the fire is kindling (7)

But the sound persists, weaving through the trees, growing clearer with each repetition. I stand, fists clenched, and spin toward the darkness. “Eric?!” My voice cracks, a mix of hope and fear. The hum falters, then stops.

For a moment, the silence is deafening, the weight of it pressing against my ears. Then, from the shadows, a figure emerges. He looks the same as he did that summer—messy blond hair, dirt-smudged cheeks, a grin that’s equal parts mischief and charm.

My heart lurches at the sight of him, a flood of relief and disbelief crashing over me.“Eric?” My voice is barely a whisper now.“You came back,” he says, his grin widening. There’s something off about it, though, something that makes my skin crawl.