Elena Gilbert leaned back against the cold, weathered tombstone, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders as she pressed her weight into the stone. The name etched into it—her parents’—caught the fading light of the late afternoon, casting faint shadows that seemed to dance across the ground. Her leather-bound diary rested open in her lap, the blank page staring back at her like an unspoken challenge. She twirled the pen between her fingers, her thoughts tangled and stubbornly refusing to form into words.

The stillness of the cemetery was almost comforting, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves overhead and the occasional chirp of a bird. Then, a faint sound—a crack, sharp and sudden—echoed through the quiet. Her pen stilled, and her heart gave a startled jolt.

Elena’s gaze darted up, scanning the rows of graves and the line of trees beyond. The golden hues of the setting sun painted the world in muted warmth, but the creeping shadows seemed to deepen the sense of unease. She swallowed and straightened, her voice steady but tinged with caution as she called out, “Is someone there?”

Her words hung in the air, unanswered, as the wind picked up, brushing past her with a whisper that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She closed her diary with a soft thud, gripping it tightly as her eyes lingered on the empty space between the headstones, searching for movement—or an answer.