Duskwind Hollow looked like it had been pulled from a postcard — all weathered brick storefronts, white picket fences, and children laughing near the town square fountain. It was almost aggressively quaint.
Too quaint.
Emma parked her Jeep by the general store and stepped out, her boots kicking up fine gravel. The town had one main road that looped around itself like a noose, with buildings painted cheerful pastel colors and window boxes spilling over with flowers. The air smelled of pine and fresh bread.
She hated it immediately.
As she unloaded her field bag from the back, a voice called out behind her.
"Dr. Voss, isn't it?"
She turned to see a tall man in his early fifties, dressed in a cream-colored suit that looked too warm for spring. His smile was wide, flawless, and utterly unblinking.
"Mayor Gideon Hurst," he said, extending a hand. "Word travels fast in a town this small. We don't get many scientists here, let alone one investigating a mystery in our mountain."
Emma shook his hand, noting the strength in his grip — like he wanted her to know he could crush something delicate if needed.
"I'm not here to cause trouble," she said evenly. "Just cataloging the remains for the state archives."
"Of course," he said with that same unwavering smile. "But I do hope you'll take time to enjoy the town. We've got the Spring Market this weekend. Pie tasting, music, even a blessing ceremony at the chapel."
She blinked. "A blessing ceremony?"
"Just a bit of tradition," he said, then leaned in slightly. "We take our history seriously here, Dr. Voss. Keeps us grounded."
Emma offered a polite nod, then turned toward the inn, hoping that would end the conversation. But the mayor called after her.
"You'll find Duskwind Hollow is very welcoming," he said. "Almost… protective."
There was something in the way he said it — a warning disguised as hospitality. Emma didn't respond.
The Hollow's only inn, The Hearthstone, was just as picture-perfect as everything else: polished wooden floors, lace curtains, and a fireplace roaring despite the mild temperature. A teenage girl behind the desk checked her in with a robotic cheerfulness that set Emma further on edge.
"Breakfast is at eight. Dinner's at six. Curfew's at ten."
Emma raised an eyebrow. "Curfew?"
The girl giggled. "It's not enforced or anything. Just tradition. The woods get dark and deep. Better safe than sorry."
Emma smiled tightly. She was starting to hate the word tradition.
Her room was spotless and silent. Too silent. She closed the door, set down her bag, and took out her field journal. She sketched the table carving she'd seen in the cave — the ten chairs, the long slab, the symbol above it that looked like a sun with jagged teeth.
Her phone buzzed. A text from a number she didn't recognize:
"You found the bones. Don't let them know."
Emma stared at the message, heart thudding.
Another buzz.
"Meet me at the deer statue at midnight. Come alone."
She looked out the window.
The town was quiet. Too quiet.
And everyone smiled too much.