GETTING TO JACKSON.
1623 Words
Ivy stares at the mocha mint latte in front of her as if it personally wronged her.
It tastes nothing like mocha. Nothing like mint. It's just... brown water with an attitude problem.
She takes another sip anyway because she paid for it, and money doesn't grow on trees.
The diner smells like burnt coffee and something fried that's been sitting under a heat lamp too long. It's almost charming in a depressing kind of way. The whole town gives a vibe of a place that got stuck in 1997 and decided that was fine. The booths are cracked vinyl. The jukebox in the corner doesn't work. And the waitress, middle-aged, sharp eyes that had too much eyeliner on hasn't stopped staring at Ivy since she walked in.
Not subtle staring either. Full-on, unblinking, "what the hell are you" staring.
Ivy finds it creepy. Everyone here does it. The guy riding his bike this morning. The woman at the grocery store moments ago. Even the kids playing in the street stopped mid-laugh to watch her pass.
She doesn't know if it's because she's new, or there's something else going on that she can't figure out yet.
Probably both.
She chews on the inside of her cheek and pulls out her phone. Opens the same Google search she's been refreshing for morning:
"Can stress cause hallucinations?"
The answer is still yes.
ChatGPT told her the same thing. Stress, lack of sleep, emotional trauma, all of it can mess with your head. Make you see things. Hear things. Feel things.
Like Kai's breath on her neck. His low, rough, dangerous voice promising to ruin her.
Ivy closes her eyes and presses her palm flat against her sternum. There's a dull ache there. Not painful exactly. Just... present like something cracked and didn't heal right.
She exhales hard and shoves another bite of toast into her mouth. It's cold. Tastes like cardboard.
This town doesn't have good food. Or good coffee. Or good anything, really. It's like they heard about modern conveniences and decided they weren't interested.
And yet.
Ivy can't shake the feeling that she's supposed to be here.
Which is insane. Because five days ago, she was in her apartment in Louisiana, crying into a bottle of wine after catching her fiancé and her best friend in bed together. Five days ago, she had a job she hated, a life she tolerated, and a plan that made sense.
Now she's in Mystic Valley, New Orleans, a place she picked off a map with her eyes half-closed spending Christmas alone for the first time in her life.
Her mom called again today. Ivy didn't answer.
She finishes her toast, pays the bill, and steps outside into air so cold it stings her lungs.
The snow crunches under her boots. It's everywhere—piled on rooftops, lining the streets, clinging to tree branches. Around this time of the year, the world decided white was the only color that mattered.
Ivy pulls her jacket tighter and starts walking. She has no destination in mind. Just... movement.
Across the street, a group of kids builds a snowman. One of them, a little girl with pigtails shrieks with laughter when the head rolls off and crashes into the snow. The others pile on top of her, and for a second, Ivy forgets how cold she is.
She wishes life was that simple.
Just snow and laughter and nothing else.
But it's not. It never was.
She keeps walking.
The town is small, smaller than she realized. One main street. A handful of side roads. Everything else is just trees in the woods and mountains and sky. There are barely any cars. Few taxis. People walk everywhere, and they move like they know each other. Like they're all part of some unspoken agreement Ivy wasn't invited to.
She notices something else too.
No one's dressed for the weather.
Ivy's wearing two layers, a jacket, a scarf, gloves and she's still freezing. But the woman walking past her? Jeans and a T-shirt. The guy shoveling snow off his porch? Flannel with the sleeves rolled up.
It doesn't make sense.
None of this makes sense.
Her legs start to ache, so she stops at a bench in the park which is a small patch of trees and open space near the center of town. She sits, pulls out her phone, and scrolls through nothing because there's no service here either.
Of course there isn't.
She's about to stand when a shadow falls across her.
Ivy looks up.
A man stands next to the bench. Tall at easily six-three, maybe more. Broad shoulders. Dark hair cropped short. He's got the kind of face that looks like Chris Hemsworth and Idris Elba had a kid, then that kid got into a fight and won. Scar through his left eyebrow. Eyes so dark they're almost black. And he's aggressively staring at her.
Ivy jumps. "My world! Where did you come from?"
He doesn't answer. Just stands there, arms crossed, expression flat.
She clears her throat. "Uh. Hi?"
"I'll make this brief."
"Okay." Ivy forces a smile. "I love a straight shooter. Mr...?"
"Just Jackson."
"Mr. Just Jackson."
His face twitches. Almost a sneer. "My name is Jackson. Not just Jackson."
"Got it."
He leans forward slightly, and Ivy's stomach does something weird. Not fear exactly. Just... awareness. Her body knows something her brain hasn't caught up to yet.
"Pack your bags," Jackson says. "Leave."
Ivy blinks. "Excuse me?"
"I don't know what you're up to or who sent you. But you don't want me as an enemy."
For a second, Ivy just stares at him. Then she laughs. Not because it's funny but because it's absurd.
"First," she says, twisting on the bench to face him fully, "I wish someone sent me. That way they'd be paying for the flights instead of me draining my savings. Second, I can't leave. My flight's not until January fifth. Third, I don't want enemies. I just want to sit on this bench and figure out why everyone in this town acts like they're allergic to normal behavior."
Jackson frowns making him look more dangerously handsome.
Ivy tilts her head. "So unless you're planning to buy me a new ticket, I'm staying."
He doesn't move or speak. Just listens.
Suddenly, a gust of wind sweeps past them, and the air changes. The tension in his shoulders loosens. His eyes narrow, but it's not hostile anymore. It's... curious. He's trying to figure her out and isn't sure he'll like the answer.
Ivy doesn't look away. "I have a question for you, Jackson."
He waits.
"Why does everyone here act like animals?"
His eyebrows lift. "Animals."
"Yeah. Like, no offense but people growl at me. I've seen eyes glow. And no one wears a coat even though it's literally freezing. So either I'm losing my mind, or there's something going on here that no one's telling me about."
Jackson stares at her for a long moment.
Then he sits.
Not next to her. On the armrest of the bench, one leg braced on the ground. Close enough that Ivy can smell him. It's that same scent her brain hasn't forgotten since that night she fainted in the woods... metal.
"How did you end up here?" he asks.
Ivy shrugs. "Picked it off a map."
"Why."
She hesitates. Then figures, what the hell. Ivy goes ahead to tell him everything from her fiancé betraying her and how she ended here.
Jackson's expression doesn't change. "You had no knowledge of this place before?"
"None."
He exhales through his nose. "You're either incredibly stupid or incredibly reckless."
"Maybe both."
Shockingly, his mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. But close.
Ivy leans back, crossing her arms. "So? You gonna tell me what's going on, or are we just gonna sit here and pretend this town isn't weird as hell?"
Jackson opens his mouth then stops. His head snaps toward the street. Ivy follows his gaze.
Four straight lines of people march past the park. Men and women, all dressed in black combat gear like they're about to storm a building. They move in perfect sync, boots crushing everything in their path, faces blank.
As they pass Jackson, every single one of them bows.
Ivy's stomach drops. "Who the hell are they?"
Jackson stands. "No one."
"That's not an answer."
"They're training. Defenders of—" He cuts himself off, gritting his teeth.
Ivy raises an eyebrow. "Defenders of what?"
Jackson turns and starts walking away.
"Hey, wait!" Ivy scrambles to her feet and jogs after him. "You can't just drop that and leave."
"Watch me."
"Jackson—"
He stops, turns, looks at her, deciding whether to yell or laugh. "Why are you following me?"
"Because you're the first person who's actually talked to me like I'm not insane."
His eyes soften. Just a fraction. Then he shakes his head and keeps walking.
Ivy follows anyway.
She doesn't know why. Maybe because she's lonely. Maybe because Jackson's the first person here who doesn't make her feel like a science experiment. Or maybe because something in her gut something she doesn't understand tells her he's important.
They walk in silence for a while. Jackson doesn't tell her to leave again. He doesn't even threaten her. Just lets her trail behind him like a stray dog that won't take a hint.
Ivy adjusts her jacket and realizes, again, that she's the only one bundled up.
Everyone else walks around like the cold doesn't exist.
"There's something wrong with this place," she mutters.
Jackson glances back. "You have no idea."
"Then tell me."
He doesn't answer. Yet, he doesn't send her away either. Somehow, that feels like progress.
- Writer
