Eugene walked back to his car, the cool afternoon breeze brushing against his skin. He couldn't stop thinking about her—about Alana. There was something strange about her eyes. They weren't like he remembered. Back then, when they were kids running around Grandma Jane's garden, her eyes were a soft hazel, warm and bright. But now… they looked different. Almost unreal.
As he got into his car and started the engine, his thoughts drifted to the old journal. Grandma Jane had always said their families were connected, tied by something ancient. She used to tell him stories that most people in town thought were myths—stories about the gifted.
According to her, his family were hunters, protectors meant to fight off what lurked in the dark corners of Gray Hollow. Alana's family, on the other hand, carried the sight—the power to see into the past and sometimes even the future. It wasn't something they could control; it came and went like a storm. Grandma Jane always said both families were guardians of this town, keeping balance between the living and the unseen.
He remembered once asking her why she didn't have the sight herself. She had smiled faintly, the kind of smile that held secrets, and said, "Because Gray Hollow sleeps, child. When it wakes, so will everything tied to it."
The words came back to him now, echoing in his mind.
Maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe Alana just wore colored contacts. Still, the thought wouldn't leave him— especially the scars he saw on her hand when she stretched to pick up the broken glasses, and the ones on her face.
He turned into Erica's driveway a few minutes later. Her house looked the same—small porch, pots of flowers lined along the steps, the faint smell of freshly baked bread coming from inside. Erica opened the door before he could knock, smiling wide like she always did.
"Hey, you actually remembered the groceries," she teased.
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered with a half-smile, carrying the bags inside.
Her husband wasn't home, off at work as usual. They talked for a bit—small things about the town, the festival coming up, how the bakery was doing—but Eugene's mind wasn't fully there. He kept replaying the look in Alana's eyes, trying to shake off the unease it gave him.
After a few minutes, he said his goodbyes. Erica reminded him about dinner on Sunday, and he promised he'd be there.
Alana got home and set the few things she'd bought on the counter. They weren't much, but they'd do for now. With all this new free time, she tried not to think about the awkward moment with Eugene earlier. Freedom still felt strange—she didn't quite know what to do with it yet.
She paused in front of the mirror. Her eyes were shifting again, the color fading toward gray. She made a mental note to book an eye appointment, just in case it was an infection, but she felt no pain, so she pushed the worry aside.
Hunger won. She was genuinely happy to cook something she wanted, exactly the way she liked it. After lunch, she threw herself into fixing up the house—changing wallpaper, painting, moving things around—working nonstop until the sun slipped below the horizon.
By nightfall, exhausted, she applied the tonic to her scars, crawled into bed, and drifted off almost instantly.
After Alana finally drifted into sleep, her mind slipped almost immediately into a dream. It didn't feel like a gentle descent—more like falling through a trapdoor.
At first, she saw the kid from earlier that day. He wasn't speaking, just running through the woods. His footsteps were uneven, frantic, like he was trying to outrun something she couldn't see. Trees blurred around him, and the whole scene felt unstable, as if the dream itself kept glitching.
Then it changed.
A scream tore through the dark, sharp enough to make her flinch in her sleep. The boy was being dragged backward by unseen hands, his heels scraping the ground as he fought to claw himself free. The shadows swallowed him whole, and another image snapped into place before she could react.
Masked figures. The same ones from her first dream. They stood in a circle, silhouettes lit by a faint, sickly glow. Their faces were blank behind carved masks that didn't look human. One of them held a dagger—old, ceremonial, its blade etched with symbols she didn't recognize.
"Let me go," the boy sobbed, struggling against ropes she hadn't seen appear. Tears streamed down his face, disappearing into the dirt.
Alarm clawed through her sleeping body. Alana twisted under the covers, desperate to step forward, to reach him, to do something. But the dream didn't let her.
It felt like she was sitting in a movie theater—forced to watch helplessly from a distance while the scene unfolded on a screen she couldn't touch. No matter how much she willed herself forward, she remained stuck in her seat, unable to cross the boundary between her and the boy.
She tried to shout. "Stop! Leave him alone!"
But in the dream, her voice came out muted, swallowed before it could reach anyone.
The masked figures didn't react. They didn't even turn their heads.
The boy's cry echoed down what looked like a stone corridor now—dark walls stretching endlessly on both sides. The dagger lifted.
The boy's scream echoed through the stone walls, breaking into a sharp, painful pitch—
Then silence crashed down like a door slamming shut.
Silence.
A dead, heavy silence that made her stomach drop.
"No!" Alana screamed as she bolted upright.
Her breath came in shaky bursts. Her palm pressed against her chest, trying to steady the frantic thudding beneath. Her cheeks were wet—tears she didn't remember shedding. The room was dim, washed in the faint glow of moonlight licking at the floorboards.
A cold breeze brushed her face. She shivered before realizing the window was still open.
She checked the clock on her nightstand. Just past eleven. Too early for nightmares to feel this real.
"It was just a dream," she whispered, but the words felt thin and unbelieved.
She climbed out of bed, every step slow, her legs still trembling. She moved to the window and pushed it shut. Outside, Gray Hollow looked peaceful—quiet streets, empty porches, the steady glow of streetlamps. The kind of stillness that usually promised safety.
She held onto that image for a moment, letting it calm her racing thoughts.
Back in bed, she lay on her side, pulling the blanket up to her chin. The house was silent, almost comforting, but sleep hovered out of reach. Her mind kept replaying the boy's face, the masks, the sudden darkness swallowing everything.
Something about the dream gnawed at her, refusing to fade like dreams normally do.
It clung to her, sitting heavy on her chest.
And no matter how she tried to steady her breathing, her heart remained unsettled—like the nightmare had opened a door inside her she wasn't ready to look through yet.
The following morning felt unusually peaceful. After breakfast, she finally decided to make an appointment at the eye clinic—she needed to know if something was wrong with her. A late-night search on the internet had only made things worse; eye color changing in the span of three days was not normal.
With her mind made up, she headed into town. She wasn't sure why she had waited this long. She came to Gray Hollow for a fresh, peaceful start… not a new source of anxiety and fear.