Chapter 5: The Name Everyone Avoids

Ethan hadn’t slept—not really. He spent the night sitting on the edge of the bed, knife within reach, eyes fixed on the hallway. The numbers on the wall remained when daylight crept in, pale but unmistakable.

3:17

They hadn’t been there before.

By the time the sun rose fully, the house felt different again—quieter, almost innocent. As if it hadn’t whispered, scratched, and breathed around him hours earlier.

Ethan stood and ran a hand through his hair. His reflection in the mirror looked wrong. Older than yesterday. Hollowed out.

He didn’t try to erase the numbers.

Some instinct told him they were meant to stay.

He locked the house behind him and walked downhill toward town, the morning fog lifting in thin ribbons. The streets were active now—delivery trucks, doors opening, a dog barking somewhere. Normal life pushing back against the unease of the night.

But when people saw him, their movements slowed.

Conversations softened.

Eyes followed him and then slid away.

At the diner, the bell chimed again. This time, the pause was unmistakable.

The waitress—same woman as before—met his gaze briefly, then looked away. She poured coffee without asking and set it down harder than necessary.

“You look tired,” she said.

“I didn’t sleep,” Ethan replied.

She nodded, as if that explained everything.

Across the room, an older man stood abruptly and left without paying. Another booth emptied a moment later. The space around Ethan grew wider.

He sipped the coffee, bitter and grounding.

“What happened to Lucas Reed?” he asked quietly.

The waitress froze.

The pot hovered midair. The room seemed to inhale.

“You shouldn’t say that name,” she said after a long moment.

“Why?”

She finally looked at him, fear flickering beneath irritation. “Because it brings trouble.”

Ethan leaned forward. “I think the trouble’s already here.”

A chair scraped loudly behind him. Ethan turned to see a woman standing near the door—tall, dark-haired, her coat still on. She looked about his age, though lines of exhaustion framed her eyes.

“Leave him alone, Sarah,” the woman said to the waitress.

Sarah hesitated, then walked away without another word.

The woman approached Ethan’s table. “Mind if I sit?”

Ethan studied her. “Do I know you?”

She smiled faintly. “You used to.”

She slid into the booth across from him.

“Mara Reed,” she said.

The name landed harder than he expected.

“Lucas was my brother.”

Ethan’s chest tightened. “I didn’t know you were still here.”

“Someone has to remember,” she replied.

They sat in silence, the weight of years pressing between them.

“People talk,” Ethan said finally. “About you.”

Mara laughed softly. “Of course they do. They always need someone to point at when things go wrong.”

“What do they say?”

“That I ask too many questions.” Her eyes hardened. “That I won’t let the past stay buried.”

Ethan swallowed. “Someone broke into my house.”

“I know.”

He stared at her. “You do?”

“I saw the lights,” she said. “And the fog doesn’t hide as much as people think.”

Before he could ask more, the door opened again.

Sheriff Cole stepped inside.

The room fell silent.

His gaze moved from Ethan to Mara and lingered there. His jaw tightened.

“Reed,” he said flatly.

“Cole,” she replied. “Still pretending this town is safe?”

Cole turned to Ethan. “We need to talk.”

Mara stood. “Be careful,” she said softly to Ethan. “Blackwood doesn’t like names being spoken out loud.”

She left without another word.

Cole watched her go, then sighed.

“That’s the name you avoid here,” he said. “Lucas Reed.”

Ethan met his eyes. “Why?”

Cole’s voice dropped. “Because the night he disappeared… you were the last person seen with him.”

The diner felt suddenly very small.

Ethan’s pulse thundered in his ears.

“That’s not how I remember it,” he said.

Cole didn’t look convinced.

“Memory lies,” the sheriff replied. “And in Blackwood, it lies for a reason.”

Outside, the river roared louder than ever.

And the past, long silent, had finally been given a name.