The little girl’s eyebrows knotted as she tried to collect her memories. She remembered the playground, the swing, the sun’s warmth sticking to her skin, the old man, the dark shadow that followed him, and the…moth. The small, little moth that disappeared into his old, flappy ear.
“Don’t know,” she shrugged, pressure squeezing her chest tight.
Her mum caressed her cheek, the touch gentle, safe, like a whispered bedtime story. Tears started to gather in the girl’s eyes. She felt guilty, she just wasn’t sure why. Her mum’s expression was a mixture of worry and practiced calmness. She rolled off one of her bracelets, the one made of green crystals, and fixed it around her daughter’s wrist.
“Here,” she said, “remember what we talked about. Stay hidden, stay safe. Sometimes hiding means surviving.” She tucked a loose lock behind her daughter’s ear.
The girl ran her fingers over the cold stones around her wrist.
“You don’t need this anymore?” she asked her mum, who gave her a smile while shaking her head.
“And one day, you won’t either,” she answered, straightening up.
The two walked the long path to the park gate, leaving behind the old man and the ever-growing crowd. Neither of them looked back. So neither of them saw the little dark moth slip from the gaping mouth of the dead old man.
CHAPTER ONE
ELODIE
England, Many Years Later
The night sank its teeth into the earth, frost glazing the pavement like breath on glass. The air turned sharp with cold as November crept toward winter, threading chill through every crack in the street.
I zipped my coat higher, burying my nose into the scarf wrapped tight around my neck as I stepped off the old bus, leaving behind the acrid smell of cigarettes. Wind slapped my face, stinging my eyes, while I kept my gaze fixed on the cobblestones.
The streets of East London were clogged with people, but I slipped through the crowd like smoke. From the way they stepped aside, I had a feeling they mistook me for a thief of the night. Cloaked in shadows, faceless. Good. It was better to be feared than to be the one afraid. That was one of the things my mum always used to say, and over the years, it has settled into my bones.
I turned down a narrow side street, lit only by a flickering lamp post. My chest eased. Empty streets offered quiet comfort,the kind people never could. I let the stillness settle over me, the darkness draping itself around my shoulders like an old friend.
Bad things lurk in the dark, bug. Never trust the shadows.
My mum’s voice caught in the waves of my memory. Still, I couldn’t help it. The darkness steadied me. When everything else broke apart, when grief sank its claws into my spine, when the world tilted and spun and forgot me entirely, the dark remained. It didn’t flinch. It didn’t question. It simply was.
I slowed, letting the sound of my boots against the slick cobblestones anchor me. My breath curled into the cold air, white and fragile, and for a moment I almost forgot how late I was. Almost.
Annoyance swam through my veins. If Johnny hadn’t spent half of his shift on his phone instead of realigning the books by the shop’s window, like he was supposed to be doing, I could’ve caught an earlier bus. Then, I wouldn’t be sweating through my jacket?—
Something shifted at the edge of my vision.
A familiar ripple of motion beneath the flickering lamplight. A dark shape coiled in the shadow. A mass of smoke, soundless and slow. It hovered just beyond reach, where light dissolved into nothing. Watching. Waiting. The air thinned in my lungs, a quiet pressure building in my ribs. My fingers curled around the penknife resting in my pocket, instinct thrumming like a second pulse.
The shadows swirled. Not in anger, but with warning. As they always did.
The first time I saw them was three months ago. I was on my way home from my nightshift, half asleep, half lost in my thoughts, when they appeared out of thin air. Two weeks after my mum’s death. It was a night too cold, too lonely, for something like that to happen. But it did.
While I was wary of the shadow, I failed to notice the real danger that lurked behind me. A group of boys—not men, boys—around my age. I barely escaped…
Since then, every time the shadows appeared, something awful followed. A flock of birds fell dead from the sky, their bodies breaking on the pavement. Just like that. A bus, turning too sharply, and nearly sending me flying into a brick wall.
But this time, the street around me was hollow. Nothing was out of place. No birds. No bus. No men. Just me, and the shadow.
I was about to move on, to pretend I hadn’t seen it, when?—
Footsteps.
Splashing through puddles behind me, slow and purposeful. My grip tightened on the knife, my pulse surging into my throat. I glanced over my shoulder to see a man, his face hidden by a hood.
I slowed, wanting him to pass me by, but as I did, he did too. My shoulders tensed. The cold slipped away, drowned beneath the rush of blood. I quickened my pace, and he followed. My gaze found the shadow again. Here it was. My doom. My palm began to sweat around the biting cold of my knife.
