Chapter 3 The Note That Shouldn’t Exist Eveline Shore

I read the words again, even though they were burned into my mind the moment I saw them:

“You weren’t alone, Eveline.”

My fingers tightened around the damp paper until it crinkled.

My mother hovered behind me, her breath shaky, her hand clenched around the railing as though she needed the wood to stay upright.

“This… this doesn’t make sense,” she whispered. “Who would write this? And why leave it here?”

I swallowed hard, my pulse thundering in my ears. “Someone was watching that night. The night Silas disappeared.”

Her eyes widened with fear so sharp it made my chest tighten. I couldn’t stand seeing her look like that—like she was losing me too.

“We should take that to the sheriff,” she said.

“No.”

The answer came too fast, too certain.

My mother’s face creased. “Eveline—”

“If the sheriff gets this, it disappears into some stack of forms. Another piece of ‘unreliable evidence.’ Another thing they can dismiss.” I ran my finger over the ink. “But if someone left this for me… they want me to see it. Not the sheriff.”

A cold gust pushed the fog in thick waves across the pier, and the hairs on the back of my neck lifted. I could feel the eyes again—the same invisible pressure I felt earlier.

Someone had been here.

Recently.

Watching.

“Eve, please,” my mother whispered. “This town… the fog… whatever happened to Silas—”

“I can’t walk away.” My voice broke. “I can’t pretend I didn’t see what I saw.”

Her hand touched my arm, soft and trembling. “I’m afraid for you.”

“I know.”

Back at the House

The wind slammed the front door behind us hard enough to rattle the frame. I locked it automatically, though the house still felt too open, too vulnerable. The fog didn’t follow us inside, but it felt like it had left a piece of itself in my bones.

My mother made tea neither of us drank.

The note sat on the table between us.

“You weren’t alone, Eveline.”

Every time I looked at it, a cold ache twisted tighter inside my stomach.

“What do you think it means?” I finally asked.

Mom rubbed her hands together, her thumbs trembling. “It could mean anything. Maybe someone saw him fall. Maybe they saw something suspicious. Maybe they were afraid to come forward.”

“No,” I whispered. “Look at the handwriting.”

The letters were sharp, slanted slightly—written with purpose, not fear.

“That’s not someone scared,” I said. “That’s someone confident.”

My mother’s face paled. “Confident about what?”

“That I’m supposed to figure something out.”

The weight of it pressed down on me like the tide pressing against the rocks outside.

A Memory I Didn’t Want

As I stared at that note, another memory rose—one I’d shoved deep down ever since the night Silas vanished.

The lighthouse.

Silas and I had gone out walking three nights before he disappeared. Fog had been thick then too, though not as suffocating as tonight. The lighthouse beam swept over the water in slow, rhythmic arcs.

We’d been laughing about something—his awful attempt at cooking or my terrible sense of direction. And then he stopped walking.

“Did you hear that?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Hear what?”

He pointed toward the shadows near the lighthouse foundation. “I thought I saw someone.”

“Probably a fisherman,” I’d said lightly.

But he kept staring, eyes narrowed, breath shallow.

As if something—or someone—had unsettled him.

We never talked about it afterward.

I wish we had.

Late Night Decision

At 12:43 a.m., after my mother finally went upstairs, I sat alone at the dining table with only the lamp and my racing thoughts.

The fog outside pressed against the windows like a living thing.

My fingers drifted to the ring box in my pocket.

I opened it slowly.

The diamond caught the faint light, scattering tiny reflections across the table.

He had chosen this.

For me.

For us.

I swallowed a sob.

“I’m going to find you,” I whispered.

Beside the box, the note lay like a challenge.

You weren’t alone, Eveline.

“Then who else was here?” I murmured. “Who were you trying to protect?”

I didn’t even realize I was crying until a tear hit the paper.

A Sound in the Hallway

The house was silent—too silent.

Old houses creak, breathe, settle. I grew up here; I knew every familiar noise.

This one wasn’t familiar.

A slow, soft creak.

Floorboards shifting under weight.

Right outside the kitchen.

My breath froze.

Someone was in the house.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

I just listened as my pulse hammered against my ribs.

Another creak.

Closer.

My chair was against the wall, and from where I sat, I couldn’t see fully into the hallway—the doorway blocked part of the view.

My eyes flicked around the room.

No weapon.

Just the cold cup of tea, the lamp, the note.

My fingers tightened around the note as if paper could protect me.

Then—

Another creak.

Just outside the doorway now.

“Mom?” I whispered, though I knew it wasn’t her.

Silence.

And then…

A shadow moved across the wall.

Slow.

Deliberate.

As if whoever it was knew exactly where I sat.

My heart leapt into my throat.

I stood up.

The shadow paused.

Then—

the softest whisper, barely audible, drifted around the corner:

“Eveline…”