The fog clung low to the streets, muffling the sound of my steps. Every turn home felt longer than it should, as though the village had stretched in the night.
Then I heard it.
Another set of footsteps, a half-beat behind mine.
I stopped. So did they.
The silence pressed too close. My skin prickled. I forced myself forward, faster now, but the steps behind me matched, steady and patient.
I couldn't breathe. The stories whispered at the back of my mind---He follows. He waits. He takes what he wants.
I turned.
For a moment I saw nothing but fog, shifting shapes that could have been anyone. My hands curled into fists. Then a figure stepped closer, pale face emerging, eyes fixed on me.
"...Elira?"
My chest loosened at the sound of my name. I knew that voice, though it had been years since I last heard it.
"Mira?"
She stopped just out of reach, squinting as though she doubted her own eyes. "It is you."
Her voice was the same, but quieter, stripped of the bright daring I remembered. She used to laugh louder than anyone, tugging me into trouble with that wild grin. Now her smile barely touched her lips.
I took a step toward her, but she didn't move. She studied me, searching my face as though looking for proof.
"You've changed," she said softly. "I almost didn't recognize you."
The warmth of seeing her again twisted with unease. Her eyes seemed hollow, rimmed with sleepless shadows.
"I wasn't sure it was you following me," I admitted. My voice wavered. "For a moment I thought---"
"The stories?" she cut in.
I nodded.
Something unreadable passed across her face. For a heartbeat, she looked over her shoulder into the fog, as though expecting something else to appear behind her.
Then she smiled---thin, fleeting---and reached out, her hand brushing my sleeve before falling away.
"It's good you came back," Mira whispered. "Though I don't know if it's good for you."
The way she said it left me colder than the fog.