Page 14 of When the Smoke Clears

I pick up a murder mystery novel, intrigued by its dark cover. The blurb on the back tells of a woman entangled in a dangerous love triangle, drawn to two men who harbor hidden truths—one of whom might be a killer.

A chill creeps up my spine as I return the book to its place. The story sounds gripping, but my nerves are too frayed for anything scarier than Charlotte’s Web.

Abi appears a moment later, balancing a plate with my sandwich and a steaming cappuccino on a wooden tray. She places them on the table closest to the crackling fireplace. “Your food is ready, Isla.”

With the fire at my back, I take my first bite of the sandwich. The crust of the croissant crunches under my teeth, and I close my eyes, savoring the burst of flavors, but a voice calls me back to reality.

“Hey, Abi. I’m going to take off for the day. Can you make sure to call the produce guy and order the fresh raspberries for my tarts?”

There is something in its gentle cadence that causes me to turn my head in its direction.

It belongs to a young woman with long, cascading blonde hair that flows like a golden waterfall halfway down her back. Though she’s not facing me and her features are hidden, there’s an inexplicable sense of familiarity about her.

“Sure thing, Eden,” Abi responds cheerfully from behind the counter. “See you tomorrow.”

My eyes widen to the size of saucers as the blonde woman pivots to face me, revealing her features for the first time. Her striking resemblance to Rapunzel from the movie Tangled is uncanny; she’s petite yet curvy, her beauty undeniable, with her enchanting green doe eyes and full, rosy lips.

Oh. My. God. I’m staring at the grown-up version of Eden Wild.

Before I can even think about what I’m doing, I drop to the ground and crouch next to my chair.

What is Eden Wild doing here? Last time I saw her, she was just twelve, with braces and a wild mess of blonde curls.

Now, she stands there, a stunning woman with a confident posture, someone with a job and a life of her own.

What are the odds that she’d be here at the exact moment as me? Here I thought Greg would be the one to rat out my return, and I’m in the presence of a Wild sibling.

I can’t let her see me right now. She’ll want to chat, flash that bright smile, and ask questions I’m not ready to answer. She’ll remind me of him.

I have two choices—hide behind the bookcases until she leaves or make a stealthy escape by army-crawling out of here. Neither option is great, but she’s partially blocking the door, so my feet dart me straight into the stacks.

I press myself against a bookshelf, spine ramrod straight, like if I line up just right, I’ll somehow merge with the biographies and become one with the nonfiction.

Approaching footsteps echo down the aisle.

Nope. Absolutely not.

I drop into a crouch like I’m in some kind of tactical operation instead of hiding from small-town gossip. To what end, I have no idea. I duck my head and let my ponytail fall forward to cover my face.

There. Perfect. I am hair. I am shadow. I am…an idiot.

A few seconds of silence pass. No footsteps. No voices. Just the hammering of my heart beat merging with uneven breathing.

Maybe she left. I might have pulled it off. I can stay anonymous in Wildhaven a bit longer.

I slowly lift my head, daring to hope⁠—

That’s when I hear it. A soft, familiar voice, gentle as a hand on my shoulder, cutting through the quiet.

“Isla?”

CHAPTER 4

ISLA

“Isla.”

This time, the voice is deeper and rougher, resonating with a sharp edge that sends my stomach fluttering. I freeze at the sound, my muscles locking into place.