The musty air of the cabin seemed to cling to me, heavy with unspoken history and the faint scent of old perfume. We emerged back into the sunlight, blinking, the stark contrast between the shadowed past and the present jarring. Sheriff Brody, his face still etched with concern, promised to secure the cabin and look into the "Marcus" identity further. Cain, however, seemed to have made a decision.
As we walked back towards the bikes, his hand found my arm, his grip firm but gentle. "Kaelin," he began, his voice serious, "this… this is too close to home. Too many ghosts. You can't stay in that bar, not with Jensen and Troy knowing where you are. And this town… it's too small. Too many memories."
I stiffened, a familiar wall snapping into place. "And where exactly do you propose I go, Dad?
