CHAPTER TWO — When the Quiet Starts Talkin'

Mornin' came too damn early, like it always does when the night's been busy bein' weird.

I woke up with that same tug behind my ribs, the one that don't ask permission. It just yanks you upright like, Get up, girl. Somethin's brewin'. My eyes weren't even open yet and I could already tell the town was up before me, sittin' out there in the dark like a nosy aunt waitin' to gossip.

Rosie — my Bounder — groaned as I sat up, like she was sayin', Well hell, here we go again.
She ain't wrong.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, feet hittin' the cold floor, and the air felt... thick. Heavy. Like walkin' through somebody else's dream. The kind where you know you ain't supposed to be there, but the dream don't care.

Roland was still snorin' in the back, bless him. Man sleeps like he's got a peace treaty with the universe. Meanwhile I'm over here negotiatin' with shadows and towns that blink at me.

Janice lifted her head, blinkin' slow like she was judgin' me for bein' awake at this ungodly hour. Then she flopped back down with a grunt. Real supportive.

I shuffled to the front, peeked out the window, and the whole damn street looked... wrong. Not dangerous. Not haunted. Just off, like someone had rearranged the world while I slept and didn't bother puttin' things back where they belonged.

The sky was that weird pre‑sunrise blue — the color of secrets.
The kind of blue that don't promise nothin' good or bad.
Just truth.

And the town?
It was waitin'.

I could feel it.
Not see it — feel it.
Like a pressure behind my ears, a hum under my skin, a whisper I couldn't quite catch.

"Alright," I muttered, scratchin' my head, "what in the ¹1holy-hell do you want now?"

The Bounder popped her joints like an old lady stretchin'.
The air outside shifted.
And for a split second, I swear the shadows on the pavement leaned toward me.

Not in a horror‑movie way.
More like a come here, girl, we ain't done talkin' way.

I opened the door and stepped outside, breath foggin' in the cold. The gravel crunched under my boots, loud in the quiet. Too loud. Like the world was listenin' to every damn step I took.

The wind didn't blow.
The birds didn't chirp.
Even the stray cats that usually scream like banshees at dawn were silent.

It was the kind of quiet that ain't empty — it's full.
Full of things unsaid.
Full of things waitin'.
Full of things that know your name.

I crossed my arms, starin' down the empty street.

"Well," I said, "if you're gonna start somethin', might as well spit it out."

And that's when it happened.

A ripple — soft, like a breath — rolled through the air.
Not wind.
Not sound.
Just... presence.

It brushed against me, warm and cold at the same time, like a hand made of memory.

And clear as day, right behind my ear, I heard it:

"You're late."

I damn near jumped outta my skin.

"Late for what?" I snapped, spinnin' around even though I knew damn well nobody was standin' there.

The town didn't answer.
It just hummed — low, steady, patient.

Like it had all the time in the world.
Like it'd been waitin' on me for years.
Like it knew somethin' I didn't.

And that's when the truth hit me square in the chest:

This wasn't just the town wakin' up.

This was the town callin' me in.

And whatever it wanted?
It wasn't gonna wait much longer.