Chapter 8

Morning came, but it brought no sunlight. A thick, silver-grey mist hung over Cresthaven, wrapping the houses and trees in a silence so complete it felt like the world had stopped breathing. Elias stood at the kitchen window, watching the fog curl around the garden fence, his hand resting absently on the diary. He felt different — sharper, more awake, as if the truth itself had cleared the fog from his own mind.