
And I can’t stop seeing her scarf—smelling the hint of her perfume. It’s like a piece of her is back in my arms again.
“Lûvenkae, are you listening?” he says gently. “There was a note... with the flowers.”
My stomach rolls again.
“What?” My voice is raw. “Show me, I need to see it.”
I shoot off the couch, the blanket pools at my feet.
“I have it right here.”
I spin on my heel and stalk toward him. He unfolds the paper and hands it to me.
“So bold, following my shadow. You won’t have to wander long, little dove. I’m coming for you soon?—
as I always was.”
Andrik pov-
I smelled it before I saw it.
The subtle scent of flowers, spice, and rot hit me before the cabin even came into view. Beneath it, Lumi’s panic bleeds into the snow—fear rolling off her in waves I can‘t outrun.
She bolts from my arms the second she spots the bouquet on the doorstep. Her scent sharpens the moment her eyes land on the scarf tied around the stems.
