Noah stood beneath the crooked iron fence, his breath forming soft clouds in the cold air. He had followed the instructions precisely: black hoodie, no flashlight, and no sudden noise. Jamie's final message still echoed in his mind: "Don't wake the crows."
At exactly eleven, he heard the crunch of gravel.
Jamie emerged from the shadows, flanked by a girl Noah hadn't seen before.
"This is him?" she asked, peering over thick glasses that kept slipping down her nose.
Jamie grinned. "The one and only. Told you he'd show."
Noah took her in—she was… interesting. Tall, maybe his age or a bit younger. Wisps of curly black hair framed her face, though most of it was trapped in a messy braid that seemed to be losing the battle against gravity. Her oversized coat was patched with fabric moons and little stitched stars. She looked like she belonged in a dusty library more than on a nighttime expedition.
"This is Quinn," Jamie said. "She's got four brothers—all of them idiots. She's smarter than the rest of the town combined, but she reads too much and scares people with facts."
Quinn snorted softly. "Better than making friends by daring people to eat centipedes. Nice to meet you, Noah."
Noah nodded. "You too."
Jamie leaned in closer. "She doesn't look it, but she's practically a witch. She knows every weird story, map, and date this town wants to bury."
"I just study," Quinn replied, rolling her eyes. "Most of it's in public records—if you know where to look."
Noah smiled faintly. For the first time since arriving in Grayeridge, something felt… aligned.
The three of them walked down the dirt trail past the railway, their steps muffled by damp leaves and enveloped in silence. An owl hooted once, then fell silent, as if reconsidering. The path forked twice before narrowing into a corridor of bent trees and leaning stones.
"We call ourselves the Outcast Club," Jamie said casually, hopping over a moss-covered log. "It's not official or anything, but it fits."
"We're not great at pretending," Quinn added. "So people tend to ignore us."
Jamie shrugged. "Most of the town is too busy smiling with their teeth and lying through them."
Noah blinked. "You mentioned someone else was in the group?"
"Ezra," Jamie answered, quieter now. "He's… different. Good different, though. But his family keeps him on a short leash, and he wasn't feeling great tonight. You'll meet him."
"Everyone thinks Ezra's a little off," Quinn said, tugging at her coat. "He sees things. I mean—we all do eventually—but Ezra says it out loud. That makes people nervous."
"Like what?" Noah asked.
Quinn glanced sideways. "Like shadows walking where people don't belong. Or mirrors that don't reflect the right version of you."
They continued down the trail in silence. The air grew colder, and even the leaves appeared paler here, as if something had leached the color from them.
Then the trees parted.
There it stood.
The abandoned church of Grayeridge.
It jutted out of the earth like a broken tooth—all rotted wood and warped glass, its steeple leaning at an impossible angle. The windows had long since shattered, leaving only jagged edges like a mouth mid-scream. Symbols Noah couldn't read had been carved into the stone near the doorway—faint, but deliberate. Faint, but fresh.
Jamie gestured dramatically. "Behold. The sanctuary of secrets."
Quinn narrowed her eyes. "This place never looks the same twice."
Noah stepped closer, his hand grazing a nearby tree. The bark felt warm—too warm.
Something moved behind the broken window.
Just for a second.
Then it was gone.
"Welcome to the other side of Grayeridge," Jamie whispered.
Noah stared at the building.
And the building stared back.