The Hollow Mist - Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO – Where No One Would Hear You

Alex spent her first night in Ridge Hollow inside a small cabin tucked close to the trees and far enough from town that she couldn’t hear a single car, voice, or dog.

The brochure for Hollow Ridge Cabins called it “quiet and private.”

In reality, it felt like a place where no one would hear you if you screamed.

Which suited her fine.

The guy from the cabin office had handed her the keys — tall, grease-smudged, tired in a way that spoke of long days and longer nights. He didn’t ask why she wanted thick locks or a cabin with no neighbours. He just slid the key across the counter and said, “Rent’s week-to-week. Drop the cash in the box.”

No questions.

Perfect.

The cabin itself was better than she expected — clean, sturdy, no gaps in the floorboards. Someone had taken time to care for it. Every hinge oiled. Every board sanded smooth. Whoever owned this place didn’t like things falling apart.

Alex could respect that.

She unpacked just enough to make it liveable — a duffel, a change of clothes, two knives, a flashlight, and a pistol wrapped in cloth. The essentials. Everything else stayed zipped and ready.

She wasn’t used to staying anywhere long.

Night came early beneath the shadow of the mountains. The cabin lights glowed warm, but the windows turned black — the kind of darkness that swallowed sound.

Alex checked the lock.

Twice.

Not because she was scared.

But because caution had kept her alive more than hope ever had.

She tried to sleep. Tried to convince herself that a quiet town meant peace. But her body didn’t understand peace anymore. It understood threats it couldn’t see, exits she had already mapped, and the weight of silence pressing against the walls.

Around midnight, she gave up.

She grabbed her jacket and stepped outside.

Cold air wrapped around her, sharp enough to wake the parts of her brain that never fully slept. Stars scattered across a perfect sky — bright, clean, unbothered. Ridge Hollow was the kind of place people came to heal.

She wasn’t here to heal.

Just to stop bleeding.

The woods were silent — too silent — but a faint vibration thrummed beneath her boots. Too low to place. Too easy to dismiss. A generator, maybe. Or her imagination. She didn’t linger on it.

Then she heard it — or rather, she heard nothing.

Not branches.
Not wind.
Not even insects.

The silence was so complete it felt intentional.

Fog spilled from the treeline like water poured too slowly to hear. Thick. Low. Deliberate. It curled along the cabin porch, rolling over the wood in slow, wispy waves.

Alex stilled.

Fog should drift.

But this fog followed.

It moved against the wind, not with it — creeping uphill like it had somewhere to be.

Her pulse didn’t jump.

Soldiers weren’t allowed that luxury.

Calm first. Panic never.

She watched long enough to know she wasn’t imagining it. Long enough for the hair at the base of her neck to rise.

Fog didn’t look at people.

This felt like it did.

Just as slowly as it came, it thinned again — retreating toward the trees as though losing interest.

Alex stayed on the porch another half hour, listening for anything out of place — a branch breaking, footsteps, breathing that wasn’t hers.

Nothing.

Finally, she went back inside.

She locked the door again, but not because of the fog.

Because she knew what it meant when the world went silent.

Danger wasn’t loud.

It sat in silence and waited.

She slid into bed fully clothed, one hand under the pillow where her knife rested. Her eyes stayed open longer than they should have.

Ridge Hollow was supposed to be quiet.

But Alex Hale had learned the hard way that quiet was just another kind of warning.