At first, Stanford thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, that the shadows were shifting in a way that mimicked human form. But no, there she was, just a few feet out in the water, half-submerged yet unmistakably there. Her copper hair, dry and unnaturally neat, caught the faintest glimmer of moonlight, cascading down her back in waves that seemed too perfect for someone who had just crawled out of a lake.

She was sitting there, doe-eyed, with a look of pure, unfiltered fear etched onto her delicate features. Her eyes were wide, too wide, and filled with something Stanford couldn’t quite place—innocence, terror, desperation? Her lips were parted slightly, as if she were on the verge of speaking, though no sound came out.

She was beautiful, in a way that was almost eerie, like a porcelain doll left out in the rain. Her skin was pale, too pale, with an otherworldly glow that contrasted sharply against the dark water. Her body was small, fragile even, and yet there was something about her that set off alarms in Stanford’s mind.