The air in this small town was supposed to be crisp and clean, a stark contrast to the smog-choked lungs of the city. But to me, it felt like breathing through a layer of wet wool. Three days had passed since I arrived at Mrs. Gable’s boarding house, and in that time, the silence of the mountains had become a roar in my ears. I sat by the window of my second-floor room, the lace curtain pulled back just a fraction of an inch, enough to see the street, but hopefully not enough to be seen.
Oakhaven was a town of shadows and echoes. Below, the main thoroughfare was a ribbon of cracked pavement where the occasional rusted truck would rattle past, its engine echoing against the granite peaks like a gunshot. I watched a man across the street painting a fence. I watched a dog sleep in the doorwa
