Chapter 3 Eli
Maya falls asleep on the couch before sunset.
Her tiny body curls against her stuffed panda, the blanket slipped half off her shoulder. A soft whistle escapes her nose every few breaths, the kind children make when they fully surrender to sleep. I brush a curl from her forehead and watch her chest rise and fall, slow, steady, untroubled.
How a child can sleep this deeply in a house that feels… watched… I’ll never understand.
I tuck the blanket tighter around her and switch off the TV. The room dims into warm honey light. Peaceful for a moment. Too peaceful.
The silence stretches.
It stretches a little too long.
The necklace in my pocket feels heavier the longer I hold it. My thumb rubs over the cold crescent through the fabric, a grounding habit I didn’t know I’d developed. The postcard lies on the counter, its faded motel image turned downward. The edges have softened from how often I’ve picked it up today.
I pick it up again.
Surveying the card, relooking at the note, the writing, the familiar loops.
None of this makes sense.
Not the box in the attic.
Not the necklace that keeps changing temperature.
Not the ache in my ribs that won’t go away.
Not the postcard written in handwriting that should be impossible.
A car door slams outside.
I freeze.
The living room inhales with me, the quiet swelling and stretching until even the clock seems afraid to tick.
I place the postcard back down, this time with the hotel side facing up.
Slowly, I walk toward the window, careful not to wake Maya, and part the blinds.
The backyard is empty.
But the driveway is not.
A tall man stands beside a dark SUV. Broad shoulders. Familiar posture. A pulse jumps under my sternum.
Eli Reyes.
I haven’t seen him in over a year, if I don’t count the accidental grocery store run-in earlier today. Seeing him then cracked something open in my chest I’d spent months plastering shut.
I let the blinds fall.
Then three soft knocks.
My heart stutters.
“Sera,” his voice calls quietly through the door. “It’s me.”
My chest tightens. Nobody else says my name like that.
Like a memory. Like a secret. Like a plea only I could answer.
I open the door.
He fills the doorway, tall, familiar, warmed by the fading light. His eyes sweep over me calmly, assessing. Something unreadable flickers there.
“Hey,” he says softly.
“Hi.”
The silence between us is thick, heavy with things unsaid.
“Is Maya asleep?” he asks, glancing past me.
“Yeah. Long day.”
He nods, stepping inside when I move aside. His scent brushes past me, cedar and something darker, something that always lingered on him after late shifts and long nights. It tugged at me, forcing me to push down feelings I wasn't ready to explore again.
He steps into the living room, and his attention shifts instantly to the counter.
To the postcard I didn't think to hide or get rid of.
He moves toward it casually, picking it up between two fingers with a soft huff.
“This yours?” he asks with a small smile. “Vacation plans? Clearwater doesn’t exactly scream Sera-”
Then he turns it over.
The smile instantly disappears.
His whole face changes, sharp, alert, rattled in a way I’ve seen only once before: the night everything went wrong.
“Sera.” His voice drops.
“This is her handwriting.”
Cold ripples across my arms.
“I know.”
He sets the postcard down slowly, carefully, like it might burn him.
“Where did this come from?”
“I found it when we got home,” I whisper. “On the doorstep.”
He looks up sharply. “You didn’t see anyone?”
“No.”
His brow furrows as he studies the postcard again. “I’ve seen this place. Driftwood Inn. Past Clearwater. Shut down years ago.”
“Why?”
“A woman died there.”
My breath stutters. Why would I get a postcard with that place on it?
He looks at me again, soft but searching. “Sera… what’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “Maya said she saw a woman in her room last night. Someone with pretty hair.”
The color drains from his face. “What woman?”
“I don’t know. She just mentions her hair...and says she looks like the girl in the photo.” I say while pointing to the picture on the wall.
Eli moves closer, not touching, but near enough that the space between us feels warmer, safer.
“Sera,” he says gently, “you’re not imagining this.” It didn't sound like a question, but I knew it was. The look on his face showed the worry. Was I crumbling? Was my failed marriage starting to get to me.
I didn't worry about answering any of those unasked questions or putting his mind at ease about it. This wasn't that.
“I wish I were.”
He glances toward Maya, sleeping, peaceful, unaware of the storm around us. His jaw tightens with something fierce and protective.
Then he looks back at me.
“Did Marcus come here today?”
“No.”
“He called you.”
My breath stops. “How did you-?”
“You always look like that after he talks to you,” he murmurs. “Like breathing hurts.”
I swallow hard. “He threatened custody again.”
A fire sparks behind Eli’s eyes.
“He’s not taking her from you,” he says, voice low, steady, deadly.
“You can’t promise that,” I whisper.
“I’m promising he won’t touch you or Maya. Not while I’m here.”
Something warm cracks open in my chest.
Old.
Tender.
Dangerous.
“You came back,” I breathe.
His gaze holds mine too long. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
He hesitates, breath catching like he’s searching for the least dramatic way to say something that is inherently dramatic.
“Because when I saw you at the store today…” His voice drops.
“…you looked scared.”
My lips part. “I wasn’t-”
“You were,” he says gently. “And when someone looks at me like that, I don’t leave them alone...especially if that someone is you.”
My throat tightens.
He shifts slightly, eyes cutting toward the back window.
Then his expression changes.
Not fear.
Not confusion.
Attention.
“Sera…” he murmurs, stepping closer to the glass. “Don’t move.”
A chill sweeps down my spine. “What is it?”
“I thought I saw-”
He stops. Shakes his head.
“No. Never mind.”
“Eli.”
He turns back to me.
“You’re not imagining things,” he says quietly. “Whatever’s going on… something feels off.”
A cold ripple moves up my arms, and I cross them as a way to soothe.
“Kahlia?” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer.
He just keeps staring toward the window, voice low.
“I don’t think we’re alone out here, Sera.”