Chapter 4. The Stranger

The bell above the apothecary door chimed once—bright, sharp, almost too loud for the quiet morning.

Mira flinched. The glass vial she was labeling slipped from her fingers, spun in the air—and stopped.

A hand caught it cleanly, steady and fast.

A tall stranger stood in the doorway, sunlight catching his travel-stained jacket, and behind him another man—older, heavy-set, with a sheriff’s badge—was already grinning at Martha.

“Mike!” Martha exclaimed, bustling out from the back room. “You only visit when trouble’s brewing.”

“Seems that way,” the sheriff said, tipping his hat. “Brought someone to help me look into that missing-woman business.”

The younger man handed the vial back to Mira without looking away. “Careful,” he said. His voice was low—rough at the edges.

When their fingers brushed, the world tilted. Light. Pain. Something flared under Mira’s skin—violent and instantaneous.

The connection, though brief, felt like a devastating