D U S K

“I like the night. Without the DARK, we'd never see the stars.”

[ofgloaming]

ofgloaming • a dependent mulltimuse blog for forksw

declan ames • intro | visage | muse | wc | pinterest | tasks | playlist salem williams • intro | visage | muse | wc | pinterest | tasks | playlist

[ofgloaming]

———— D E C L A N A M E S

[muddyreverie]

𝐖𝐇𝐎: thane rowan, open to all! capped at [2/3] replies 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍: august 7th, 11:42am 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄: the carver café

❝ I  am  BEGGING  you  to  keep  it  down. ❞   It's  hard  for  the  wolves  to  get  wasted.   Hard,   but  not  impossible.   Thane  is  constant  proof  of  that.   It's  not  respectable,   but   —   he  has  more  demons  than  most.   By  design.   He  can  protect  THEM,   but  not  himself.   ❝ At  least  until  I've  had  some  coffee. ❞   He  tips  the  empty  mug  towards  himself  and  peers  down  into  it with a DEEP frown.     ❝ More  coffee. ❞

[ofgloaming]

Declan had just settled into the booth opposite with a plate of eggs and toast when the other wolf’s grumble cut through the low din of the café. His brow arched, not unkind, as he followed the sound to its source — a familiar face, though not one he’d ever expected to see this close without the forest between them.

“Think they’ll have to put you on a loyalty card if you keep that up,” Declan said, nodding toward the empty mug Thane frowned into. His voice was easy enough, but there was a carefulness beneath it, like he was testing the ground before he stepped. He knew the man was like him, had smelled it the first time he was at the Tanglepoint trail head. But he also knew the man certainly wasn't Greypine, which only left one other option.

He lifted his own coffee and took a sip, watching steam curl over the rim. “Though, I’m not sure anything in Carver’s pot is strong enough to do the job. You might be chasing it all day.”

[mawsagape]

who: open | when: aug. 16th | where: in the woods, 8:00 PM.

the sun was going down, basking this side of the world in orange rays of light. any normal person wouldn't be in the woods at this time, especially after what happened to that girl at the bonfire. missing, pending investigation. it was weird, how a girl could just vanish into thin air with a crowd of people on the same beach. then again, everything in forks was weird. the people, the atmosphere. if luke didn't know how to mind her business, she's sure she would be gossiping with the rest of them rather than hiking alone with her dog in the very same woods that the girl went missing in.

[ofgloaming]

The sun had already dipped low by the time Declan packed up his notes at the Bellwood Lookout. He’d lost track of time again, chasing numbers across his laptop screen, and now the forest stretched around him in the kind of fading light that made even familiar trails feel… off.

He slung his bag over one shoulder, boots crunching against the dirt path, when movement caught his eye up ahead. A dog, weaving through the brush, and then the shape of someone following close behind. For half a second, his chest tightened — too many half-formed thoughts of what else might be roaming these woods — but it eased once he recognized the ordinary rhythm of human steps.

“Didn’t expect to see anyone out here this late,” he called out, making himself known as to not frighten her (he wasn't quite worried about the dog), voice steady, carrying across the quiet. His gaze slid from the dog to its owner, curious but not sharp. “Most people have been keeping their distance since the… you know.” The word disappearance felt too heavy to drop into the air, so he left it hanging.

A faint smile tugged at his mouth as he shifted his bag higher. “Guess your dog didn’t get the memo.”

[ofgloaming]

who: @1ncebitten (rosemarie pettie) where: carver's cafe

Declan settled into the booth across from Rosemarie, tray balanced between them, fries steaming in the warm cafe air. He stole one from her plate before she could react, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Okay,” he said, leaning back, elbows resting lightly on the table. “So… during the search the other night.” He paused, chewing thoughtfully, trying to phrase it carefully. “Do you… really think they saw something? Or was it just nerves, maybe the forest playing tricks?” His fingers drummed lightly against the tray, betraying the small tension under his calm tone.

Even with the soft light of the diner and the mundane clatter around them, the memory of the forest tugged at him — not fear exactly, but that restless, alert edge that came from being a shifter still new to the pack, still learning which instincts were true and which were shadows of imagination. He pitched his voice down, making it soft and low and hard to hear by anyone who didn't have supernatural hearing "I know this town is filled with shit that goes bump in the night, but do you really think it could be foul play?"

[sombvers-deactivated20260218]

location: la push beach status: closed ( @ofgloaming ) time: 10:02pm

Sienna rubbed her hands together and let out a sigh. Everyone had split up but she found a familiar face. "Hey, Declan." She said.

The brunette pulled out her bag of marshmellows. "Do you want one before I throw them out?" She asked him. "The sugar might help... Get us through the search." Sienna said with a small shrug. "The sugar and all."

She knew that she would have to make her way into the forest but she wanted to have a bit of sugary courage before she did it. Sienna wasn't easily scared but there was something unsettling about someone going missing in a crowd, an event that was supposed to bring everyone together. "Did you get a flashlight?" She asked him after a moment.

[ofgloaming]

Declan’s head lifted at the sound of his name, relief flickering at the sight of someone familiar in the mess of shadows and scattered voices. The pack’s bond carried their worry like static, but Sienna’s presence cut through it cleaner than most.

“Marshmallows,” he said, the corner of his mouth tugging like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or not. “Not exactly search-and-rescue rations.” Still, he reached for one, the flashlight in his other hand shifting awkwardly as reached into the plastic bag for one. The sugar was quick on his tongue, not much but enough to keep his jaw moving, something to focus on besides the pulse of unease running under his skin.

He gave a quiet hum in agreement, eyes flicking toward the treeline where the fire’s light couldn’t reach. “Could use all the courage we can get.” The words weren’t heavy, but there was something taut in them, like he knew the forest was waiting with more than just answers.

At her question, he held up the battered flashlight, thumb brushing the ridged switch. “Picked one up. Not sure if it’s doing much more than giving me a headache, but…” He clicked it on, sweeping the beam across the sand until it caught on the dark hem of the trees. “Better than nothing.” His gaze slipped back to her, steady for a moment before he nodded toward the woods. “We’ll check it out together. Better than splitting off more than we already have?”

[bloodyfvngs]

In the complexities of her supposedly long lived life, Marisol had lost a lot. Including, but not limited to, Declan. Not in any romantic or familial way — though perhaps on some level the latter was fitting — but in the way he had chosen a pack well versed in protecting in name only. He was not the first, nor would he be the last, she was afraid. There was something that must still be so alluring in the way that Elias spoke his lofty promises, steady hand to guide those so clouded in uncertainty. She too, had once believed in him. And like her, she was sure Declan would eventually rue the day he fell under his wing. Today, despite however much she might want it, would not be that day.

With the flashlight handed off to him, she dusted off the touch and dirt and recoiled comfortably back into her stance of rigid anger masquerading as disinterest. Her blood boiled at the thought of what might happen to this little girl. The other side of her, the one that was perfectly content to dig her claws into the throat of those she named guilty, was already bubbling at her surface — awaiting permission.

"Of course." Her voice was short and clipped, biting back any condescending phrase that crossed her mind all too easily when it came to picking on the graypines. He might still change his mind. The prospect alone was enough to allow her to exhale any untoward and unwarranted hostility in his direction — other graypines could only be so lucky. "This town is full of enough ghosts." Her voice fell grave as she glanced down to her empty hands. Sometimes, it felt odd for her hands to be just that — hands — and not gnarled claws digging into the forest floor. How many more lives must slip past her grasp before the vampires finally pay?

Her sigh is loud, but not defeated, more annoyed than anything else. "Oh Declan, don't waste your breath using your nose." Marisol crossed her arms and cracked her neck — as if this could block the horrid scent that stained her nostrils. "Even the most skilled of us have a hard time getting past that migraine inducing odor." She tapped her temple with her index finger once, twice, thrice to make her point. "We'll just have to rely on our blessed night vision." She chanced a smirk in his direction, a small, innocent way to invite him back into her world. Sol nodded her head back toward the treeline. "Shall we?"

[ofgloaming]

Declan huffed out a short laugh, one without much humor, more acknowledgment than amusement. “Guess that explains why my head’s been pounding since sundown.” His thumb toyed with the flashlight’s switch, flicking it on and off once like he wasn’t sure whether it helped or made things worse. The smell was everywhere — copper and salt and ash mixing into a migraine. Pride wanted him to keep trying, to prove he could parse it out, but the truth was plain: he didn’t know how yet. Not like she did.

Still, he fell in step when she tipped her chin toward the trees, boots sinking out of the sand and into the loam at the forest’s edge. The fire behind them spat and roared, but out here it was damp and cold, shadows stitched between the pines. He kept the beam low at first, cutting across roots and broken branches, until a half-buried bottle caught the light and gleamed like an eye. His grip tightened on the flashlight, the muscle in his jaw ticking before he angled it higher, across the trunks instead of the ground.

“Figures,” he muttered, squinting into the dark, “first real run on a night like this, and it’s a needle-in-a-haystack job.” The words came without bitterness, though the restless way his shoulders rolled gave him away — the sharp edge of nerves, of someone untested. The bond thrummed faintly at the edge of his senses, all those other wolves and their noise bleeding in, reminding him of just how far behind he was.

After a beat, he cut his eyes sideways toward her. “What about you? Got some Redmaw trick I should know about? Something that makes this easier?” His tone wasn’t sharp, not a jab — more like a concession, rookie to veteran, asking how the game was really played. But there was something taut beneath it too, the quiet strain of a man who hated being the one always two steps behind.

[ofgloaming]

[ofgloaming]

[teetheds]

it wasn’t declan’s fault — none of it was — but knowing that did little to ease the strange, bitter twist bodhi felt coil low in his gut whenever the man was near. there was nothing malicious in declan’s gaze, only a persistent curiosity, a quiet hunger to belong, to be part of something larger than himself — and, worse, he got that belonging without ever having to ask. bodhi knew the fault lived in himself, curled in the marrow of his bones like some old, familiar ache. he understood, in the abstract, why he couldn’t just open the door and let declan in. maybe it was pride. maybe fear. maybe something meaner. because bodhi had been born into this — the rhythm of it all, the rituals, the unspoken rules that clung like fog. he had clawed his way into a name, brick by bloody brick, and still... still, it felt like too little.

especially when standing beside someone so new, so wide-eyed, so easily adored. declan had been folded into graypine like he’d always belonged. laughter had found him quickly. arms had opened. a space was made without question or cost. and bodhi, watching from a step removed, reminded himself — over and over — that this was who they were. this was the good in them. but they'd never had someone like declan before. not like this, not so soon. and it didn’t matter that bodhi could feel the truth of declan — good, decent, earnest to a fault. the old instinct still flared when declan reached for the bag of marshmallows, the same one bodhi had asked someone to grab. a small, sharp thing twisted in him. unwelcome, but there. his laugh came too quick, too shaped to sound real. a poor performance.

"better not take all the good 'mellows." he said. it should’ve been paired with a grin, crooked and easy. anyone else would’ve gotten that smile. but for declan, it barely rose before falling flat. he had to get his shit together. "twelve is the sweet spot. literally. with twelve, i have just enough energy to do suicides across the beach for five minutes. tire myself out, be quiet. it's really for everybody's benefit." he plucked one marshmallow from the bag and took up the forgotten stick, spearing the pillowy white center like it owed him something. "hope you're okay with the smell of char." he added, voice dipping as he eased the marshmallow into the flame. "no better way to enjoy a dozen of these fuckers. gotta get 'em crispy."

[ofgloaming]

Declan didn’t flinch at Bodhi’s half-laugh. If anything, he leaned into it, like maybe he hadn’t noticed the bite under the joke. Or maybe he had, and just decided not to give it teeth.

“Don’t worry,” he said, fishing out a single marshmallow with exaggerated care, his fingers brushing past the crinkled plastic. “Wouldn’t dream of depriving you of your twelve.” The corner of his mouth tugged up — not wide enough to be cocky, not sharp enough to challenge. Just there, a half-formed grin that disappeared as soon as it arrived.

He took his time spearing the marshmallow, lining it up dead center like it mattered. “Guess I’m more of a… slow-burn kind of guy,” he went on, holding it well above the flames instead of straight in. Sparks popped and cracked as the wood shifted, a small ember spiraling up into the night before winking out. “Let the outside stay soft while the inside catches up.” For a moment, the firelight caught in his eyes, making them look warmer than the air around them. The tide hissed somewhere behind them, waves dragging pebbles in and out with a restless rhythm. Declan shifted his weight in the sand, the heel of his boot pressing into the grit until it found something solid beneath.

He glanced sidelong at Bodhi, quick enough to clock that the other man’s focus was firmly on his own marshmallow. Declan’s own kept turning in his hand, slow rotations that never quite let it linger in one spot long enough to blister.

“Besides,” he said, settling back on his heels, “if you’re running suicides on the beach, someone’s gotta be here to eat your share before they go cold.” He gave a low hum, like it was a fair trade. A curl of smoke drifted from the fire, sweetened faintly by sugar beginning to warm. Declan tipped his head toward it, breathing in. “Char’s overrated anyway,” he added lightly, though he kept his marshmallow well away from the fire’s edge, like the heat might get ideas.

[seaschimed]

being  a  pillar  of  calm  has  never  been  winnie's  forte  ;  her  skills  lie  in  dramatic  gasps,  or  off-hand  accusations  flung  in  desperation.  in  most  situations,  she's  used  to  acting  first  and  thinking  later,  but  this  is  …  different.  not  some  trivial  pack  rivalry,  or  enemies  sworn  in  history  and  blood.  this  is  a  young  girl,  probably  cold,  scared,  and  only  hopefully  alive.  winnie  knows  not  to  fly  off  the  handle,  not  now,  but  she  needs  to  make  sure  –  make  sure  that  if  there's  something,  anything  of  hannah  thompson  left,  she  would  find  it.  it's  close,  something  she  can't  put  her  finger  on,  if  she  could  just  reach  …  – 

‘  anything  ?  ’  salem's  voice  startles  her  into  a  jump,  branches  breaking  beneath  her.  jesus  christ  ,  she  was  too  focused  to  hear  her.  a  relieved  sigh  ;  she  supposes  if  anyone  would  be  nice  to  see  out  here  right  now,  it'd  be  salem.  winnie  realizes  she  can't  make  a  quick  getaway,  especially  when  whoever  salem  had  been  talking  to  disappears  into  the  trees  as  quick  as  their  shadow  had  come.  winnie  ignores  it  in  favor  of  stepping  from  her  own  spot,  shaking  her  head,  “  don't  think  anyone's  made  much  progress  at  all.  might  be  worth  it  to  not  be  such  a  downer,  though.  ”  rich  coming  from  her. 

[ofgloaming]

Salem let out a humorless huff, the kind that might’ve been a laugh if you squinted hard enough. “Right, because nothing says ‘morale boost’ like telling people to just… smile through a missing girl case.”

Her flashlight beam drifted past Winnie’s boots, over churned leaves and half-buried beer cans, like it was looking for proof to the contrary. Truth was, she felt a little less alone with Winnie here — not the kind of person who shied away from ugly truths, even if she dressed them up with jokes. Maybe that’s why Salem didn’t bother softening her next words. “Don’t worry, though — I’ll try to keep my existential dread to a polite whisper.”

She tipped her chin toward the treeline, starting forward without waiting. “North side’s clear of cops right now. We’ll have better luck before they swarm it again — or worse, decide it’s bedtime.” Salem's ongoing beef with the Forks Police Department was still as fresh as the day it started, when it became clear they didn't much care about yet another missing girl, that time, Salem's own sister.

[thefelinefctale-deactivated2025]

as the clocks ticked on, his mind unraveled, each second dragging him further down a spiral of dread. it had been over two hours now since the young girl had vanished and there was still no sign. in any other town, maybe hope would cling a little tighter. but here? here, the shadows felt heavier, the silence louder. the town didn't just lose people it devoured them. and if a girl could disappear in plain sight at a community gathering, what chance did anyone else have.

her voice broke the quiet between them. glancing over at eyes that carried the weight of someone who knew better than most how hopeless this all felt but still not being able to give up on the search. he shook his head in response "nothing" and yet he wasn't able to turn out the flashlight either and head home. if it was one of his sisters out there on their own it's what he hoped would have been done for them. he beams his flashlight upwards into the trees, he couldn't shake the feeling that it had been something far more sinister. the same creature that had him looking over his shoulder since he returned from seattle.

"yeah.. been too many like her. this town has a way of swallowing people up" he glances back over his shoulder. he shinse the flashlight on the underbrush. watching as the shadows stretch and shift "it's not a pain that ever really goes away is it?" his voice is low, almost to himself "a scar that stays with you even when the town moves on and pretends everything is fine"

[ofgloaming]

The beam of her own flashlight swept across the ground in lazy arcs, catching on damp leaves, candy wrappers, the occasional shoeprint that never seemed fresh enough to matter. She didn’t look at Kieran right away — some silences deserved more than a quick answer. His words hung there, perfectly measured, like he’d plucked something out of her own head and given it shape.

She adjusted her grip on the flashlight, letting its glow skim the treeline, the light catching the glint of wet branches, casting the forest in shifting shards of light. “You’re right — it doesn’t go away. It just… changes shape. Stops feeling like a wound and starts feeling like part of you. Like you wouldn’t recognize yourself without it.” It was strange — the way he’d said it, like he’d been there too, like he knew that slow transformation of grief into something you wear instead of carry. That wasn’t something most people understood unless life had forced it on them.

Salem glanced over at him then, eyes catching the faint reflection from his flashlight beam. “The thing is, I think the town likes people like us to get used to that feeling. Makes it easier for it to keep doing what it does.”

She wondered — not for the first time that night — what had made him see things so clearly. What had sharpened the edges of him in the same way this place had done to her. The light moved again, pausing on a tangle of underbrush before she stepped toward it. “And I’m not much for making it easy.”

[bloodyfvngs]

She glanced back down at her fry bread, delightfully prepared and easy on the eyes, and smiled like she had passed some secret test. Who can be the most human at a bonfire? And it might just be her. Remembering that she was actually being spoken to, and not just scenery at this event drew her gaze back up. Her usual bartender — as she had become an unfortunate regular at the tavern — wore a smirk beautifully, and Mercy relished in being a part of some small inside joke.

"I 'spose a little of both?" She laughed downward, chin tucked in an attempt to cover her flushing cheeks. "I'm not too good at these events, honestly." She much preferred the dim lighting of the tavern — soft low lights and music drowned out by the familiar sound of talking and drinks hitting tables. Here, they were in the loud, open air, no music steadily playing to drown out the noise, and so many heartbeats, erratically thrumming in her ears. Focusing on Salem and her humorous drawl, it grounded her enough to ignore the ache in her teeth — for a while at least. "So, the least I can do is rigorously inspect the meat." She clanked her tongs for emphasis and giggled. "Got any suggestions that won't turn the stomach?"

[ofgloaming]

“Least you can do,” Salem echoed, mouth twitching like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to smile or smirk. Her gaze drifted to the tongs in Mercy’s hand, then back up to her face. “Dangerous words, by the way. Depending on who you ask, the least you can do might involve burning the burgers and walking away.”

She tipped her chin toward the grill, scanning the lineup like she was about to deliver a professional assessment. “If you want something safe? Stick to the hot dogs. Low expectations, low risk. Nobody’s gonna write home about a hot dog.”

Her eyes cut back to Mercy, sharp but not unkind. “Besides, they’re practically tradition out here. You can’t go wrong with something that’s survived decades of sand, rain, and bad company.”

There’s a pause, her smirk deepening just enough to suggest she’s not just talking about food. “Though if you’re looking for something a little more interesting, I could point you toward the salmon. Might be risky, but… some people live for that kind of gamble.” She let the words hang there a beat, then added, “You say you’re bad at these events, but you’re out here tong-wrangling like a pro. What’s your secret? I'll take any pointers. I think my resting bitch face has scared off at least 3 possible conversations."

[julianavalds]

I just wanted to be a hero. Someone my sister could be proud of, but I don't give a shit anymore. I just want to be a good person.

JAZ SINCLAIR as MARIE MOREAU GEN V (2023 - )

[sangu1neo]

people  go  missing  every  day.     juliette  would  know  :  sometimes  she's  the  reason  they're  gone.  joining  a  search  party  for  someone  was  a  new  predicament,  but  fascinating  all  the  same,  to  watch  how  a  town  came  together  to  find  someone.  she's  not  sure  what  happened  —  and  there's  an  irritation  to  uncertainty  that  feels  about  as  fun  as  pulling  teeth  —  nor  does  she  care  much.  the  motions  are  important,  though.  she  makes  herself  out  to  be  someone  genuinely  concerned,  putting  a  modicum  of  effort  into  the  search  to  avoid  questions. a  part  of  her  knows  it'll  be  fruitless.  if  the  wolves  and  kinder  vampires  than  her  can't  find  anything,  the  girl  is  lost  to  them  all  until  she  makes  herself  found.  hope  is  what  makes  mortals  unbreakable,  though,  and  she  can  feel  it  in  every  human  that  calls  out  her  name.  she's  about  to  pretend  to  call  it  a  night,  give  some  excuse  about  needing  to  head  into  work,  when  a  voice  rings  out.  salem.  a  face  barely  recognizable,  a  memory  of  the  bar  she  occasionally  haunts. “  nothing.  ”  she  confirms.  jules  has  not  been  vulnerable  in  a  long  time  —  she  can't  gauge  how  convincing  her  tone  is.  “  i'm  sure  i've  been  turning  in  circles.  i  just  hope  this  is  all  because  she  doesn't  want  to  be  found,  you  know?  that  she'll  pop  up  in  a  few  days.  this  is  my  first  time  seeing  someone  just…  disappear.  ” 

[ofgloaming]

Salem studies her for a beat — not just the words, but the way they land. The tone is off. Not shaky, not panicked… just flat. She’d heard the woman speak before, though never directly to her — usually just a clipped order to a fellow bartender at Cricket’s or a curt refusal if someone offered to buy her a drink. Always the same: glass in hand, barely touched, eyes scanning the room like she was keeping track of exits.

That woman out here, flashlight in hand, tramping through damp sand with the rest of the volunteers…? It didn’t fit.

“First time?” Salem asks, brows lifting. “Guess I’m lucky then.” Lucky — as if the word doesn’t taste bitter in her mouth. “Seen this movie before. Doesn’t usually end with a cheerful reunion montage.”

She shifts her flashlight beam toward a ridge of driftwood, though she doesn’t move yet, boots planted in the sand. There’s the sound of the tide sucking at the shore, the faint calls of other searchers further down the beach. She glances back at the woman, studying her face again.

“What made you come out here, anyway?” Her voice stays light, curious in the way a cat’s paw might be on the first swat. “You don’t really strike me as the… rah-rah, community events type.”

[1ncebitten]

Marie nodded at the woman's memory. "A little under fifteen, actually." It had been a long fifteen years. "And you're one of the Williams, right?" She closed one eye and thought hard. She remembered an eclectic girl, always with tarot cards. When she recalled the memory, she opened both eyes. "Salem?" Oh the question Marie didn't want to answer. Marie searched the ocean behind her for clarity before turning back to Salem. "I didn't expect to be back if I'm honest." She sighed, the weariness drenched her whole demeanor, "I don't want to bring the mood down. So, I'll just say, I'm here temporarily for a family thing. I don't plan on staying." Salem sat and Marie grabbed her red cup from the sand and tipped it towards her. Marie had a way of talking with her hands even if they were full. "How's life?"

[ofgloaming]

Salem’s brows arched, a faint smirk tugging at her mouth. “Wow. Fifteen years and you still remember my name. Guess my brand of weird sticks.”

She shifted in the sand, stretching her legs out toward the fire’s dying glow. “Yeah, I’m a Williams. And yeah… Salem.” The name tasted different when it came from someone who knew it from before, like a coin unearthed after years buried in dirt.

Salem’s mouth curved in a faint, knowing smile. “Life? Well, I don’t want to bring the mood down,” she echoed, the words coming out like she’d borrowed them on purpose. “So I’ll just say I’m the only Williams left in Forks.” She shrugged, the motion casual but her eyes steady on Marie. “Do with that what you will. — Not to ask all the boring questions like we're on a first date, but what have you been up to for the past 15 years?” There was a bravery to be found in those that left their small towns, and Salem, who now felt trapped until she figured out what happened to her sister, was curious about the lives of those that had found enough to leave.

[celcstiall]

jin stepped calmly from the shadow of a nearby pine, not appearing startled in the slightest. he wasn't using a flashlight; his eyes seemed to adjust to the gloom just fine. to be honest, he wasn't really searching either, just roaming around in the shadows. "nothing yet," jin replied, his voice even and low. "just the tracks of our panicked searchers getting in the way of any real trail." and he was right, even if he wanted to help, the searches had already made a mess of the whole scene. he took another step, his gaze shifting from the forest floor to her. he paused for a second, as if hesitant to intrude. "pardon me," he started, his tone shifting to one of curiosity, but always polite. "i'm new here. i thought i heard you mention a 'list' of people this town loses?"

[ofgloaming]

Salem’s flashlight beam cut across the underbrush, briefly illuminating the shape of the stranger before sliding off him like water. The lack of surprise in his tone — and the fact that he wasn’t even carrying a light — made something in the back of her mind twitch. Still, she didn’t stop moving.

“Yeah, well… Forks isn’t exactly a one-hit wonder when it comes to disappearances.” Her voice was flat, not dramatic, but there was a sharpness under the words. She crouched to sweep her beam over a patch of trampled grass, thumb flicking the flashlight off and on like she couldn’t stand the silence too long.

Straightening, she finally glanced his way, appraising. “You said you’re new. Here’s your first free piece of local wisdom: this town’s got a memory like a sieve. People vanish, we talk about it for a while, and then it’s like it never happened. Until the next one.”