Chapter 1
SNEAK PEEK
Fading Away
The Vanishing Series — Book Three
Chapter One
By the time Eleanor Harper reached the top of the stairs, the Sky Bar was already alive.
Music rolled across the open rooftop, the bass steady beneath her feet, vibrating through the planks.
Twinkle lights were woven through wooden arbors overhead, casting a warm, golden glow over raised glasses and flushed faces.
Beyond the railing, downtown Sylva spread out below—Main Street lit in soft amber, storefronts and sidewalks busy with opening-night energy.
Above it all, the Jackson County Courthouse perched high on the hill, white columns glowing against the dark, watching over the town the way it always had.
Behind it, the Blue Ridge Mountains rose in layered silhouettes, dark and steady, holding the horizon like a promise.
From up here, Sylva felt contained. Safe. Like the rest of the world could wait.
“There you are,” April Whitaker called when she spotted Eleanor. “I was starting to think you’d objected to fun.”
“Overruled,” Eleanor said, sliding in beside her. “Barely.”
They clinked glasses, the easy rhythm of a friendship built in courthouse hallways and late-afternoon coffee runs settling in like muscle memory.
“You picked a good night,” April said. “The whole courthouse is here. Except the judge, at least.”
“Dangerous circumstances,” Eleanor said. “Somebody’s going to start arguing a motion before last call.”
April tipped her chin toward the far side of the rooftop. “Starting with the prosecutor.”
Eleanor followed her gaze—and immediately looked away. “Absolutely not.”
“Come on,” April said. “Reid Calloway is one handsome cuss. Tall, smart, terrifying in closing. That is very much your alley.”
“If by my alley you mean the street I cross to avoid, then sure,” Eleanor said. “He’s fine—for people who enjoy arrogant know-it-alls who argue motions like they’re foreplay.”
April choked on a laugh. “You hear yourself, right?”
“Unfortunately,” Eleanor said, taking a sip.
“Tragic,” April said. “Luckily, I am not wasting my one wild and precious Friday night on a man who thinks precedents are pillow talk.” Her eyes lit. “I have Danny Mason for that.”
Eleanor made a face. “The defense attorney?”
“The very same,” April said cheerfully. “And if Danny Mason wants to argue anything with me, I’m available.”
“Of course you are,” Eleanor said. “You always did have a soft spot for men who think a well-timed objection is flirting.”
“It is flirting,” April said. “Under the right circumstances.”
“What about you?” Eleanor asked. “Or is Danny Mason your entire bad-idea strategy for the night?”
“Please,” April scoffed. “I am a woman of range.” She leaned closer. “There’s also the new associate.”
Eleanor arched a brow. “The one who still looks surprised every time the copier works?”
“Adorable,” April corrected. “And his tie stayed straight all week. I respect a man with a functioning iron.”
April shifted closer, already mid-story, her voice animated in a way it rarely was during business hours.
A shift in the crowd drew Eleanor’s attention toward the stairwell.
Reid Calloway stepped onto the rooftop and paused just inside the rail, scanning the space with quiet, practiced awareness.
Dark jacket, open collar, sleeves pushed back just enough to reveal strong forearms—nothing flashy, nothing accidental.
He took in the crowd, the exits, the bar, then let his posture ease as if satisfied with what he saw.
He never went anywhere without a reason.
Eleanor felt his awareness before she fully registered his face. Her gaze caught and held—an instinctive pull she refused to name. She didn’t do courthouse entanglements. Not again.
Reid’s eyes found hers. For a beat, the noise of the rooftop seemed to fall away. His mouth curved—just enough to count as a smile, the same quiet, confident look she’d seen turn witnesses inside out on the stand.
It rolled right off her. Obviously.
April followed her line of sight and smirked. “Well. There he is.”
Eleanor didn’t look away. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything,” April said lightly. “Just observing.”
“He’s not part of the evening’s entertainment.”
“Mm-hmm.” April took another sip. “Brooding quietly near the railing, pretending he’s not listening to everything within twenty feet.”
Reid’s smile deepened by a fraction, like he’d heard that too.
Eleanor finally broke eye contact and reached for her glass. “He’s working.”
“Of course he is,” April said. “He always is.”
A few heads turned as Deputy Luke Hale stepped onto the rooftop with Deputy Sara Parker beside him, the two of them looking lighter now that the night belonged to them.
Luke lifted a hand in greeting when he spotted Eleanor; Sara offered a quick hug to April before they were waved toward the bar by Steve.
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Eleanor called after them.
“Oh, we will,” Luke said over his shoulder. “Briefly.”
The band kicked into a familiar song, the crowd cheering as the lead singer stepped up to the mic. Marla was on her feet immediately, dragging Hannah toward the open space near the railing where people had already started dancing.
“This is exactly why I live here,” Marla shouted over the music. “Tell me this isn’t perfect.”
“It’s perfect,” April said, eyes bright. “I haven’t heard my own thoughts all week.”
Someone ordered another round. Someone else bumped into their table and apologized with a grin. The night felt loose and generous, like it had nowhere else to be.
During a break between songs, April lifted her glass and straightened in her seat, her expression shifting into something solemn and unmistakable.
“Counselor,” she said, her voice dropping into a slow, deliberate cadence, pure Judge Whitaker.
The table erupted.
“Oh my God,” Marla gasped. “That is him.”
“That sigh,” Hannah, the clerk from upstairs, added. “You nailed the sigh.”
April grinned. “If I hear it one more time before he says my name, I’m putting it in my resignation letter.”
“That cadence should come with a warning label,” Eleanor said, laughing.
“I love him,” April said easily. “Truly. But if I start issuing rulings in his voice, someone needs to stage an intervention.”
“To surviving another week,” Marla said, lifting her glass.
“To being off the record,” April added.
They drank as the band launched back into the music, laughter spilling into the warm night air. April leaned into Eleanor, bumping her shoulder as she swayed—carefree in a way the courthouse never allowed.
Eleanor smiled, warmth spreading through her chest. She stepped closer to the railing, resting her hands against the cool metal as she looked back out over the town.
From up here, the courthouse felt close enough to touch—solid, familiar, unshakable.
The mountains rose behind it, dark and endless, holding everything in quiet balance.
For now, everything felt exactly as it should.
And that was usually when something shifted.