Between Shadows

Between Shadows: Chapter 01-A (Drowning in Dreams)

Water pressed in around Evelyn from every direction, cold and merciless. Her limbs felt leaden, each movement a futile attempt against the relentless pull of the rising flood. Her silk gown tangled around her ankles, dragging her deeper beneath the dark surface. She opened her mouth to scream, but only silence came, bubbles escaping in a frenzied trail as water filled her throat.

Above, the ceiling of the restaurant blurred and warped, shadows gathering in strange, watching shapes. One shadow separated itself—a man standing on the restaurant mezzanine, tall and calm amid the chaos, eyes silver-bright and inhumanly steady, watching as she drowned.

Evelyn woke with a gasp, bolting upright and clawing at her throat.

She could still feel the water and the bitterness of the crashing sea on her tongue. Sweat cooled on her forehead as she fought to steady her breathing. Her heart hammered painfully against her ribs, the echo of drowning still tight in her chest. She sagged against the pillows, shuddering.

Just a dream, she told herself firmly.

But the feeling—the helplessness, the icy grip of the water—clung to her, impossibly real.

When she finally rose, Evelyn dressed quickly, choosing a heavy cable-knit sweater, faded jeans, and fleece-lined boots. She pulled a thick scarf tightly around her neck—more armor than warmth.

Her phone buzzed on the desk.

No one called her this early. The screen lit with an unfamiliar number, but she answered anyway. “Hello?”

“Evelyn Shaw?” It was a man’s voice, too cheerful. “This is Lorian Arden. I hope I’m not bothering you.”

“You’re not,” she said, unsure of how long that would continue if he delayed her coffee. “How did you get this number?”

“You’re listed as the on-site contact for the library’s archival project for the Filigree Hotel. I went through the proper channels, I promise.”

She didn’t answer.

“I have something,” he continued, his tone shifting. “A piece I think is missing from the Filigree’s archive. Just some records that turned up. And old photos, maybe 1890 through mid-1920s—they’re in pristine condition. Thought you’d be interested in these.”

Evelyn frowned. “And you’re just giving them away?”

“I’m calling because you’ll want to see some of this before you go digging any deeper over there. Trust me.”

She hesitated, staring out the window, as wind tossed leaves across the street.

“There’s a bookstore two blocks from the hotel,” he said. “Nightjar Archives. My office is in the back.”

Before she could respond, he hung up.

—

The crisp autumn air hit Evelyn’s face as she stepped out of the hotel, a bracing jolt that worked faster than her usual espresso. She tucked her scarf closer around her neck. Beneath her boots, the sidewalk was uneven with frost-heaved cracks, dusted in brittle leaves that scraped dryly underfoot. Across the street, the bakery was already piping cinnamon through its vents.

The world outside the Filigree still moved in orderly patterns—people going to work, dogs being walked, traffic rushing by, and the smell of fresh pastries and coffee in the air. It felt like a defense against the thing pressing at the edges of her memory—the weight of water, the flicker of shadows in her peripheral vision, and that silver-eyed figure watching her drown.

Evelyn shoved her hands deeper into her coat pockets and kept walking.

She hadn’t told anyone about the recurring dreams yet. There was no one to tell. The hotel staff were courteous but distant, and her acting supervisor back at the library would only suggest she take more breaks. Maybe she should. Perhaps sleep deprivation was behind the way every nightmare bled into the day—the way she found herself hesitating before entering elevators or flinching when water ran too fast in the shower.

But the walk helped.

The bell above the door chimed as Evelyn stepped inside.

Warmth hit her first, followed by the rich smell of espresso from the attached cafe. The interior of the Nightjar Archives was all dark wood and soft lighting, the kind of place designed to make you forget time. Shelves stretched to the ceiling, a ladder tucked neatly to the side. Tables were curated with different themes—Books That’ll Ruin You (in a Good Way) and Seasonal Haunts—overflowing, a sort of organized chaos.

She paused just past the threshold, taking in the clientele. Two women in overcoats browsed a display of true-crime anthologies, and a man sipped espresso while leafing through a hardcover near the café counter. A few university students gathered off to the side, laughing, as one of them flipped through a book.

It was only when she reached the circulation desk at the center that she saw what they were laughing at—vintage horror paperbacks, front-facing and evenly spaced, with garish covers and hand-lettered signs that read:

Cursed. Probably.

Read at your own risk.

No returns. You’ll find it on your doorstep again if you try to get rid of it.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” She stifled a laugh.

From behind the counter, a girl barely out of college smiled without looking up from her phone. “They’re fake,” she said. “Mostly. Readers eat them up this time of year.”

“I’m sure they do.”

The girl finally looked at Evelyn and pointed a thumb toward the back hallway. “Lorian said he had a nine o’clock. Last door on the left. He got you coffee, so he either likes you or wants a favor.” Her eyes seemed to laugh. “I always get one when he’s about to ask me to work overtime.”

Evelyn followed the hall past a glassed-in rare book room and a corkboard covered in event flyers—horror movie nights, occult book clubs, a storytelling hour at the café. The door to Lorian’s office was slightly ajar. She knocked once before stepping in. He was behind a desk, typing with one hand, the other around a to-go cup. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, black button-down unbuttoned at the throat, the top edge of a tattoo just visible at his collarbone. He looked up, caught sight of her, and stood halfway.

“You made it,” he said. “Good. I was beginning to think the Filigree had swallowed you whole.”