The next morning, the town was completely covered with heavy fog. Everything seemed to be damped down, and sounds seemed as though they belonged to another world. She got up, went out, and felt that possibly the chill could clear her head a little. Down the gravel path, she walked; when she was approaching a figure standing at the edge of her property by the fence-a tall, thin man with sharp features, his eyes appearing to see through the fog.
"Miss Wren, I presume?" His voice was calm, almost too calm, as if he knew more than he was letting on. "My name's Armitage. I knew your grandmother."
Lily approached him warily, feeling a strange tug towards the man. He looked out of place even in a town as bizarre as Graywood. His eyes lingered on the house behind her, pity mixed with warning in his gaze.
You shouldn't be here alone," he said bluntly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Your grandmother… she knew things about this town that many would rather keep buried. She was protecting you, you know. But now that she's gone." His voice trailed off, his eyes darkening.
"What do you mean?" Lily asked, her pulse quickening.
"Let's just say that Graywood isn't like other towns. And that house of yours—it has secrets. Dangerous ones. If you know what's good for you, you'll leave this place. Before it's too late." He cast a wary glance at the windows of the house, then stepped back into the fog, his form disappearing as swiftly as it had appeared.
Lily stood there with spinning mind and questions what did this mean with secrets, danger? That mysterious message seemed only to bury her deeper in questions. She was getting anxiety biting on her gut, yet something in her felt the call to dig for that answer.
She stepped inside the house, but her steps were not as confident now. However, resolute to learn what her grandmother probably knew was worth hiding, she went into the silent house—different now, charged with something, as if waiting for her next move.
And as she closed the door to the outer air, she felt something like the cold wind touch her shoulder with a rustling whisper of frozen fingers.