ARRIVAL IN THE MIST The road to Ravendale looked like a pale scar carved through the endless fog. The cold was merciless—sharp enough to slip under coats and stab the skin like frozen needles. A lonely streetlamp flickered far ahead, the only sign of civilization in the devouring whiteness. Zane Faulkner walked with the ease of a man strolling through a summer garden instead of a freezing mist storm. His dark-gray overcoat fluttered slightly with each gust of icy wind. One hand rested in his pocket, while the other twirled a tiny flashlight lazily between his fingers. Behind him, Eli trudged forward like a man marching to his own funeral. “I swear,” Eli muttered, breath turning into thick vapor, “if ghosts suddenly pop out of this fog, I’m resigning. Immediately. No notice period.” Zane smiled without turning. “You won’t resign. You’d get lost on the way back.” “Lost? I’d rather get lost than freeze to death. My eyebrows feel like two icicles trying to escape my face.” Ly...

  THE GARDEN OF RAIN AND SILENCE Thunder rolled across the night sky like a warning from an ancient god. Rain poured over the abandoned estate garden—wild vines crawling up cracked stone walls, marble statues eroded by time, and a decaying iron gate squeaking in the wind. Yet among all this chaos, four candles burned with impossible steadiness around a dead man’s body. The flames shouldn’t have survived a storm like this. And yet… there they were. Alive. Breathing. Mocking the laws of nature. Detective Ward wiped the raindrops off his glasses for the fifth time. “Someone explain to me,” he barked, “how candles burn in a monsoon storm?” No one had an answer. Officers circled the body helplessly. The victim lay face up, his clothes soaked, rainwater running across his skin like cold veins of light. But the candle flames refused to die, glowing unnaturally bright. Then a gust of wind rushed through the garden—trees bending, leaves scattering. But the candles did not even f...

INTO THE SILENT WOODS THE ARRIVAL The forest looked almost unreal under the pale wash of moonlight—an endless sprawl of tall, blackened silhouettes rising like ancient guardians against the sky. Mist curled between the trunks, drifting in gentle waves, giving the trail an eerie but strangely peaceful glow. Zane Faulkner walked ahead of the two figures behind him, the soft crunch of damp leaves under his shoes sounding like a quiet symphony. His hands remained buried inside the pockets of his skin-colored overcoat, shoulders relaxed, posture loose, wearing the same lazy, teasing confidence that annoyed and charmed people in equal measure. Eli Rollins, on the other hand, struggled with a buzzing cloud of insects orbiting his head like stubborn satellites. Lyra Hale sighed dramatically at his misery. “Stop swatting like a malfunctioning fan, Eli. You’re attracting more than you’re chasing away.” “I’m attracting mosquitoes, bats, and emotional trauma,” Eli muttered. Zane didn’t tur...

  ZANE’S APARTMENT – FROST AND FOG A frozen mist clung to the city like a silent curse. Streetlights glowed weakly behind layers of thick fog, their pale halos barely touching the ground. Inside a warmly lit apartment on the fifth floor, a kettle hissed softly while two figures argued with the familiarity of chaos. Zane Faulkner leaned back on the couch with the kind of lazy elegance only he could pull off. Dark brown overcoat hanging on the chair nearby, tousled hair, sharp eyes, and an unmistakably mischievous smile decorating his face. Eli marched across the room, waving a newspaper like a battle flag. “You left your boots in the freezer again! Again, Zane! Who even does that?!” Zane didn’t look up. “Someone who enjoys cold feet?” “That’s not funny! The ice cream tastes like leather now!” Zane arched a brow. “Did you try it?” “I ate it halfway before realizing!” “Fascinating.” Zane tapped his chin. “So the flavor profile evolved?” Eli groaned, collapsing onto the sofa...