Twilight: Petrichor

The rain hadn't stopped since I crossed the Washington state line. Not that I was surprised, why would I be? Forks, this perpetually damp corner of the Olympic Peninsula WAS infamous for its rainfall. My uncle, a relatively new but not an unwelcome change, contacted me that Bella would be staying in for the year, finishing up her last years of high school.

The news had come as a surprise. Bella hadn't spent more than a few weeks at a time in Forks since we were kids, and now she was planning to finish high school here? Something must have happened in Phoenix, though Charlie hadn't elaborated. Not that he needed to - I had my own reasons for seeking out this rain-soaked town, reasons that had nothing to do with my cousin's sudden decision to embrace the Pacific Northwest.

I followed the winding road in my Prelude, the metallic black paint catching what little light filtered through the clouds. The pop-up headlights - my favorite feature of the '90 model - cut through the gloom like determined eyes. Seven years had carved a deep canyon between my memories of this place and the reality before me. I'd been ten then, still carrying around toy cars and making engine noises with my mouth. Now here I was, seventeen and driving a real car - one that I'd spent countless hours restoring to its former glory - and arriving a week ahead of Bella's planned move.

The solitude would give me time to settle in, to establish some semblance of normalcy before she arrived. Charlie had seemed relieved when I'd suggested coming early, though I doubted he understood my true motivations. How could he? I barely understood them myself. Just an inexplicable pull, drawing me to Forks like a compass needle seeking north.

The familiarity of Forks hit me in waves - some things exactly as I remembered them, others transformed by time's slow march. Newton's Outfitters still dominated the main street, though its facade had been updated. The diner where Charlie used to take me for burgers looked smaller now, more weathered. Seven years changed more than just people, it seemed.

A flicker of movement caught my eye as I passed the town limits - something pale darting between the trees, too quick to track. My fingers twitched on the steering wheel, old instincts rising before I could suppress them. But this wasn't the time for that. I'd left that life behind, buried it somewhere between Phoenix and the Washington border.

The deeper I drove into town, the more something felt... off. Not wrong, exactly, but intense. The steady drum of rain against metal suddenly seemed louder, sharper. The scent of wet pine and moss filled my lungs with uncomfortable clarity. Even the grey light filtering through the clouds felt too bright, making me squint behind the wheel. I'd experienced similar episodes before, but never this strong. Never this... primal.

I forced myself to focus on navigating the familiar-yet-foreign streets leading to Charlie's house. The neighborhood hadn't changed much - same modest homes, same well-worn driveways, same carefully maintained gardens fighting against the persistent rain. Charlie's cruiser wasn't in the driveway yet; he'd mentioned something about a late shift.

The Prelude's cooling tick echoed in the driveway like a metronome counting down the moments of my old life. I remained in the driver's seat, one hand still on the wheel, watching raindrops chase each other down the windshield. Each drop carried a piece of my reflection, fragmenting and reassembling my face in the grey light. The silence felt heavy here, different from the urban quiet I'd left behind - this was older, deeper, like the forest was holding its breath.

Eventually, I had to move. The house loomed before me, familiar yet strange, like a childhood memory brought to life. I knew Charlie's habits hadn't changed - the spare key would be where it had always been, tucked under the eaves near the door. The metal felt unusually cold against my fingers as I retrieved it, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the temperature.

The house's silence greeted me like an old friend. Everything was exactly as I remembered, down to the faded yellow cabinets in the kitchen and the ancient photos lining the walls. My footsteps echoed on the wooden floors as I made my way upstairs, each creak and groan of the old house registering with startling clarity.

My room - the converted study that Charlie had prepared - waited at the end of the hall. He'd cleared out the old computer desk and filing cabinets, replaced them with a bed and dresser. The walls were still the same pale blue I remembered, though the afternoon light made the color shift and dance in ways that caught my attention more than they should have.

My duffel bag landed on the bed with a soft thud. The room felt smaller than I remembered, but then again, everything did these days. I traced my fingers along the windowsill, noting how Charlie had replaced the old, drafty window with a newer model - though he'd kept the original wooden frame. A practical choice, but also a telling one. Charlie never was one for complete changes, just careful improvements.

Opening the duffel bag released a wave of memories - gun oil and leather, carefully masked by the scent of clean laundry. Old habits. I began unpacking, setting aside my carefully rolled clothes when something caught my eye on the dresser. A small wooden box sat there, dark mahogany with worn edges, next to a folded note in Charlie's hurried scrawl.

"Found this while clearing out the study. Thought you might want it back."

The box's brass latch was tarnished but familiar. Inside lay a silver compass, the one Mom had given me for my thirteenth birthday, before everything changed. Before I learned what really lurked in the shadows. I remembered the day clearly - her smile, the way she'd said, "Every hunter needs to find their way home."

She'd meant deer hunting then. How things change.

My phone buzzed, startling me from the memory. Charlie's name flashed on the screen.

"Hey, kid. Got held up at the station - series of break-ins over in Port Angeles and they needed a few extra hands. Won't make it back tonight." He paused, and I could hear the shuffle of papers in the background. "There's lasagna in the fridge. Mrs. Newton dropped it off when she heard you were coming."

"Everything okay over there?" I kept my voice casual, but years of experience had taught me to pay attention to patterns. Break-ins could mean someone testing defenses, mapping routines. But they usually don't go through this much trouble.

"Yeah, just... weird case. Similar pattern to some cold cases from a few years back. We'll talk tomorrow. Get some rest, and..." Another pause. "Good to have you back, Raph."

The call ended, leaving me alone with the deepening shadows of evening. The forest beyond my window had turned to ink, the rain now a whisper against glass. That strange sensitivity from earlier crept back, making every sound feel sharper, every shadow deeper.

Time to secure the perimeter.

From my duffel, I pulled out modern security measures - motion sensors small enough to be nearly invisible, carefully placed around the property's edge. A few strategically positioned floodlights would give me the advantage of illumination if needed. No supernatural wards or mystical defenses - those were fairytales. What worked was preparation, technology, and the element of surprise.

The work kept my mind busy, but my thoughts kept drifting to Charlie's call. Port Angeles was too close for comfort, and patterns like that were rarely coincidental. I'd need to check the police frequencies later, see if there were any other consistencies emerging. Not that I was looking for trouble - this was supposed to be my fresh start. But old instincts died hard.

The kitchen felt too quiet when I finally came back inside. Raindrops tapped against the windows like morse code, and somewhere in the distance, a car door slammed. I heated up the lasagna Mrs. Newton had left, the microwave's hum filling the empty space. The familiar taste brought back memories of sunny afternoons in this same kitchen, homework spread across the table, Charlie attempting to help with algebra between bites.

Now the table felt too large for one person. The house's silence pressed in, broken only by the clink of my fork against the plate and the steady tick of the kitchen clock edging toward ten. Outside, the forest had become a wall of darkness, broken only by the occasional sweep of headlights from passing cars on the distant highway.

I cleaned up methodically, checking my phone's security app one last time. All sensors green, perimeter secure. The gun went into the bedside drawer - not much use against the things that usually went bump in the night around here, but there were plenty of ordinary dangers in the world that responded well to lead.

Settling onto the bed, I let my muscles relax one by one, though my mind remained alert. The rain had settled into a gentle patter, almost peaceful if you didn't think too hard about what could move through it unseen. As I lay there, listening to the house settle around me, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching. Not from outside - the sensors would have caught that. This was different. Like the forest itself had noticed my return, and was holding its breath, waiting to see what I would do next.

I'd pulled up some local news on my tablet, scanning through reports of the break-ins, when it hit me.

That familiar tingle at the base of my skull, like static electricity charging the air before a storm. My senses sharpened instantly, body tensing without conscious thought. Years of experience had taught me to trust this feeling - it had saved my life more times than I could count.

My eyes were drawn to the window, out past the treeline where the forest melted into shadows. Through the rain and growing darkness, something moved - no, someone stood watching. The distance and weather made details impossible, but I didn't need to see clearly to know what those red eyes meant. Hungry. Hunting.

The presence lingered for just moments before vanishing, moving faster than any human could track. But the unease remained, that sixth sense still humming like a plucked guitar string. Sleep wasn't an option anymore. I moved away from the window, positioning myself where I could watch both the door and the forest beyond. It was going to be a long night.

Sleep would eventually come, but for now, the night belonged to shadows that moved too fast to track, and eyes that gleamed like blood in the dark.