The relentless drumming of rain against her bedroom window was Haven Eldridge’s constant companion in Forks. It had been four days since the abrupt move from San Francisco, and the perpetual gloom had already settled deep into her bones.

“Are you ever going to quit sulking?” Her father’s voice, annoyingly cheerful, cut through the quiet.

Haven glanced up, her expression deadpan. “That depends, are we ever going to move out of this town where rain seems to be the only weather condition?”

Chris Eldridge laughed, a sound that grated on Haven’s nerves. He crossed the room, dropping a kiss on her head. “It’s quaint, quiet, and a nice change of pace. Give it a chance, you’ll get used to it.”

“If we don’t die from exposure first,” Haven muttered, rolling her eyes as the doorbell’s chime abruptly ended their conversation. She followed her father downstairs, past a labyrinth of unpacked boxes, toward the front door. Her jaw tightened; this was her senior year, and she was stuck here, in a town where she knew no one, constantly wondering why her parents had dragged them across states without a proper explanation. The mystery of their sudden relocation gnawed at her, a low thrumming anxiety beneath her forced indifference.