CHAPTER 105: ANGELA’S PARANOIA.

Angela Rivers sat at the kitchen table. The house was too quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed against her eardrums, amplifying every creak in the silence. Carla’s absence was a physical thing, a hollow space that seemed to grow larger each day. Bella’s disappearance only deepened the ache, a wound that refused to heal.

Angela’s hands trembled as she sifted through a box of Carla’s belongings, her sister’s scent, lavender and a citrus perfume, clinging faintly to the fabric of a worn sweater.

It had been weeks since she’d last heard from Bella, and the official letter from Whitethorn Academy claiming her niece was "on an extended field study" felt like a lie the moment she read it. Carla’s death, ruled a heart attack by the coroner, was another lie, one Angela couldn’t accept.

Her grief had hardened into resolve. She’d spent days poring over records, visiting hospitals, and all. Tonight she focused on Carla’s things, hoping to find something that might explain the secrets Carla had kept.

She pulled a small wooden box from the pile, its lid carved with a crescent moon. It was locked, but the clasp was loose, and after a moment of prying with a butter knife, it popped open. Inside were letters, yellowed and brittle, addressed to Carla in a looping, unfamiliar script. Angela’s heart quickened as she unfolded the top one, dated ten years ago.

"Carla, you can’t hide and be quiet forever. The bloodline will call to her, and when it does, Maren will know. Protect her, but don’t trust him. He’s one of them."

The letter was unsigned, but the mention of "Maren" sent a chill down Angela’s spine. She’d overheard Carla mention that name once, years ago, in a hushed argument with Jonathan.

Angela had dismissed it as a colleague or friend, but now it felt ominous, tied to the secrets that had consumed her sister’s life. The reference to "the bloodline" and "her" could only mean Bella. But what bloodline? And who was "he"?

Angela’s hands shook as she read another letter, this one more recent, dated just before Carla’s death. "The powder is poison, Carla. It’s killing you. Get out before it’s too late. Maren is coming for you."

The word "powder" made her pause. She’d found an empty leather pouch in Carla’s bedside drawer after her death, its contents spilled and swept away by the time Angela noticed it. Had it been some kind of drug? A poison, as the letter suggested?

The sound of a car engine outside snapped her out of her thoughts. She froze, her pulse racing. The street was quiet at this hour, and her house was set back from the road, surely the porch lights were turned off. Visitors were rare, especially after midnight.

She crept to the window, parting the curtains just enough to peek out. A black sedan idled across the street, its headlights off, its driver a shadow behind tinted glass. Her skin prickled. She’d felt watched for days, strange noises at night, a sense of eyes on her when she left the house. Now, the car confirmed it.

She let the curtain fall and returned to the table, her paranoia growing. Whoever was out there, they weren’t here by chance. She needed answers, and the letters were her only lead. She stuffed them into her purse, along with the wooden box, and grabbed her coat.

If someone was watching her, sitting still wasn’t an option. She’d go to the one place she hadn’t checked yet: Carla’s old office at the community college, where she’d worked before quitting to stay home and ’take care of her family.’ She scoffed. That decision was only good because of Bella. Jonathan could go to hell for all she cared.

But she had to go. Maybe there were more clues at that office, something to explain the letters or Jonathan’s involvement in all this. Sarah’s information on him wasn’t enough at this point. She needed all the information she could possibly gather on him.

As she stepped outside, the night air was cold, the street silent except for the faint hum of the sedan’s engine. Angela locked the door behind her, her eyes darting to the car. It didn’t move, but she felt its presence like a weight on her back as she hurried to her own car. She drove slowly, checking her rearview mirror, but the sedan didn’t follow. Or if it did, it was too careful for her to notice.

The office was deserted when she arrived, the parking lot illuminated by flickering streetlights. Angela used the spare key Carla had given her years ago to enter the building. The halls were dark, the air stale, but she found Carla’s office untouched, a time capsule of her sister’s life.

Books lined the shelves, papers stacked neatly on the desk. Angela’s chest tightened as she ran her fingers over Carla’s nameplate, the grief threatening to overwhelm her.

She pushed it aside and started searching, her movements quickly. Under a pile of books in the corner, she found a notebook, its cover worn and stained. She opened it, her breath catching at the sight of Carla’s handwriting.

The notebook was a journal, entries dated about a year ago: "The powder is working, but it’s killing me. I can feel it in my bones. I have to protect Bella, but I don’t know who to trust."

Angela’s hands shook as she read. The pieces were falling into place, but they formed a picture she couldn’t fully grasp. Maren. The powder. Bella. It was all connected, but how? She flipped to the back of the notebook, where a folded piece of paper was tucked into a pocket. It was a map, hand-drawn, showing a thick forest. A red X marked a spot deep within, labeled ’Sanctuary.’ A note in the margin read: "If I fail, find her here."

Her heart pounded. Was Bella in the forest? Was this "Sanctuary" where she’d been sent? Angela folded the map and slipped it into her purse, her mind racing. She needed to go to that forest, to find that spot, but the idea of walking into a forest tied to her niece’s safety filled her with dread. And yet, it was the closest she’d come to answers.

As she left the office, locking the door behind her, a shadow moved at the end of the hall. Angela froze, her breath catching. The figure was tall, dressed in dark clothing, their face obscured by the dim light. They didn’t approach, just stood there, watching. Her paranoia surged, she was being followed, just as she’d feared.

"Who’s there?" she called, her voice trembling but firm.

The person didn’t answer. Instead, they turned and slipped around the corner, their footsteps silent. Angela’s instincts screamed to run, but her grief-fueled determination held her in place. She wasn’t imagining this. Someone was tracking her, and they were connected to Carla’s secrets.

She hurried to her car, her heart racing as she scanned the parking lot. The black sedan was there, parked at the far end, its presence unmistakable. Angela’s hands shook as she started her car and pulled out, her eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. The sedan didn’t follow, but she knew better than to trust that. Whoever was watching her was skilled, careful. They didn’t need to tail her closely to know where she was going.

Back at home, Angela locked every door and window, her paranoia now a living thing. She spread the letters, journal, and map on the kitchen table, piecing together what she knew. Carla had been hiding something about Bella, something tied to a "bloodline" and a woman named Maren. The powder had weakened Carla, possibly killed her. And Bella was in danger, possibly in that forest, marked by a red X.

Angela’s eyes burned with tears. She’d failed Carla, hadn’t seen the signs of her sister’s suffering. But she wouldn’t fail Bella. She’d go to the forest, find the Sanctuary, and bring her niece home. But first, she needed help, someone who knew more about this world of secrets and shadows.

A noise outside made her freeze, a soft scrape, like footsteps on gravel. She crept to the window, her pulse hammering. The black sedan was gone, but a figure stood across the street, half-hidden by a tree, their eyes glinting faintly in the moonlight.

Angela’s breath caught. The glint wasn’t normal, it was too bright, silver coloured. Her hand tightened on the curtain, fear and determination warring within her. Whoever this was, they weren’t human. And they were watching her.

She backed away, her mind made up. Tomorrow, she’d find the Sanctuary. And she’d uncover the truth about Maren, the powder, and the bloodline that had torn her family apart.

But as she sat in the dark, the weight of her grief and the eyes outside her window pressed against her, a reminder that every step she took was drawing her closer to a world she didn’t understand, and a collision with forces far more dangerous than she could imagine.