Prologue
The town of Briar’s Hollow had long since forgotten how to breathe.
It sat beneath a permanent veil of mist, tucked deep between skeletal woods and fields of wildflowers that bloomed even when they should have withered. The locals called it a blessing, though they spoke the word like a curse. Outsiders rarely stayed long enough to ask why.
And no one wandered into the flower fields after dark.
The stories were old—older than the crumbling chapel at the edge of town, older than the rusted iron gates of the abandoned estate that overlooked the valley. They whispered of a woman dressed in white who appeared beneath the moonlight, dancing barefoot through the blossoms as though summoned by some silent music only she could hear.
Some said she was a grieving bride searching for her lost groom.
Others claimed she was no woman at all, but something far older. Something cruel that wore sorrow like a mask.
Those who saw her were never the same.
And some were never seen again.
The night Ethan Mercer first saw her, the wind carried the scent of rain and lavender through his open bedroom window.
He had never liked the dark.
Not because of what it hid—but because of what it revealed.
Since he was seven years old, Ethan had seen things no one else could. Pale figures lingering at the ends of hallways. Hollow-eyed strangers reflected in mirrors. Shadows standing perfectly still in places where shadows should not exist. His mother had called it an overactive imagination before she disappeared from his life. His father had called it nonsense before drink hollowed him into silence.
But Ethan knew the truth.
The dead were real.
And sometimes, they watched.
At nineteen, he had grown used to pretending not to notice them. It was easier that way. Safer. The spirits usually drifted at the edges of his world, murmuring in voices too faint to understand.
Until that night.
Unable to sleep, Ethan stood at his window overlooking the northern fields, his fingers curled around the chipped wooden frame.
At first, he thought the pale shape moving through the mist was moonlight playing tricks on his tired eyes.
Then it twirled.
Gracefully.
Deliberately.
A woman emerged from the sea of silver flowers, her white dress flowing around her like liquid mist. Her dark hair streamed behind her as she danced barefoot across the field, impossibly untouched by the thorned stems beneath her feet.
She moved with haunting elegance, spinning and gliding as if the earth itself bent to her rhythm.
And though her face was distant, Ethan felt it the moment she lifted her head.
Sadness.
Not ordinary sorrow, but a grief so profound it seemed to seep into the air itself, pressing cold against his skin.
Then she stopped.
Slowly, impossibly, she turned toward his window.
Toward him.
Her face was pale as winter frost, beautiful and terrible all at once. Her hollow eyes locked onto his, and Ethan’s breath caught in his throat.
She smiled.
It was not warm.
It was not kind.
It was the smile of someone who had been waiting.
The glass beneath Ethan’s hands cracked.
A whisper slithered through the room, though the window was closed.
“You can see me.”
He stumbled backward, his heart hammering.
When he looked again, the field was empty.
The flowers stood motionless beneath the moon.
But etched into the fogged glass of his window were four trembling words:
Help me find my body.
