Chapter 1 The Edge Of The Forest

• The road to Silver Ridge was narrower than Ivy remembered, winding like a serpent through the dense mountain pines. Mist clung to the ground, curling around the tires of her car as if the town itself were reluctant to let her in.
• She hadn’t been back in over ten years. Not since her mother packed their lives into the trunk of a rusty Corolla and drove away without a word of explanation. No goodbyes. No looking back. Just silence—and fear Ivy didn’t understand at the time.
• Now her mother was dead. And the town that haunted Ivy’s childhood dreams had called her home like a whisper on the wind.
• The house was exactly as she remembered it: tall, gray, and tired. Perched on the edge of the forest, it looked like something out of a forgotten photograph, with ivy crawling up the sides and a porch swing that creaked even without a breeze.
• Ivy stepped out of the car, boots crunching over gravel. Her coat did little to block the chill in the air. Silver Ridge was colder than she expected for early October.
• She took a deep breath and climbed the steps to the front door. The key her mother left in a padded envelope slid into the lock easily. A click. A sigh of hinges. Then silence.
• Inside, the house smelled of dust, pinewood, and something faintly herbal—like dried sage. Furniture was still draped in sheets. Faded wallpaper curled at the corners. It felt like someone had tried to erase a life and stopped halfway through.
• Ivy set her bag down and wandered into the living room. A photograph caught her eye on the mantle: her mother, younger, smiling with someone Ivy didn’t recognize. A man with storm-gray eyes and a hand resting protectively on her shoulder.
• She picked it up, brushing off the dust. “Who were you hiding from, Mom?”
• A knock startled her.
• She turned sharply toward the door. Another knock. Slow. Heavy.
• She opened it—and felt her breath catch.
• The man on the porch looked like he had walked out of a storm: tall, all sharp edges and quiet strength. He wore black jeans, a dark jacket, and a scowl that might have been permanent. His eyes were the first thing she noticed—amber, glowing faintly in the gloom. Animal eyes. Watchful. Dangerous.
• “Ivy Thorne?” he asked, his voice a low, rasping growl.
• “Yes.” She instinctively took a half-step back. “Can I help you?”
• “You shouldn’t be here.”
• She blinked. “Excuse me?”
• “You need to leave,” he said, scanning the tree line behind her. “Tonight. Before dark.”
• Ivy’s spine straightened. “Who are you?”
• “Kael Voss.” He said his name like it carried weight. Maybe it did.
• “Well, Kael, I live here now. I’m not leaving.”
• His jaw flexed. “This town isn’t what you think it is. You’re not safe here.”
• She crossed her arms. “I came for my mother’s funeral. She left me this house. I’m not going anywhere just because a stranger knocks on my door looking like he wrestled a bear on the way here.”
• Kael stared at her for a moment, expression unreadable. Then, almost too quietly: “There are worse things than bears in these woods.”
• A gust of wind rustled the trees behind him. A distant howl echoed through the forest.
• Ivy swallowed. “Is that supposed to scare me?”
• “It’s not a threat,” he said. “It’s a warning.”
• He turned and walked off the porch, disappearing into the fog like a shadow swallowed whole. Ivy stood there, her heart racing, arms covered in goosebumps.
• She didn’t believe in ghosts, or monsters, or fairy tales.
• But something told her Silver Ridge did.