The days rolled by at Confidant Haven like a song that refused to change its tune. The air in the old building was thick with dust, candle smoke, and silence—the kind of silence that made footsteps echo too loudly and laughter feel out of place.
Althea, Lyra, and Raven had done everything they could to bring people in. Flyers printed on fine parchment paper—with a logo hand-drawn by Lyra—were scattered around town, posted near wells, pinned on trees, even slipped discreetly into merchant stalls. But every effort seemed to crumble under the invisible wall of fear.
"Haunted," the townsfolk whispered. "Cursed."
No one wanted to go near the western end of the city, where the fog seemed thicker and the streetlamps always flickered as if afraid of the dark.
More than once, Althea watched from behind the curtain as children pointed at the building, tugging at their mothers' skirts and murmuring something before being hurried away.
