When The Crimson Moon Rises

Three

ARDEN

Stormpoint wasn’t what I remembered.

When I was little, it had been a storybook place—red brick towers clawing at the fog and windows glowing against the sea like lanterns. Now, driving up the long coastal road with Dad’s old Chevy rattling beneath us, it looked more like a scar on the landscape.

By county maps, Stormpoint was just a small coastal town in northern California, tucked into cliffs and coves that most tourists never bothered to find. But to me, it was more than a dot on the map.

I hadn’t set foot here in years. Not since we packed up our house in the middle of the night, Dad silent behind the wheel, me hugging a blanket that still smelled like her perfume. Back then, he promised we were starting over.

Leaving was supposed to make things easier. But it never did.

The road curved, and then the whole university came into view. Stormpoint University looked old—much older than any school I’d seen in L.A.

At the entrance stood a bronze statue of two figures: one with wings and the other holding a trident, they werefrozen in a fight. A plaque below read: Founded 1849. Stormpoint University. Where Sea Meets Sky.

Dad glanced at it but didn’t say a word.

The campus buildings were made of pale stone, they had been worn out by time, with ivy climbing over the archways. A chapel tower cut into the sky, and on the cliff’s edge stood the clock tower—the same one I used to hear ringing from my bedroom at night.

The wind carried the smell of the ocean,For just a moment, I felt like a kid again—waiting for Mom to point at the sky and tell one of her stories about the “guardians in the clouds.”

But there was no story this time. Just Dad and me.

“Still the same old place,” Dad muttered as he steered the dented sedan into the line of cars for the freshman dorms.

I glanced at him. His jaw was unshaven and his eyes were bloodshot, though he’d tried to mask it with coffee. A half-crushed pack of cigarettes peeked from his pocket.

He was making an effort for me—trying to hold himself together for this one day—but it was easy to see the cracks.

“Doesn’t look the same to me,” I said, more to fill the silence than anything.

We passed the central lawn, where students in matching t-shirts waved people toward tents marked “Check-In.” Parents dragged suitcases, some kids hugged like they’d never see each other again, others looked like they were already planning their escape.

I pressed my forehead against the glass, watching it all. Part of me wanted to disappear into the crowd. Another part wanted to run the other way.

Dad parked near the edge of the lot, right across from the check-in tents. The engine sputtered once before dying.

“You ready?” he asked.

I looked at the cardboard boxes crammed into the back seat. My whole life, boiled down to four boxes and a duffel bag. I wasn’t sure anyone could ever really be ready for that.

“Yeah,” I said anyway.

We got out The closer we got to the tents, the more crowded it became—families blocking the narrow path and parents giving last-minute lectures.

Then, out of nowhere, a shoulder slammed into mine.

I stumbled, my duffel slipping from my hand. The pavement scraped my knee when I fell.

“Hey—” I started, but the word died in my throat.

Because when I looked up, I saw him.

The boy stood just a few feet away, he stood against the gray sky like he’d stepped out of a painting. He wasn’t just good-looking—he was the kind of beautiful that hurt to look at. Sharp cheekbones, dark hair falling carelessly into his eyes, and something else, something that made my stomach twist.

Our eyes locked.

For a second, everything else vanished. The noise, the crowd and even the sting in my knee—all gone. His expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker there, like recognition. Or maybe shock.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Then—

“Arden.” Dad’s hand gripped my shoulder, shaking me hard enough.

I blinked,then turned my head toward him. “What?”

When I looked back—the boy was gone.The spot where he’d been standing was empty, as though I’d imagined him.

My chest tightened. I rubbed at my eyes, forcing a laugh. “Guess I should watch where I’m going.”

Dad gave me a strange look, like he wanted to say something, but instead he muttered, “Yeah. Watch yourself here.” His tone was off. He picked up one of my duffel bag.

Before I could push him on it, a voice called out.

“Derek? That you?”

I turned to see a man striding toward us from under one of the canopies. He was bigger than Dad, with silver streaking his dark hair. His grin spread wide when his eyes landed on me.

Dad’s whole face lit up in return. Not the half-smile he usually threw strangers, but the real one—the one I hadn’t seen since before we left Stormpoint.

“Callahan !” Dad dropped my duffel at his feet and opened his arms. “You old bastard.”

They clapped each other on the back hard enough to bruise, both laughing like college boys again. For a second, I almost forgot the last decade existed.

Callahan leaned back to look at me. “And this must be Arden. Last time I saw you, you had braces and pigtails.”

i blushes . “Yeah, well. I upgraded.”

That earned me a booming laugh. “She’s got your sharp tongue, Derek. Better watch yourself.”

Dad shook his head, he was still grinning. “She gets it from her mom.” His tone softened, almost without him realizing it, and then he cleared his throat quickly. “So what are you doing here? I thought you were out east.”

“Came back two years ago,” Callahan said, he was even folding his arms proudly. “Got an offer to teach history here. Hard to pass up—pension, ocean view, the works.”

Dad whistled low. “Man, you landed good.”

Callahan’s gaze flicked back to me, his smile dimming just a little. “And you, Arden—you’ll be starting classes here this semester?”

“Yeah.” I shifted my bag higher on my shoulder. “Guess I’m following tradition, huh?”

“Tradition,” Dad echoed with a chuckle.

Callahan brightened again. “Speaking of traditions—my boy’s here too. You remember Micah, don’t you?”

Micah,I remembered spring afternoons on the bleachers, me in braids, him tossing a football to himself while the adults drank coffee and talked about things that didn’t matter to kids.

He was taller than me even then, with a crooked grin and restless energy. He’d let me sit beside him, sometimes tossing the ball my way. Once, he told me I had a good arm. I thought about that for weeks after.

“He’s second-string quarterback now,” Callahan added, pride in his tone. “Trying to fight his way up.”

Dad chuckled. “Quarterback, huh? Guess that doesn’t surprise me.”

I didn’t say anything. My stomach was a knot, half nerves, half… something else I didn’t want to name.

“Good seeing you again” Callahan said, clapping him once more. Then, lowering his voice, he added, “I’ll give you a call later. We’ve had some trouble near the outskirts. Attacks with strange patterns. Figured you’d want to know.”

Dad’s smile faltered. “Yeah. Call me.”

They shook hands firmly, then Callahan winked at me. “Welcome to Stormpoint, Arden. Don’t let the old ghosts scare you off.”

I forced a smile, even though my chest tightened at his words. Old ghosts. He didn’t know how close he was..

I exhaled, not realizing I’d been holding my breath.

Dad adjusted the strap on my duffel. “He hasn’t changed much.”

“Neither have you,” I muttered. That was a big lie.

He glanced down at me, eyebrow raised, but he didn’t argue. Instead, his eyes flicked toward the spot where Callahan had been standing, and for a heartbeat, his face was unredeemable

“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s get you settled.”

I followed, but that flicker of unease stuck with me. My dad had faced worse than old college buddies. Whatever rattled him here wasn’t just the memory of my mom,it was something else. else