The fog rolled over the hills like it remembered the way.

Ivy Monroe watched the mist creep across the winding road as her car idled just outside Briar Hollow's rusted welcome sign. Population: 1,102 - unless you counted the dead.

She hadn't seen the town in twelve years. But nothing had changed, not really. The trees still leaned like they were eavesdropping. The air still smelled like river water and something older beneath it - mildew, rot, and memory.

She killed the engine. Silence settled in like a blanket too heavy to move under.

The last message from Noah flashed in her mind.

You were right. It's starting again.

Sent at 1:03 a.m.

He was found in the river at dawn.

The sheriff said he'd filled his own pockets with stones. That he'd walked into the water like he was stepping into sleep.

Noah never went near the river. Not after what happened when they were kids. Not after that summer.

Ivy opened the door and stepped out. The cold slapped her skin. The wind whispered something she almost understood.

She didn't come back for closure. She came back for answers.

And this time, she wouldn't leave without them.

Chapter Two: Reeds and Whispers

The motel room smelled like old smoke and citrus cleaner. Ivy sat on the edge of the bed, Noah's old hoodie clutched in her hands. She'd found it in the box the sheriff gave her - "personal effects" - tucked beside his phone, his wallet, and a receipt for two packs of gum.

She brought the hoodie to her face. It didn't smell like him anymore. Just damp cotton and time.

She lay back, eyes shut, and the memory pulled her under like an undertow.

Briar Hollow, Summer, Twelve Years Ago

The river was lower that year, the banks cracked like old skin. Ivy was seventeen. Noah had just turned fifteen and had grown a wild streak over the summer - biking without brakes, sneaking out, asking questions he shouldn't.

They stood near the reeds, where the old dock used to be before it collapsed in a storm. Ivy remembered how still everything had gone. Even the birds stopped singing.

"Don't go closer," she said, hand on his shoulder.

Noah squinted at the water. "Do you see that?"

"See what?"

He didn't answer.

Instead, he stepped toward the river, eyes wide and strange. She grabbed his wrist hard enough to bruise.

"There's nothing there, Noah."

But he just kept staring. "She's singing."

"What are you talking about?"

He finally looked at her, and for a second, he wasn't her brother anymore. His face looked older - afraid, yes, but something else too. Like he remembered something he was never supposed to know.

"They said if you hear her voice," he whispered, "you're already hers."

A chill raced up Ivy's spine.

"Who said that?"

But he wouldn't answer. He didn't say another word the whole walk home.

Present Day

Ivy sat bolt upright in the motel bed, breath sharp, heart pounding.

She had forgotten that day.

Forgotten the way Noah's voice sounded when he said hers.

Forgotten that for years afterward, he wouldn't even look at the river.

And now he'd gone back.

Or been taken.

She rose and went to the window. The motel's neon sign buzzed outside like a fly trapped in glass.

Somewhere past the hills, the river waited.

And maybe, just maybe, she was still singing.

Chapter Three: The River's Edge

The sheriff had said it happened near the bend. The part of the river where the trees grew too close together, their roots clawing into the muddy banks like they were trying to pull the whole forest down with them.

Locals called it Deadman's Hook - a name Ivy always thought was too dramatic until someone actually died there.

She parked her car just off the gravel road, boots crunching as she stepped into the underbrush. The air felt colder near the water, like the temperature dropped ten degrees the moment she crossed the tree line.

Birdsong faded. The trees hushed.

She followed the tape - bright orange plastic ribbon still fluttering where the sheriff's department had marked the site.

The river moved slow here, but not silent. It had a low murmur, like someone speaking just out of earshot.

Ivy knelt at the edge.

Mud. Broken reeds. A cigarette butt.

She snapped on gloves and bagged the cigarette, just in case. Maybe Noah smoked, but she doubted he'd do it here. He used to call this place cursed.

Then she saw them - the footprints.

Faint, nearly washed away, but still there. Not one pair. Two.

One set deeper, heavier. The other smaller. Noah's?

She took a photo. Then another. The prints ended abruptly, right at the edge - as if whoever made them had stepped directly into the water.

She stood, heart drumming.

"Looking for something?"

The voice startled her.

Ivy turned sharply. A man stood a few feet back - mid-40s, wiry, eyes too pale. He held a tackle box in one hand, a fishing rod in the other.

"I thought this place was closed off," she said.

"It is." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "That why you're here?"

Ivy narrowed her gaze. "Do I know you?"

He nodded slowly. "You used to babysit my niece. Emily."

That name hit her like a slap.

Emily Dawson. The girl who drowned when Ivy was fourteen. They found her tangled in the reeds, face down. No one ever figured out how she got to the river alone.

"She was the first," the man said softly, as if reading her mind.

"First what?"

His eyes met hers.

"First to come back."

A branch snapped in the woods behind them. Ivy turned, but nothing moved. When she looked back, the man was already walking away.

She called after him. "What do you mean come back?"

He didn't answer.

Just kept walking, slow and steady, like someone who'd been to the river too many times to be afraid anymore.

Chapter Four: Echoes

Back at the motel, Ivy spread Noah's belongings across the desk like evidence: his cracked phone, the hoodie, the cigarette butt in a Ziploc bag. She opened her laptop, the Wi-Fi barely clinging to life, and typed:

Emily Dawson, Briar Hollow. Death.

It took time - old news articles weren't indexed well. But she found it.

"Local Girl Drowns in Briar Hollow River"

Date: October 18th, 1998

Ivy's stomach turned. That was nearly 27 years ago. The exact same day Noah died.

The article was short.

Emily Dawson, age 9, was found drowned in the Briar Hollow River near the eastern bend. Foul play was not suspected. The girl had no history of sleepwalking but was known to "wander." Her body was discovered at dawn, tangled in reeds. Pockets empty. Face calm.

Ivy read the last sentence twice.

Face calm.

Just like Noah. Just like the others the sheriff didn't mention.

She sat back, heart pounding, the room too quiet.

Noah's message echoed in her mind: You were right. It's starting again.

She reached for the local archives next.

If there was another death ten years after Emily... and another ten after that...

Then maybe this wasn't just about Noah.

Maybe it was never about just Noah.