The Hollow Mist - Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE – Quiet Has Rules

Morning laid a thin layer of frost across the cabin porch, and the fog hadn’t left with the night. It clung to the treeline like a curtain someone forgot to pull back. Alex watched it from the window while she laced her boots.

Fog was just weather.

Weather didn’t stare back.

She stepped outside anyway.

Her truck engine turned over reluctantly before settling into a low rumble. It was old — dented paint, mismatched tyres, windshield cracked in the corner — but she liked machines that had been through something. They made fewer promises.

The town was quiet when she pulled in. The café sign flickered above the door, and the world smelled like fresh bread and cold pine. She considered driving past.

Her body overruled her brain.
Coffee wasn’t optional today.

Inside, warmth hit first, then sound — soft chatter, clinking plates, chairs scraping across the floor. Normal life, moving on autopilot. Alex slid into a seat by the window, angled just enough to see the front door without it looking deliberate.

Bree appeared with a mug before Alex even asked.

“Good morning,” she said, setting it down gently, like she understood some people didn’t do mornings loud.

Alex nodded. “Thanks.”

“You’re in the ridge cabin, right? Number four?”

Alex’s brows lifted. “That obvious?”

Bree smiled — a small, amused thing. “New people stand out. And your porch light was on all night.”

Alex didn’t respond. She hadn’t realised anyone would notice.

Bree poured herself a cup and leaned against the counter — close enough to talk, far enough not to intrude.

“You settle in okay?”

Alex hesitated — not because she didn’t know the answer, but because honesty was a language she hadn’t used in a while. “It’s quiet.”

“Quiet can be good,” Bree said softly. “Depending on what you came from.”

Alex didn’t reply. She didn’t need to. Bree’s eyes softened, like she’d brushed up against something hidden.

A man walked in — tall, hair a mess, grease across the back of his hand like he’d already spent the morning fighting with an engine. He grabbed a donut and leaned beside Bree at the counter.

“Cabin four, right?” he asked, nodding toward Alex.

She remembered him — the guy with the keys.

“If you need anything fixed,” he said, “call me. Doors, heat, locks, pipes — I’m the handyman.”

Bree shot him a look that was half fond, half warning. “He’s being humble. Eli can rebuild a house with cardboard and stubbornness.”

Eli shrugged. “Grew up fixing things. Somebody had to.”

The words landed heavier than he meant them to.

Alex looked up. Eli held her gaze a second too long — measuring her, the way people who’ve seen too much measure danger.

Not hostile.
Just aware.

He tipped his chin. “Town’s having a bonfire tonight. Food, music, neighbours pretending winter isn’t coming. You should come.”

Alex opened her mouth — the word no already formed.

Bree stepped in gently. “No pressure. Just company. New faces are rare, and… nice.”

Alex wasn’t used to anyone calling her presence nice.

She stared into her coffee instead of answering.

Eli finished his donut, set the napkin down. “If you change your mind, we’ll be behind the old schoolhouse.”

As he left, Alex noticed something — Bree’s eyes followed him a second too long. Not worry. Not attraction.

Habit.

Checking exits.
Tracking movement.
A reflex learned, not taught.

Bree turned back to Alex. “He looks gruff, but he’s a good person. One of the best.”

“I can tell,” Alex said — before she had time to filter it.

Bree blinked, surprised. Pleased. Like she hadn’t expected kindness from someone carrying that much weight around her shoulders.

The rest of the morning passed quietly. Alex paid for her coffee; Bree didn’t count the change too carefully. Neither of them asked the questions they were both thinking.

When Alex stepped outside, something made her pause.

The fog hadn’t lifted.

If anything, it was thicker.

It curled at the edges of the street — not drifting, not rolling. Sitting. Waiting.

Her phone had no signal.

Somewhere across the road, a car engine coughed once and died.

A dog barked.
Then nothing.

Alex exhaled slowly.

Small towns had their own rules.

She got back in her truck and drove toward the cabins — telling herself the fog was just weather.

But she didn’t take her hand off the wheel until she was under the trees.

Even then, the fog felt like it was watching.