Chapter 1
The rain came down in sheets.
Ember stood at the iron gates of Black Song Meadows, her duffel bag growing heavier by the second as water soaked through the canvas. The Scottish Highlands stretched behind her in rolling waves of heather and mist, beautiful in that desolate way that made you feel like the last person on earth. Which was exactly what she needed right now—to disappear into somewhere remote enough that no one would ask questions.
No one would know what she’d done.
Her hands trembled as she pushed the gate open. It groaned on its hinges, a low metallic sound that seemed to echo across the empty moors. The gravel path crunched beneath her boots, each step taking her closer to the sprawling stone manor that rose from the fog like something out of a gothic novel. Blackened ivy crawled up the walls. Narrow windows reflected the grey sky back at her, dark and watchful.
You’re safe here, she told herself. No one knows. No one saw.
Except that wasn’t true, was it? People had seen. They’d seen her standing in the middle of that concert venue, surrounded by bodies that shouldn’t have been moving. Bodies she’d killed with a thought—a surge of panic and overstimulation that had ripped through the crowd like a shockwave. And then, worse—so much worse—she’d brought them back.
The memory made her stomach turn. The way they’d risen, jerking and twitching like marionettes on invisible strings. The screaming. The chaos. The way she’d stood there, frozen, watching her own hands glow with something dark and ancient she didn’t understand.
She’d run. Booked the first flight out. Found this place through a desperate internet search at three in the morning: Black Song Meadows Wellness Retreat. Healing. Privacy. Discretion.
The manor loomed closer. Up close, it was even more imposing—all dark stone and arched doorways, with gargoyles perched along the roofline like silent sentinels. A single lamp burned beside the heavy wooden door, its light barely cutting through the rain.
Ember climbed the steps, her heart hammering. She raised her hand to knock, but before her knuckles could connect with wood, the door swung open.
And there he was.
Tall. Dark-haired. Grinning at her like he’d been waiting his entire life for her to show up on this doorstep.
“Well, well,” he said, his voice carrying a distinctive lilt—theatrical, almost musical, with that particular cadence that made every word sound like the setup to a joke. “What have we here? A drowned rat, or a beautiful woman in need of rescue?”
Ember blinked water out of her eyes. “I—I have a reservation. Ember—”
“Ember.” He said her name like he was tasting it, rolling it around on his tongue. His grin widened. “Now that’s a name with some fire to it. Bit ironic, given you look like you’ve just crawled out of the sea.” He stepped aside with an exaggerated bow, gesturing her inside. “Come in, come in, before you catch your death. Though I suppose that would be rather inconvenient for both of us, wouldn’t it?”
She hesitated on the threshold, something in her chest pulling tight. There was something about him—something that made her skin prickle with awareness. Not fear, exactly. Something else. Something she couldn’t name.
“I don’t bite,” he added, eyes glinting with mischief. “Well. Not on the first day, anyway.”
Ember stepped inside.
The warmth hit her immediately, along with the scent of woodsmoke and something herbal—lavender, maybe, or sage. The entrance hall was all dark wood paneling and stone floors, with a massive fireplace crackling at the far end. Antique furniture lined the walls. Oil paintings of stern-faced ancestors stared down at her from their frames.
The man closed the door behind her, shutting out the rain and the grey world beyond. In the firelight, she could see him more clearly now. Sharp features. Dark eyes that seemed to catch and hold the light in strange ways. A scar along his jawline that only added to his roguish appearance. He wore dark jeans and a fitted black shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms marked with ink—though she couldn’t make out the designs from where she stood.
“Chase,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m one of the... let’s call them ‘residents’ here. Been at Black Song for a few weeks now.” His grin turned self-deprecating. “Turns out I needed some wellness too. Who knew?”
She took his hand. The moment their skin touched, something jolted through her—a spark of recognition that made no sense. His fingers were warm, calloused. Strong. He held her hand a beat longer than necessary, his thumb brushing across her knuckles in a way that felt both deliberate and unconscious.
“Ember,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
“So you said.” He released her hand slowly, as if reluctant to let go. “You’re shaking, love. Let’s get you sorted, yeah? Get you out of those wet clothes—” He paused, his grin turning wicked. “That sounded far more suggestive than I intended. Though I’m not entirely opposed to the idea, if you’re interested.”
Despite everything—despite the guilt and the fear and the bone-deep exhaustion—Ember felt her lips twitch. Almost a smile. “I think I’ll pass.”
“Your loss.” He winked, then turned toward a desk tucked into an alcove near the stairs. “Right, let’s see what room they’ve got you in. Fair warning: this place is a bit like a maze. Easy to get lost. But don’t worry—I’m excellent at finding lost things.”
There was something in the way he said it. Something that made her think he wasn’t just talking about directions.
She watched as he rifled through papers on the desk, his movements quick and precise. There was a restless energy to him, like he couldn’t quite stay still. His fingers drummed against the wood. His weight shifted from foot to foot. And underneath it all, she could have sworn she heard something—a faint ticking, like a clock buried somewhere deep in the walls.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
“Here we are,” Chase said, pulling out a key attached to a heavy brass tag. “Room seven. Second floor, east wing. Overlooks the gardens, though you won’t see much in this weather.” He held the key out to her, dangling it from one finger. “Fair warning: the place has a mind of its own. Doors that stick. Floorboards that creak. The occasional strange noise in the night. All part of the charm.”
Ember took the key. Their fingers brushed again, and that same jolt ran through her—stronger this time. She saw his eyes widen slightly, like he’d felt it too.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The fire crackled. Rain lashed against the windows. And in the space between them, something hummed—a frequency just below hearing, a pull that made her want to step closer even as every rational part of her brain screamed to run.
Chase cleared his throat, breaking the spell. “You all right there, Ember? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
If only you knew, she thought.
“I’m fine,” she lied. “Just tired. It’s been a long trip.”
“I’ll bet.” His expression softened, some of the mischief fading into something that looked almost like concern. “Listen, I know this place can be a bit overwhelming at first. Big old house, middle of nowhere, bunch of strangers all dealing with their own demons.” He paused. “But it helps. Being here. I don’t know why, but it does.”
There was something raw in his voice. Something honest beneath all the flirtation and charm. It made her chest ache.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
He smiled—a real smile this time, without the performative edge. “Anytime, love. Truly.” He gestured toward the stairs. “Your room’s up there and to the right. Dinner’s at seven in the main hall, if you’re feeling up to it. If not, no pressure. This is a wellness retreat, after all. You’re supposed to do what feels right.”
Ember nodded, shouldering her duffel bag. She started toward the stairs, then paused, glancing back at him. He was watching her, his expression unreadable in the firelight.
“Chase?”
“Hmm?”
“That ticking sound,” she said. “Do you hear it?”
His entire body went still. For just a second, something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe, or fear. Then the grin was back, easy and careless.
“Old house,” he said lightly. “Probably just the pipes. Or a grandfather clock somewhere. This place is full of them.”
But she could see it in his eyes. The lie.
He heard it too.
Ember climbed the stairs, her wet boots leaving dark prints on the worn carpet. She could feel his gaze on her back the entire way, heavy and intent. When she reached the landing and glanced down, he was still standing there, one hand braced against the desk, staring up at her like she was a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.
The ticking had stopped.
She turned away and disappeared into the shadows of the second floor, her heart racing for reasons she couldn’t begin to explain.
Behind her, in the entrance hall, Chase stood frozen. His hands had stopped shaking. The constant noise in his head—the relentless tick-tick-tick that had been driving him slowly insane for weeks—had gone silent the moment she’d walked through that door.
He didn’t understand it.
But for the first time in longer than he could remember, his mind was quiet.
And that terrified him more than the madness ever had.
