Clara's home was quiet that night, save for the soft sounds of breath and tongues tangling together on the couch.
The gathering wasn't what Noah had expected. He was met with familiar faces; Margarete Lee, Lauren Delaney, Mrs. Collin, Cassie, Mrs. Pinnings but a few still caught him off guard.
"Peter? Didn't know you'd be here," Noah said, a spark lighting his eyes.
Peter Alden was only five years older, yet he looked far more worn, more weathered than Noah, who was only twenty-eight. Life as a farmer had carved its marks into him early.
Peter clapped him on the back with a crooked smile. "Look at you, rockstar. How's the road?"
Noah couldn't help but feel like the question carried something sharper beneath it—but he shook the thought away. "It was fun," he said. "But nothing beats homesickness sometimes. Figured it was time to come back."
"Good decision, boy," one of the men chimed in. Daniel Harrow, the town's herbalist. "Nathaniel needs you more now that he's getting old."
"Oh hush, Daniel. Shall we start?" Mrs. Collin said, beaming.
There were around twenty others Noah didn't recognize, but Clara's hand in his grounded him as they settled into their seats. They sat in the Dewhurst town hall, chairs arranged in a loose circle.
At first, Noah felt bored. The Light felt exactly like what he'd joked about earlier at the beach: a therapy session. People took turns sharing their struggles, their "fruits of life from bad roots," as they called it.
He stayed quiet. Watching. Listening. And yet he noticed each of them wore a small pin on the upper left side of their chest–a silver leaf. In its center sat a tiny circular shape, though Noah couldn't quite make out what it was.
Then came the affirmations. And something shifted.
"Let's begin," Mrs. Collin said softly. "Together." They all closed their eyes. Clara included.
"Thank you for the sun.Thank you for the winds that abide by the moon's rule.Thank you for the life you give us, even now."
Their voices blended into one. Too perfectly. Noah didn't join them. Instead, he looked around the town hall. The air had gone still. Heavy. Quiet, so quiet he swore he could hear a pin drop when the voices fell away.
His heart skipped, then picked up, faster this time.
Now, they were tangled in each other's arms after coming home from the gathering, kissing like there was no tomorrow. Noah hovered above her, his hand cupped her jaw as he deepened the kiss, licking her palate, while the other gripped her waist under her blouse.
"I love it when you do that," she breathed out, eyes half-lidded. Noah smirked lazily before capturing her lips again, tugging on her bottom lip lightly, making her moan softly.
He trailed open mouth kisses on her jaw down to her neck where kisses turned into a light sucking and biting. Noah stopped short, swallowing hard, breaths heavy.
"Noah?" she called out, her fingers playing with the ends of his hair, curiosity lingering when he suddenly stopped moving.
Noah clenched his jaw so tightly he didn't realize he was gripping her waist in a bruising way, making her squirm under his touch. "Noah, it hurts."
He shook his head rapidly, pulling back to see her face.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he apologized, placing a soft kiss on her lips before sitting up straight, helping her straighten as they both leaned closer again. Clara trailed her fingers along his chiseled jawline. "What's wrong? We were so good just now," she cooed.
Noah took her hand and held it. His gray eyes bore into her blue ones. Damn, he wanted Clara, but why did something stop him from going further? He had never had a problem going with the flow back on the road, where flocks of girls would throw themselves at him and the band.
Her blue eyes flickered just for a second turning into hazel, and Noah had to blink it away again. Clara was there, waiting for his response. Her smooth neck suddenly felt wrong in his eyes.
But then again, that person didn't show any interest in wanting him like Clara did–open, warm, and passionate.
"It's nothing," he said.
Clara looked crestfallen for a moment before forcing a smile. "Want anything to drink before you go?"
"Yeah, just water," he rasped.
She reluctantly pulled herself away toward the kitchen. He rubbed his face roughly, raking his fingers through his hair.
From his perspective–and anyone else's–Clara was the perfect girl. Excellent upbringing, a steady job, single. Not to mention she was one of the most breathtaking women in all of Dewhurst.
He leaned back harshly, staring around the living room. As usual and just as he expected, she had far too many mirrors.
Noah stood, glancing at the oval vintage mirror tucked in the corner of the room.
It was a pretty one. He didn't linger long before turning toward the kitchen–and it was the best decision he ever made.
Clara was pouring something that looked like powder into one of the mugs.
"Not today," he muttered. He grabbed his jacket from the couch and dashed for the door, leaving Clara calling out after him. He clucked his tongue. Whatever Clara was planning, he definitely wouldn't be seeing her again anytime soon.
Noah was supposed to head home, but instead, his feet wandered down the path his Scarf always took back to her house. A rare smile tugged at his lips as he followed the familiar route.
He looked up, breathing in the cool night air. A couple of shooting stars streaked across the sky. Beautiful. As he drew closer to her house, a faint blue glow flickered from one of the windows.
He stopped.
"Scarf?"
His heart leaped into his throat. Noah quickened his pace, stepping onto the porch. Without thinking, he pushed the door open slowly. What if something had happened to her? He couldn't risk announcing his presence first.
The glow was still there–stronger now–spilling from down the hall.
He shut the door quietly behind him and tiptoed toward it. Peeking around the corner, he saw one room with its door closed, yet the light beneath it burned brighter and stronger.
Something pulled at him. Noah found himself moving closer. Just as his fingers reached for the knob, a cold metal pressed against the side of his neck.
"Walk away, and we can pretend nothing ever happened."
Though it was dark, he knew that voice. But it was laced with venom, sharp and bitter–nothing like the Aralyn he knew. He slowly raised his hands and turned. His breath caught.
Aralyn stood before him, no scarf, no turtleneck–nothing to hide the moon-phase marks glowing along her neck, pulsing in time with the light behind the door. The knife in her hand pressed firmly against his skin.
"Scarf, it's me," he started.
She shoved him hard against the wall. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice calm. When he didn't answer fast enough, the blade pressed closer.
"I won't ask you again, Noah," she hissed.
"Okay, okay! I was on my way here when I saw the light," he said quickly, gesturing toward the door. "I thought something happened to you! That's why I came in."
For a split second, her eyes flickered: hard to soft. Then back again. She pulled the knife away. "Living room. Now."
Noah didn't argue. He followed. He sat down on the couch as Aralyn moved around the room, pulling the blinds tighter over each window.
"Scarf, what is going on? Are you okay?" he asked. The sincerity in his voice caught her off guard. She sat across from him on the opposite couch but then suddenly went rigid.
Noah frowned. She was sniffing the air. Her expression twisted for a brief second. Disgust, maybe, before she shook her head.
"What? Why'd you do that for?" he asked.
"Nothing that concerns you," she replied, though her eyes told a different story.
Noah made a mental note to ask her another day.
"I was at the beach," he continued, watching her carefully. "Clara said the air was too salty. Got any idea why?"
Aralyn shook her head. "I'm still figuring it out. Was the beach far?"
"Twenty minutes by car."
She exhaled slowly, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, head lowering. The marks on her neck began to glow brighter. Noah's brows knitted in concern as her breathing grew uneven.
"Scarf, please don't leave me hanging. What is happening to you? Please, just talk to me," he pleaded.
"They fall," she said at last. "They were falling down here."
"Down here? Who's falling? Stop with the riddles and talk normal, Scarf," he said, frustration slipping through. Aralyn snapped her head up.
"Do I look normal to you, Noah?" Her voice cracked sharp. "Do these fucking marks on my neck look normal?"
He froze. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed whatever response he had. He gestured helplessly toward her neck. "Please, can't you control it? What if someone sees the glow from outside?"
"I can't," she said, her voice quieter now. "It's not in my power to control how they glow. It's a sign. A signal, if you will."
"A signal? Of what?"
"The fallen ones."
Noah let out a short scoff, then quickly straightened when she shot him a glare.
"Laugh all you want," she said flatly. "If I'm real, then so are they."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, are you talking about angels? Fallen angels?"
"Yes."
"Real angels?"
"Yes."
His eyes widened slightly. "Woah, I mean, I believe in angels, sure, but I didn't think someone would just confirm it like that." He paused, then looked at her again. "What are you, Scarf?"
Aralyn didn't answer right away.
"Did you see anything outside?" she asked instead. "Comets. Shooting stars."
Noah perked up immediately, nodding like an excited kid. "Yeah! I saw two, actually."
Aralyn huffed under her breath. "That explains it."
"Explains what?"
He pieced it together, his expression shifting as realization hit.
"Wait, those shooting stars. Were they..." He gestured vaguely. "Fallen ones?"
Aralyn nodded, her gaze distant.
"Why does that have anything to do with you?" he pressed. "Don't tell me you're one of them too."
Relief washed over him when she shook her head.
"What's in that room, Scarf? Something dangerous?"
"Don't worry," she said. "Nothing too dangerous."
He stared at her. "That's not comforting."
"You should go home, Noah. I'll handle this."
"No," he shot back immediately. "No way I'm leaving you alone after hearing all this."
Their eyes locked. Hers hardened.
"You shouldn't be involved in this," she said coldly. "You should know better than to stay close to me, Noah. You said it yourself. This," she pointed at her neck, disgust flashing across her face, "is none of your business."
She stood and walked to the door, pulling it open.
"Please," she said, her voice quieter now. "Just go. I don't want to drag you into more danger than I already have." She didn't even look at him.
That hurt more than anything. Noah pushed himself up slowly and walked toward the door. For a moment, his hand hovered near her cheek then drifted down, brushing lightly against her neck.
He exhaled sharply. Then he left.
Aralyn closed the door, her chest tight. She leaned her forehead against the wood, eyes slipping shut.
I'm sorry, Noah. It's for your own protection.