Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
SANORA
It was already dark by the time I dragged myself back to the house.
After Weeny Man vanished, I’d wandered the town in silence, trying to gather my thoughts.
Not that they were anything worth collecting.
Still, walking helped. Nimorran wasn’t as soul-splintering in the absence of thick coats and scarf layers.
For once, the air didn’t feel like a thousand tiny blades slicing into my cheeks.
For the first time, It felt...freeing.
Maybe it was what Weeny Man said, about the cold only killing people who meant the town harm. Apparently, I wasn’t on Nimorran’s hit list again. Which meant, in theory, whatever I came here to do was safe.
Including going near The Crater.
Just kidding. Doing that would be me getting on my knees at this point and begging death to slaughter me in the coldest way possible. Maybe the cold had backed off because it could sense some part of me was starting to give up.
Ignore whatever’s pulling you to it.
Right, I’d try to overlook the gnawing curiosity eating me alive from the inside out.
I’d sever whatever invisible string kept tugging me towards that pit like it owned me.
Maybe Weeny Man was right. Maybe The Crater was calling me to my death.
But no matter how many times I’d tried to get close, there was always something in the way.
Eight days in, and all the hope I arrived with had quietly collapsed in on itself.
I was suddenly exhausted. There was no burning hunger to unravel something ancient like The Crater, just that relentless pull.
I’d come here thinking I could get answers.
Maybe even write the kind of thesis that would awe every person who read it.
The Crater was unreachable. Untouchable. Like a god you weren’t supposed to look in the eye. What the hell was I thinking? That I could just waltz to the edge of something so old and powerful and massive, jot a few notes, and stroll away with academic gold?
How unbelievably arrogant.
And dumb.
The thought of picking a new thesis topic scraped at my chest like claws, I actually shivered.
What would I even research now? Folklore? Historical architecture? Cow migration...patterns?
Ugh.
The train wasn’t leaving until next month. So maybe I’d kill time by being productive. Maybe read a few books on other histories and legends, learn more about this town that still quietly breathed magic and see if I’d get a spark.
My fingers were tucked deep into my coat pockets as I walked, shoulders hunched against the chill. The town was quiet. Most houses had gone dark, their lights swallowed up by the thick rural silence that crept in at night time.
I passed houses, each one spaced further apart than the last. The farther I walked, the lonelier the street became.
Until I saw my place—alone at the very end of the road.
I sighed, a strange emptiness clinging to my insides, echoing in my ribs.
Maybe all I needed was rest. Just one good night. I could reorganise my thoughts tomorrow, and build a new plan. Maybe. My feet moved quicker with that lie dangling in my head, and I brought out the key.
But as I slid it into the keyhole, it didn’t catch.
No, I was sure I locked it before I sought out for Weeny Man earlier. And I made sure it was locked. I’d locked it. I’d definitely done that.
Dread filled me as my sweaty palm stayed on the knob, debating whether to go back or suck up courage and push the door open. If I went back, where would I even go?
The town was asleep. I didn’t know a single person around here. A thin film of sweat broke out on my skin as I stared at the door like it might turn and swallow me.
If someone was inside...if this was a break-in—
I took in a shaky breath, closed my eyes briefly and pulled myself together, then pushed the door open, wincing at the quiet sound of the hinges moving. My head darted in first, scanning everywhere for an intruder.
Everything looked exactly the way I left it. But that meant nothing.
I stepped inside, the stillness of the house nearly strangling me.
Shouldn’t a break-in be messier? A shattered window?
Something torn or toppled? But they picked the lock.
Or did they have a key? I knew the smartest thing to do was call the police, but really, I wondered if they had one around here.
Closing my eyes to silence my racing heart, I crossed to the stairs. The lights downstairs were turned off, and I didn’t want to turn it on in fear I might alert the burglar.
As I stepped on the first step, a slow, heavy footsteps sounded from one of the rooms upstairs, belonging to whoever broke into my house. Judging from the casual walk, I could tell they were not in a rush.
Okay, Sanora. This is weird—
My soul made an exit out of my body when I heard a sudden thud from upstairs, making me yelp. I slapped a hand over my mouth, hoping whoever made that sound didn’t hear me.
Then the thud came again, like they were hitting something on the floorboards. It was coming from the second room. Not mine. Not the bathroom. The one that was supposed to be empty.
Terror twisted in my stomach.
I looked around wildly for anything I could defend myself with until my eyes landed on the open kitchen. Knives. Yes. A whole block of them was sitting on the counter.
I dashed in, snatched the largest one with both hands, and tiptoed out of the kitchen, my grip tight on the knife. The light switches beckoned, but I didn’t dare touch them. I didn’t want whoever was up there to know I was here. If they didn’t already.
My brain screamed to run, but I climbed the stairs with dread clinging to my back instead, step by step, until I was standing in front of the second room.
Then, from the other side of the door, a masculine voice muttered, “Goddamn.”
I jumped, every inch of me ignited in goosebumps. Still, I moved. And stopped—
Something tugged inside me. A wrenching, visceral pull in my chest, just like near The Crater, but this one was cruel. I clutched the spot with my free hand, gasping. My heart stammered, then pounded so violently I thought I might pass out.
I stood there for a long second, fighting for breath until I was back to my normal self. Something was wrong.
Or worse...something was familiar.
Hand shaking slightly, I closed my fingers around the doorknob, twisting it.
The door opened soundlessly.
I raised the knife, extending it before me like some amateur.
“If you move, I’ll slit your throat with this.”
My eyes settled on the form in the room by the window, and the knife nearly fell from my grip. I leaned on the door frame for support as my knees suddenly felt weak, shock overtaking my fear.
My world stopped.
He stood tall next to the window, his back to me, head tilted slightly, admiring the night. His hair was wet, pushed back like he’d come out of a shower, and it gleamed under the faint silver moonlight pouring through the glass. A long-sleeved black top clung to his frame, matching his sweatpants.
I would have said he didn’t hear the door open nor did he hear my threat if I didn’t know better. He stood immovably tall and broad in a way that made the window he was staring through look narrower than it was. His hands were in his pockets, shoulders relaxed, as if he knew I was there.
And didn’t care.
“Slit my throat,” he murmured, his voice a quiet scoff, finding the idea insulting. Then slowly, his eyes slid from the window, not meeting my gaze, but going straight to the knife that I was barely holding up. “You don’t even know the proper way to hold it.”
And just like that, he went back to staring out the window.
I blinked. Once. Twice. My brain scrambled to catch up. To make sense of this.
I looked around the room.
It wasn’t empty.
The bed had been made. Not like the staged setup it came with when I moved in.
The sheets were laid neatly. A jacket hung on the chair.
A book lay on the bedside table that held the lamp that provided the only light in the room, and on it was a watch.
There was a duffel bag at the foot of the bed.
Boots by the closet. His presence filled the space so completely, it was impossible to imagine it had ever been empty.
Did he...did he move in?
My breath hitched, my knees buckling slightly.
The knife slipped from my fingers and hit the floor with a metallic thud.
What I was feeling wasn’t fear anymore.
It was disbelief. Rage.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
He said nothing.
“You didn’t move in, did you?” The words came out strangled. I took a step into the room, and his scent engulfed me instantly, striking me in the chest like a cold wind against sun-warmed skin.
Cedarwood. Myrrh. Cold smoke.
Sacred. Ancient. Wrong.
He was wrong, and I could feel the warning signal deep inside my bones. The smell lingered in the air like incense after ritual, thick and unshakable, creeping into my lungs and settling under my skin. It invaded my senses, almost dizzying me.
I shook my head, focusing on the unmoving figure near the window.
“I rented this house, including the two rooms,” I snapped, my voice rising with each syllable. “You have no right to break through my door and move your things in without my consent!”
Still, he didn’t move. Just kept looking out the window like I was nothing but a passing storm he was waiting out.
Rage that had been smouldering in my chest suddenly ignited, flushing heat through my veins and forcing my feet forward before I could think twice.
I stormed across the room, every step fuelled by the absurdity of this moment—of him, standing there like this was his house, his space, his world and I was the one intruding.
I reached out and grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to face me.
But I wasn’t prepared. I wasn’t prepared for the way he turned slowly until the full weight of him was in front of me.
Would I ever get used to this?
He was...colossal.