Chapter 2: The Artist Next Door
Sophia woke to the sound of seagulls crying outside her window. Morning sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting soft golden hues across the room. For a moment, she felt a sense of peace, but it was fleeting. The memories of her past—and the strange tension from last night—crept back in.
After throwing on a sweater and jeans, she ventured outside to explore her new surroundings. The cliffside view was breathtaking. Waves crashed against jagged rocks far below, their rhythmic roar soothing yet powerful. Beyond the cliff, a dense forest loomed, its edges dark and foreboding.
She noticed movement near the guesthouse. Ethan was there, crouched by an easel, a paintbrush in his hand. His sharp profile was illuminated by the morning light, making him look almost otherworldly.
Curiosity got the better of her. She crossed the yard, the damp grass soft beneath her boots. "Good morning," she called out.
Ethan glanced up, his expression unreadable. "Morning."
His canvas was angled away, but Sophia caught glimpses of deep blues and grays, strokes that seemed chaotic yet purposeful. "What are you working on?"
Ethan hesitated before tilting the canvas just enough for her to see. The painting was striking—a stormy ocean, its waves twisting and curling like they were alive. But what drew her attention was the figure standing on the edge of the cliff. A lone woman, her face obscured, but her posture radiated despair.
Sophia's stomach tightened. "It's... haunting."
"Most things worth painting are," Ethan said quietly, setting the canvas back.
Sophia folded her arms, the chill in the air biting at her skin. "Do you always paint things like this?"
"Things like what?" he asked, his tone almost teasing.
"Dark. Melancholic."
Ethan's lips twitched, though it wasn't quite a smile. "Art reflects the soul, doesn't it?"
His words lingered, heavy with unspoken meaning. Sophia wanted to press him further, to unravel the enigma he seemed to wear like armor, but she held back. "Well, it's beautiful. In its own way."
Ethan didn't respond, instead turning back to his work as if she wasn't there.
Feeling dismissed, Sophia decided to head into town. The walk was brisk, the coastal wind tugging at her scarf as she followed the winding path into Havenwood's center.
The town was quaint, with cobblestone streets and storefronts lined with colorful awnings. A small café caught her eye, its sign reading The Perch. She ducked inside, grateful for the warmth.
"New face," the barista greeted, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a name tag that read Margie. "Passing through?"
"No, I just moved here," Sophia said, offering a smile. "Sophia Carter."
Margie's brows lifted. "Well, welcome to Havenwood, Ms. Carter. Not many people move here these days."
Sophia hesitated, unsure how to respond. Before she could say anything, a man seated by the window chimed in. "Not many people stay, either."
He was older, his face weathered from years in the sun. He sipped his coffee slowly, his gaze sharp and appraising.
Margie shot him a warning look. "Don't mind James. He likes to scare off newcomers."
Sophia forced a laugh. "Good to know."
As Margie prepared her coffee, Sophia glanced out the window. The streets were busy with people, but there was a strange sense of... quiet. Almost as if everyone spoke in whispers, afraid to disturb something lurking just out of sight.
Her thoughts were interrupted when James spoke again. "You're staying in the Blackwood house, aren't you?"
Sophia turned to him, surprised. "How did you know?"
"It's the only rental on the cliff," he said. "Be careful up there."
"Why?"
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "That place has a history. And Ethan Blackwood... well, let's just say he's not like the rest of us."
Margie slammed a mug onto the counter, her expression tight. "That's enough, James."
The tension in the air was palpable. Sophia took her coffee, muttered a thank you, and left the café, her mind swirling with questions