Chapter 1 REYNA – The Ring Still Fits, But He's Gone

They buried him on a Monday. The sky was overcast, colorless, like someone had drained the warmth from the world. The wind didn't move. The trees stood still. And I stood next to a hole in the ground trying to remember how to breathe.

Calen Draven. Twenty-eight years old. My fiancé. My almost-husband. Now, just a name on a headstone and a silence I can't fill.

I didn't cry. Not because I wasn't broken-I was. But the grief didn't come in tears. It came like smoke. Thick in my lungs, sour in my mouth. It settled behind my eyes and burned, but nothing fell.

They said it was an animal attack. A bear, maybe. Some freak encounter him in the woods where he liked to run. The sheriff said there were claw marks. Deep ones. That was all they told me.

They didn't mention the symbols. The ones scorched into the bark of the trees where he died. They didn't say anything about the way his body was found-not just torn, but arranged. I read that part in the report I wasn't supposed to see. I wish I hadn't.

The funeral was small. Calen never liked big crowds. The Dravens were there, dressed like the grief was tailored onto their bones. His mother wore black lace and pearls, but her face was sharp. She looked at me like I was the crack in the picture. Like I didn't belong next to the hole they were putting him in.

I wore the ring.

It felt heavy. Not like a symbol of love, but like a question no one would answer. The silver was warm against my skin, but my fingers felt cold.

Jez stood next to me. She didn't speak. Just slid her hand into mine and held it, solid and still. She smelled like citrus and old smoke. Her buzzed hair was dyed electric blue again. It clashed hard with her black funeral shirt, but that was the point. Jez never blended in, and Calen liked that about her.

"You okay?" she whispered, voice low enough that only I could hear.

I nodded. Lie number one of many.

The minister said something about eternal rest. About peace and memory and letting go. I stopped listening. My eyes stayed locked on the coffin as it was lowered into the ground. The finality of it didn't hit. It didn't feel like he was down there. It felt like he was somewhere else, stuck between.

When the ropes tightened and the wood disappeared below the earth, something cold ran down my spine. My skin pulled tight. I wasn't alone.

I turned slowly, like looking too fast might scare it away. At the edge of the cemetery, just past the crooked gate and half-dead trees, there was someone standing in the woods. Far enough that I couldn't see a face, but close enough to know they were watching.

Tall. Still. Like they belonged to the forest. Like the trees grew around them.

I blinked.

Gone.

"Did you see that?" I asked. Jez looked where I pointed, but the space was empty.

"See what?"

"Nothing," I said, swallowing the unease. "I thought-nevermind."

The crowd began to thin. The Dravens didn't speak to me. Calen's mother laid a hand on the casket before she left and whispered something I couldn't hear. His father wasn't there. He never liked me. Maybe that was mutual.

Jez walked me back to my car. The gravel crunched under our feet like bones breaking. My hands were shaking and I didn't know when that had started.

"Do you want me to come over?" she asked. "I could make tea. Or pour whiskey."

"I think I need to be alone. Just for a bit."

She nodded. Jez always knew when to push and when not to. She hugged me, tight and fast, then stepped back.

"Text me when you get home. If you don't, I'm calling the cops. Then probably breaking in."

"Noted."

She left. I sat in the car for a long time with the engine off, hands in my lap, staring at nothing. The ring caught the light once. It looked too bright.

I thought about Calen. The way he used to run his fingers through my hair when he thought I was asleep. The way he would hum under his breath when he cooked. The way he smiled when he looked at me, like I was the one thing in the world that made sense.

I thought about how the sheriff wouldn't look me in the eyes when he handed me the death certificate. About the scorch marks on the trees. About the shadow I saw at the funeral.

This wasn't over.

It didn't feel like an ending.

It felt like the start of something worse.

And deep in my gut, something whispered:

This wasn't an accident.

Whoever did it?

They're not finished.