CHAPTER ONE

Jenna Graves was sitting at her desk, where familiar paperwork lay before her in neat stacks. The door to her office swung open, and her father strolled in, his familiar grin lighting up the room. “Evening, Jen,” he greeted her with that twinkle in his eye that she had inherited—or so people said.

Jenna sat unmoving for a long moment. Her father, Greg Graves, had been dead for five years—succumbed to prostate cancer after a drawn-out battle that left scars deeper than the earthy plots of the local cemetery. Yet here he was, looking as hale and hearty as she remembered from her teenage years.

“I am dreaming,” she said firmly, as the office around her subtly shifted, the edges blurring like watercolors caught in the rain. Her father visited her only in lucid dreams now; she knew this. When Jenna became lucid—aware that she was dreaming—she could continue with the experience, though sometimes only briefly.

“Does seem like it,” her father replied casually, leaning against the doorframe that no longer belonged to the sheriff’s office, but now to the familiar surroundings of their family home. The wallpaper was adorned with tiny forget-me-nots from her childhood, while the scent of pine and an undercurrent of lavender from their mother’s garden filled the air. This was the house in Trentville where Jenna’s heart had broken and mended countless times.

“I miss you,” Jenna murmured, feeling the gap of his absence. She hesitated before asking him the question that never strayed far from her mind. “Is Piper still alive?”

Her father’s expression softened and he opened his mouth to reply, but at first Jenna couldn’t hear his words. Her twin sister, Piper, had vanished twenty years ago, leaving behind a silence that resounded more deafeningly each time she asked.

“I can’t say,” he repeated gently, his voice a distant echo in the corners of their old living room.

“Could you just tell me if she’s still somewhere in our living world?” Jenna pressed. But the dream logic held firm, the answer evading her grasp like smoke. Her father simply stood there as Jenna’s heart twisted with longing and unanswered questions. As she felt the sting of tears forming, blurring the lines of the dream, she cradled her face in her hands.

The transition from dream to waking life was abrupt, like surfacing from deep waters with a gasp. Jenna’s bedroom snapped into focus, the first light of dawn painting her walls a soft blue. But in the turmoil of her rapid awakening, a thought anchored itself firmly in her mind: never once had Piper appeared in her lucid dreams. Since Jenna spoke only with the dead in these twilight encounters, her twin’s absence supported a fragile hope.

Piper might still be alive.

The twin connection they shared had never felt severed. Even after all these years, Jenna felt it, a constant reminder that Piper’s story wasn’t over—or at least so Jenna hoped. Her intuition, a silent guide honed by years of lucid dreaming and conversations with those who’d passed, told her insistently that Piper was still out there, somewhere.

Jenna got out of bed, her feet finding the cool wooden floor. The remnants of her dream clung to her like cobwebs as she traversed the short distance to the bathroom. The familiar surroundings greeted Jenna with their stark reality, yet something was amiss. The tiles underfoot seemed to shift ever so slightly, disorienting in their fluidity.

She reached the sink and braced herself against it, her eyes slowly lifting to meet her own reflection. With a deep breath, she anchored herself firmly in the waking world.

She studied the woman staring back at her with solemn scrutiny, and the mirror was not kind in its honesty, exposing the toll that the impending twentieth anniversary of Piper’s disappearance had taken on her. Shadows haunted the hollows beneath her green eyes, and strands of short chestnut hair fell haphazardly around her face. The creases across her forehead and the downturn of her mouth spoke of nighttime meetings with the absent, the lost, and the departed. She was sure she looked older than someone in her mid-thirties should.

Jenna’s hands moved mechanically, cupping water from the tap and splashing it against her skin, the chill of the droplets jolting her senses awake. As rivulets coursed down her cheeks, they seemed to carry away fragments of her nocturnal encounter. She repeated the action, each handful of water acting like a ripple disturbing the surface of a still pond, disrupting the lingering visions of sleep.

She reached for the towel, the fabric rough against her fingers, grounding her further in the present. As she patted her face dry, her thoughts shifted, unbidden, from the spectral visitation to another, still living, image from her past—her mother, Margaret. The guilt of their estrangement tugged at her, a constant reminder of conversations postponed and apologies unspoken.

Jenna made a vow. She would call her mother after work. It was time to bridge the gap that tragedy had wrought, to try to heal the fissures that had fractured their family. Perhaps today could mark the beginning of reconciliation, or at least the start of an uneasy truce.

With her resolve fortified, Jenna turned away from the mirror, its reflective surface no longer holding her captive. She reached for the outfit hanging on the door, the crisp uniform that signified her position as the sheriff of Genesius County. She had duties to attend to and a community to keep safe, as well as a sister’s memory to honor. The badge affixed over her heart was a symbol not only of her authority but of her commitment.

A cursory glance at the clock told Jenna she needed to hurry. Her hand swept over the kitchen counter, snagging a granola bar wrapped in a crinkle of plastic—a meager substitute for a proper breakfast, but a necessary compromise given the ticking minutes. When she tore it open, the solid crunch of oats and honey grounded her senses back in the tangible world.

As she chewed, Jenna mulled over the significance of the day and the anniversary it marked. Resolute, she swallowed the morsel and moved through the familiar motions of securing her gun in its holster—a weight that served both as a tool of her trade and a metaphor for the burdens she carried. The cool metal against her hip was a constant companion, a reminder of the responsibility she bore to protect and serve. Keys jangled as she picked them up.

As Jenna stepped out onto her porch, granola bar in hand, the very breeze carried memories of the Ozarks’ secrets. A cicada’s shrill song filled the air, a forewarning of heat to come. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the day ahead, and her mind clicked into the sharp focus required of her profession. The morning marked another day in Trentville, another opportunity to chase down leads, to scour the landscape of Genesius County for problems, while never losing hope for some sign of Piper.

Her patrol car greeted her like an old friend, its engine rumbling to life under her command. As she drove, Jenna focused on the tangible—the steering wheel beneath her hands, the steady hum of the car’s engine, the rhythmic thump of the tires against the pavement. It was a grounding technique, one that kept her anchored in the present, even as her mind roamed the past.

The drive to the sheriff’s office was a short one as Jenna’s car moved through the streets of Trentville, the morning sun casting pale light over the quaint facades of Main Street. The town was awakening, shopkeepers unfurling awnings and early risers nodding greetings in her direction. Jenna acknowledged them with a nod of her own, her mind working through the logistics of the day, preoccupied yet never missing a detail.

As Jenna parked her car and turned off the ignition, she sat for a moment in the quiet cocoon of the vehicle, staring at the familiar facade of the Genesius County Sheriff’s Office. The old brick building was steeped in history and the quiet dramas of small-town law enforcement. Then, steeling herself with a deep breath, Jenna stepped out of the patrol car and into the reality of another day. As she walked, her feet crunched on gravel, and her badge shimmered in the morning light.

Jenna strode into the building, exchanging brief, knowing looks with her colleagues. They understood the toll this anniversary took on her, offering silent support through their shared glances. Her focus narrowed, zeroing in on the tasks that awaited her in her private office, a simple space adorned with little more than the essentials: a desk, some filing cabinets, a bookshelf, and a couple of chairs for visitors.

Her heavy oak desk was a small island of familiarity in the sea of her unsettled thoughts. Papers were strewn across the surface in an organized chaos that only Jenna could understand. The walls were adorned with framed certificates and commendations, interspersed with maps of Genesius County and Trentville. A bookshelf filled with law enforcement manuals and case files lined one wall, while a corkboard plastered with photos and notes took up another. Despite the clutter, there was a sense of order to it all.

Her computer welcomed her as she booted it up, and emails loaded with mechanical indifference. She settled at her desk, immersed herself in reports and emails. There were disturbances and petty crimes, the usual ebb and flow of small-town life, but nothing that jumped out at her. It was just another day in the life of a small-town sheriff, but the monotony of the routine work clashed with the emotions within her—hope, fear, and the relentless yearning for answers.

A subtle shift in the air pressure signaled the opening of her office door, the sensation eerily reminiscent of her dream, where her father had walked through that very threshold. Instead, standing in the doorway right now was Deputy Jake Hawkins, his very real presence a sudden spark in the room. Tall and lean, with that boyish charm that often left her with an unprofessional flutter in her stomach, Jake grinned at her, his presence a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere of the office.

“Morning, Sheriff,” he greeted her, leaning against the door frame, arms casually folded, awaiting her response. He wore his usual attire—dark trousers paired with a neatly pressed shirt that fit well on his athletic frame. A shaft of sunlight from the window caught the edges of his sandy hair, giving him an almost ethereal glow. His uniform hugged his broad shoulders, the badge reflecting the light with a glint. There was an easy confidence about him, the kind that came from years on the force in Kansas City before he sought the quiet of small-town life.

“Deputy,” Jenna replied, making an effort to smooth out the creases of concern from her brow. Jake’s arrival was a welcome interruption to her spiraling thoughts. She found him undeniably attractive, but such thoughts were luxuries she seldom afforded herself. Besides, there was a reason beyond the physical that she welcomed him; his loyalty provided an anchor when the waves of the past threatened to pull her under.

“Got an emergency, Sheriff,” Jake said.