The fog clung to Crescent Bay like a shroud, swallowing the edges of the cliffs and muting the crash of waves below. Lila Voss gripped the steering wheel of her rusting hatchback, her knuckles pale against the cracked leather. The town’s welcome sign was barely legible, its letters peeling like old skin. She’d come here to escape—herself, her failures, the ghost of a life she’d left in pieces. But as the ocean’s growl filled the silence, she wondered if Crescent Bay was less a refuge and more a trap.

Her rented cottage crouched at the edge of town, its sagging roof and warped shutters looking like they’d seen too many storms. The air inside was heavy with damp and something sharper—regret, maybe, or secrets soaked into the walls. Lila dropped her duffel bag on the creaky floor, ignoring the unpacked boxes of paints and canvases. Her art had dried up months ago, after that night—the one she refused to think about. This town was her last shot to find the spark she’d lost. Or to lose herself entirely.

The Siren’s Call was the only pulse in this dead-end town, a bar nestled too close to the cliffs for comfort. Lila pulled her leather jacket tighter, her boots scuffing the uneven path as she walked. The fog pressed against her, cold and alive, whispering things she couldn’t quite hear. The bar’s neon sign bled red into the mist, its letters flickering like a warning. She pushed the door open, and the air shifted—warm, heavy with whiskey and secrets.

Inside, the bar was a flicker of life in the town’s gloom. Rough voices clashed over a jukebox’s mournful croon, and the scent of salt and liquor hung thick. Lila slid onto a barstool, her sketchbook pressed against her chest like armor. She wasn’t here to drink. She was here to feel something—anything—to break the numbness that had choked her art since the scandal that drove her from the city.

“Lost, or just passing through?” The voice was low, jagged, like it had been scraped from the cliffs outside.

Lila’s eyes flicked up, and her breath snagged. The bartender leaned against the counter, his gaze sharp enough to cut through the fog. His dark hair fell in messy waves, framing a face that was all angles and shadows. A faint scar traced his jaw, barely visible under the dim light. His black Henley clung to his frame, and his smirk held a challenge, like he already knew her secrets.

“Neither,” she said, forcing her voice steady. “Just... here. You always stare at strangers like that?”

“Only the ones who look like they’re carrying ghosts.” His eyes didn’t waver, and Lila felt a prickle of unease, like he’d seen the parts of her she kept buried.

She leaned forward, deflecting with a half-smile. “And you’re the expert on ghosts, huh?”

“Name’s Cade.” He didn’t offer a hand, just held her gaze, his voice dropping. “And I’ve seen enough to know you don’t belong here.”

Lila’s stomach twisted, but she matched his intensity. “I’m Lila. And I decide where I belong.”

He chuckled, a sound that was more warning than warmth. “We’ll see about that, Lila.”

The way he said her name—slow, deliberate—sent a shiver through her. Not fear, exactly, but something closer to hunger. She pushed the feeling down, opening her sketchbook to ground herself. “So, Cade, what’s the deal with this town? Feels like it’s hiding something.”

He turned to pour a drink, his movements precise, almost predatory. “Every town’s got its shadows. Crescent Bay’s just... darker than most.”

She raised a brow, waiting for more, but he slid a whiskey sour her way instead. The glass caught the neon’s glow, amber and dangerous. “On the house. You look like you need it.”

Lila took a sip, the tart burn waking her senses. “You’re dodging my question.”

“And you’re asking too many.” His smirk returned, but his eyes held something else—something haunted. “Careful, painter girl. Curiosity’s dangerous around here.”

Her fingers tightened on her pencil. Painter girl. He’d noticed the paint stains on her hands, the sketchbook she couldn’t let go of. “You’re observant.”

“Part of the job.” He leaned closer, his voice a low rumble. “You’ve got secrets, Lila. And I’m good at finding them.”

The air between them crackled, heavy with unspoken promises. Lila’s pulse raced, but she held his gaze, refusing to back down. “Maybe I’m good at keeping them.”

For a moment, they were locked in a silent battle, the bar’s noise fading to nothing. Then a glass shattered somewhere behind them, and Cade pulled back, his expression shuttering. Lila exhaled, her hands trembling as she sketched the bar’s jagged lines, the neon’s bleed, Cade’s silhouette. He was a puzzle, one she wasn’t sure she should solve.

Hours later, the crowd dwindled, leaving only the jukebox’s wail and the distant roar of the sea. Cade reappeared, wiping the counter, his eyes flicking to her sketchbook. “Still here?”

“Got inspired,” she murmured, her pencil tracing the cliffs outside. They loomed through the window, black and jagged, like teeth waiting to bite.

He followed her gaze, his jaw tightening. “Stay away from the cliffs, Lila. Especially at night.”

“Why?” She looked up, catching the flicker of something dark in his eyes—fear, maybe, or guilt.

He leaned in, his voice barely a whisper. “Because some things out there don’t come back.”

The words hung in the air, cold and heavy. Lila’s pencil stilled, her heart pounding as she stared at the cliffs. The fog seemed to shift, revealing a shadow that moved against the rocks—a figure, maybe, or just her imagination. But when she blinked, it was gone. Cade was already turning away, leaving her with a sketchbook full of questions and a town that felt like it was watching her.

Author’s Note: Hey, loves!

What do you think of Lila and Cade’s first spark?

Crescent Bay’s got secrets, and I’m dying to know what you think is out there in the fog! Drop a comment, Vote, and I’ll post Chapter 2 soon! Xoxo