Chapter 1: Arrival at Greywick
Amelia had come to Greywick to disappear. The town, unfortunately, looked like the kind of place that noticed everything.
Mist curled around the stone buildings as she stepped off the bus. With her backpack slung over one shoulder and her guitar case bumping against her leg, she took a deep breath. The air smelled of rain, old paper, and a faint trace of sea salt. Above her, the sky hung low and heavy—a drape of grey that made everything feel like an old memory.
She tugged her sleeves over her hands, adjusted her glasses, and tried to steady her breathing. New town. New degree. New start.
She absolutely hated new starts.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
Becca: Did you arrive or did the bus crash and you’re texting me from the afterlife?
Amelia rolled her eyes, her thumbs flying across the screen.
Amelia: Alive. Unfortunately.
Becca: Rude. Send pics.
Snapping a quick photo, Amelia captured the Greywick University sign. It was ivy‑draped, dramatic, and very dark academia. The kind of sign that practically begged to be the opening shot of a moody Netflix adaptation.
Becca: Okay that’s sexy. Don’t fall in love with a professor.
Amelia: I’m here for a degree, not trauma.
Becca: Same thing.
A laugh slipped out before Amelia could stop it. She shoved the phone away, the humor fading as she looked at the campus. She wasn’t here for romance, band drama, or to be seen. She was here to bury the girl who used to scream into microphones under stage lights—the girl who’d been loud, bright, and impossible to ignore until she finally burned out.
Her fingers brushed the worn handle of her guitar case. Old habits died hard.
Greywick’s campus stretched out before her like a maze of stone buildings and courtyards designed by someone who hated straight lines and loved secrets. Keeping her head down, Amelia wove through the first-day energy of the crowd until she found her flat. It was small but cosy, complete with creaky floors and a radiator that looked like it had survived several wars.
She dropped her bags and inhaled deeply. New start. New life. New—
A loud crash echoed from outside.
Curiosity winning over her desire to hide, Amelia stepped onto the landing and leaned over the railing.
A guy stood below in the courtyard, surrounded by the shattered remains of a cardboard box. Several guitar pedals were scattered across the pavement like fallen candy. He was unfairly tall, sporting messy curls, rings on his fingers, and a denim jacket plastered with band patches.
He stared at the mess and muttered, “…I hate gravity.”
Amelia blinked.
Crouching down, he gathered the gear while continuing his defeatist monologue. “Of course it’s the expensive one. Why not. Kick me while I’m down, universe.”
She knew she shouldn’t stare, but right then, he looked up.
Their eyes met. Just for a second, her stomach did something deeply unhelpful.
“…Uh. Hi?” he said, his voice warm and startled.
She froze.
He tilted his head. “You okay up there? You look like you’re about to pass out.”
“I’m not going to pass out,” she bristled.
“Cool. Just checking.” Standing up, he brushed the dust off his jeans. A pedal slipped from his arms, but he caught it with fast, unexpected reflexes. “Sorry if I scared you. I’m... not usually this clumsy.”
She did not believe that for a second. “It’s fine,” she murmured.
He gave her a small, crooked smile. “Welcome to Greywick, I guess. Hope your first day’s less… dramatic than mine.”
“Colby! You coming or what?” someone shouted from across the quad.
“Yeah! Hold on!” He turned back to Amelia one last time. “See you around.”
He jogged off, curls bouncing. Amelia closed her door slowly, her heart beating far too fast for a stranger she’d known for less than a minute.
“…I hate tall people,” she whispered. But she didn’t. Not even a little.
Needing a distraction from chaotic guitar boys, she headed out to find the university library. The campus was labyrinthine, but the library was exactly what she needed: tall, gothic, and intimidating.
Stepping inside, the scent of dust, ink, and possibility wrapped around her like a blanket. No tall men. No chaos. Just rows of books and beautiful, unbroken silence.
She found a secluded table near a window, opened a textbook on wrongful convictions, and cracked open her notebook. Outside, the rain thickened, tapping softly against the glass. The steady rhythm of turning pages settled her bones. Maybe I can belong here, she thought. Maybe I can rebuild.
Then, a memory flickered.
Suddenly she was back under blinding stage lights, facing screaming crowds, hearing her own voice crack on a note she used to hit effortlessly. It was the exact moment she knew she couldn’t keep going.
She swallowed hard, forcing her eyes back to the textbook, but the words blurred. Her phone buzzed on the table, a new message from Becca lighting up the screen: Don’t adopt any stray men. I know your type.
Amelia stared at the text, then looked out the window at the rain. Greywick was a place full of old, dark stories, and as her heart refused to settle, she realized she was already caught in the plot.
