Adaleigh Murdock only wanted a weekend away. A chance to leave behind heartbreak, exhaustion, and the hollow ache of her daily life. Instead, the road leads her to Moonshadow, a secluded retreat hidden deep in the woods. There, under the guidance of the enigmatic Luna, ten women from across centuries gather. Each bears the scars of her death and the weight of her unfinished story. Bound together by grief, fate, and something more ancient than they can comprehend, Adaleigh must discover why fate brought her to this place.
Among the women, one captures her attention more than the rest. Madeline is quiet, distant, and haunted, yet something about her feels achingly familiar. As the two navigate secrets, heartbreak, and the mysteries of Moonshadow, their connection deepens into something neither expected. But with the future uncertain and the rules of this world unlike any they know, Adaleigh must ask herself: can a love born in the shadow of death survive the light of life?
The meal drifts to a close, and soon the group filters outside into the garden. The air feels lighter here, threaded with laughter and the glow of lanterns strung between trees. Lawn games wait across the grass, including croquet sets, badminton nets, even a tetherball pole I’m certain wasn’t here before.
At first, the music spilling from hidden speakers carries the lilting notes of another era, something older, jazzy, easy to sway to. But then it sharpens, guitars sliding in with a steady beat, the sound shifting to something unmistakably alternative.
Madeline stiffens slightly at my side, pale blue eyes widening under the brim of her black beanie.
“Did you do this?” she asks, surprise softening into curiosity.
I grin, pleased with myself. “It’s my small thank you for defending me earlier. Besides, Luna said we could make requests, didn’t she?”
Her lips twitch into the faintest smile. “You’re the first one here who actually gets it. My era.”
“Well, I may have been a baby in the ’90s,” I tease, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t recognize the coolness of it.”
This time, she lets out a quiet laugh, and I feel a ripple of satisfaction.
I glance around, still stunned by how easily this place reshapes itself. The lawn looks like something out of a summer fair. I don’t remember seeing any of it before, and the thought unsettles me. “Where did all this come from? I don’t remember seeing any of it earlier.”
Madeline glances around knowingly. “Luna. She can will things into being.”
The thought chills me, though Madeline says it so casually. “Who ... or what exactly is Luna?” I ask.
Madeline’s smile turns sly, eyes gleaming with something unspoken. “Haven’t figured that out yet. But I have my suspicions.”
“You have figured some things out then?”
She nods once, then leans closer. “Later. In private.”
The weight of the group pressing in around us makes her meaning clear. I nod, silently agreeing.
“Alright,” I say lightly, trying to shift the subject. “What games did you play as a kid?”
A mischievous glimmer lights her eyes. “Ghosts in the graveyard was a favorite.”
I laugh. “You realize how ironic that is?”
“Poetic, really,” she adds.
We settle on tetherball. I admit I’ve never played, but Madeline explains the rules with a grin. The moment the ball swings, she’s sharp, competitive, quick on her feet. I fumble, laugh, push back harder than I mean to.
“That’s cheating,” she calls when I step across the line, though her laughter undercuts the accusation.
For a brief moment, the others turn, watching us. Two girls lost in a game, laughing too hard to care. The heat in my chest is sudden, unexpected.
Madeline regains her composure first. “I’m gonna grab a soda. You want one?”
I follow her to the long table where silver tubs of ice hold old-fashioned cans. We each crack one open, the fizz sharp in the air.
“Madeline,” I say carefully, “can I ask how old you are?”
She smirks over the rim of her can. “Forever twenty-three. You?”
“Twenty-seven.”
Her expression shifts, thoughtful. “So that means ... you were born in ’97? Or ’98?”
“In ’97,” I confirm. “October twenty-fourth.”
Her eyes widen. For a moment she looks as though I’ve knocked the breath from her.
“That’s ...” she begins, but cuts herself short. “I have to go.”
Before I can react, she’s retreating back toward the cabin, soda forgotten in the grass. I stand frozen until Veronica sidles up beside me. “What happened?”
“She asked my birthday. Then got weird and ran inside.”
Veronica studies me, lips pursed. “What’s your birthday again?”
“October twenty-four, 1997.”
She nods slowly. “Well, I ain’t the best with dates, but I do try to remember the important ones. And I’m almost certain that’s the same day Madeline got here.”
Her words hit like ice water. “You mean ... she died the same day I was born?”
Veronica doesn’t answer, only gives me a look that says more than words could. Excusing myself, I slip back inside, climbing the stairs with a heaviness in my chest. Outside Madeline’s door, I rest my hand against the wood, wanting to knock, either to demand an answer or comfort her, not sure which. But I don’t. Not yet.
In my own room, I grab my notebook and begin scribbling. Notes, patterns, theories.
Madeline -- twenty-three. Died in 1997. I was born the same day she died. That can’t be coincidence.
