Page 11 of Mate Night Snack (Hollow Oak Mates #2)

KATNISS

T he bell over the door at The Griddle & Grind let out a soft chime as Katniss stepped inside.

Warm air wrapped around her, thick with the scent of baked peaches, clove, and roasted beans.

Light spilled in from stained glass windows in hazy ribbons of amber and rose.

The café looked like it had been stitched together with mismatched charm of overstuffed chairs pulled close to crooked bookshelves, hand-painted mugs dangling above the counter like ceramic wind chimes, and a sugar jar shaped like a frog.

Twyla Honeytree stood behind the counter, pouring hot water over a bundle of herbs in a tea strainer that looked suspiciously like it had been made from copper wire and moonlight.

Her wheat-colored braid swung over her shoulder, dotted with dried blooms that looked real but shimmered too much in the light.

“Back again,” Twyla said without looking up. “You’re either hungry for answers or addicted to my pastries.”

Katniss shrugged out of her jacket. “Can’t it be both?”

“Not the way you’re holding yourself,” Twyla said, eyes flicking to her like a hawk’s. “You’ve got the look of someone who asked the woods a question and didn’t like the reply.”

Katniss slid onto the stool at the counter. “You always talk like you’re half a step ahead.”

“It’s in my blood. That’s our thing.” Twyla poured the tea and set it in front of her with a wink. “Try the blackberry sage. You’ll like it.”

Katniss eyed the mug, then sipped. It was earthy and sweet, with a sharp, cool edge that lingered on her tongue.

“Still have your charm?” Twyla asked, wiping her hands on her apron. “The silver thistle bundle I gave you?”

Katniss blinked. “Yeah. It’s in my bag.”

“Good. Hand it over.”

Katniss fished it out and set it on the counter. The dried herb bundle looked the same as when Twyla had given it to her: silver thistle bound in twine, faintly fragrant, tucked in a fold of wax paper.

Twyla pulled something from beneath the counter, a small tuft of coarse, pale fur.

Katniss stared. “Is that...?”

“Wolf,” Twyla said. “Local.”

Katniss frowned. “That legal?”

“Only if you get it from the source.” Twyla’s eyes sparkled. “And this one volunteered.”

Katniss didn’t ask. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Twyla tucked the fur into the bundle and bound it tighter with a single red thread.

“There,” she said, tying the final knot. “Better now.”

“Better how?” Katniss asked, reaching for the charm.

“You’ll see.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“And wasn’t I right?”

Katniss narrowed her eyes but tucked the charm back into her bag anyway. “You always this cryptic?”

“Only when the truth would break things before they’re ready to bend.”

Katniss didn’t like that answer. Not one bit.

“Have you looked into the attic yet?” Twyla asked nonchalantly.

Katniss looked up from the charm. “The attic? Can I even do that?”

She laughed. “Of course you can. You’re a guest there and it’s open for anyone. There’s no out of bounds sign, is there?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, I would suggest maybe venturing up there and seeing what others have left behind,” Twyla suggested with a glint in her eye. “You know, for the hell of it.”

Katniss stayed for another ten minutes trying to get more from Twyla but only able to scribble down a few odd quotes that might, someday, make good intro material. Then she left the café and walked back toward the inn, the charm heavier in her bag than it had been before.

The attic at Hearth & Hollow creaked with every step.

Katniss ducked under the low beams, dust thick in the air. Miriam had given her permission that morning after spotting her loitering in the hallway with her field notebook and a look that apparently screamed “on the edge of an epiphany.”

“There’s a box of old journals up there,” Miriam had said. “Not sure if they’ll help, but they’ve been whispering for attention lately.”

Katniss had paused. “Whispering?”

Miriam smiled and turned back to her baking.

Now here she was, crouched beside a wooden trunk beneath a window glazed with spiderwebs, flipping through a stack of hand-bound books with dates scribbled across their fronts.

Some were cracked with age. Others smelled like cinnamon or rosewater, or dust thick with silence.

The leather bindings were soft in places, brittle in others.

Someone had loved these. Or at least clung to them like they mattered.

She opened the third one and froze.

The handwriting was small, neat, lined with careful loops. Dated August 1991.

Saw Mabel down by the lake again. She talks to the trees like they answer. Says her shadow keeps twitching in the water.

Katniss’s heart picked up speed.

Mama says the woods aren’t dangerous, just old. But Mabel says something’s different this summer. She says her dreams are getting louder.

Someone was howling again last night. Not a dog. Too low. Too sad. Mama says stay inside after dusk. But Mabel keeps going out. She says the quiet is better when everything else sleeps.

Katniss flipped the page. Her pulse thudded hard in her ears.

She said she saw a boy with golden eyes. Said he wasn’t real. Said she didn’t want to blink in case he disappeared. He smiled at her and said "you’ll hear the hum soon."

Twyla gave her a charm. Said it would help. Silver thistle wrapped in blue thread. Mabel wore it under her coat. Now it smells like smoke. She says it burned through the lining when she got too close to the water. She laughed when she said it. But her eyes didn’t match.

The handwriting grew messier in the final pages. Less structured. Less looped.

Mabel says something’s calling her. Something under the lake. Not a voice. A feeling. Like a string pulled tight in her stomach. I told her not to go back but she said the trees were waiting for her.

She didn’t come to school today.

Mr. Hollis says she ran away. That her mama’s lying. That girls like her don’t last long here. That she looked too long at things meant to be passed by.

Katniss’s hands had gone still, one finger pressed into the margin of the page. There was no closure. No confirmation. Just space and silence and ink that dragged out slower and slower until it stopped altogether.

She reached for another journal. This one from 1994.

They found Eliza’s scarf at the Veil line. Burned edges. I heard Miriam arguing with Varric about letting humans in. She said “the town called her.” How does a town call someone? What does it use?

Twyla closed the café early the same day. Said the tea leaves were lying and she didn’t want to hear them.

I think Hollow Oak is choosing people. Testing them. Some stay. Some don’t. Some vanish. Some don’t vanish fast enough. I think that’s worse.

Katniss turned another page, hands shaking.

I saw someone in the woods last night. Tall. Yellow eyes. Didn’t leave tracks. The trees bowed when he passed. He smiled like he knew I was there and didn’t care if I followed. I didn’t.

The wind whispered a name I don’t remember now. I wish I’d written it down. I wish I’d looked away.

The final line trailed off, mid-sentence.

Katniss stared at it, unblinking.

Then she closed the journal and sat back hard against a storage chest. The ache behind her ribs had sharpened, pushing against bone like it wanted to break free.

This wasn’t about one missing girl anymore.

It wasn’t even about ghosts.

It was about the town.

The way it reached into people like Mabel and Eliza—people who had gut instincts and curious eyes and questions they weren’t supposed to ask. The way it let them glimpse something just enough to feel chosen. Special. Seen.

And then it erased them.

Erased them in quiet ways. In gaps. In “she left one night” and “she was always strange” and “maybe she wasn’t right in the head.”

Her throat burned.

Because they didn’t sound strange to her.

They sounded familiar.

Too familiar.

Her fingers curled tight around her pen as she flipped open her own notebook and began scribbling. She copied passages, names, dates. Symbols in the margins. Any connection. Any overlap.

She didn’t stop until her hand cramped and her eyes blurred.

And when the first tear hit the paper, she didn’t even realize she was crying.

It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t sadness.

It was fury.

No one had warned these girls. Just like no one warned her.

They handed out bundles of herbs and cryptic tea and looked at her like she should already know how to survive this place.

But knowing wasn’t enough. Survival wasn’t supposed to be a riddle.

The difference?

She was still breathing. And she wasn’t going to stop digging.

Not until the town coughed up everything it tried to bury.

That night, Katniss sat on the edge of her bed, fingers brushing the protective charm in her coat pocket.

Wolf fur. Silver thistle.

She thought of Emmett. The way he bled for her without hesitating. The way he didn’t flinch when she leaned against him. The steady beat of his heart under her ear.

He knew more than he was saying.

They all did.

But the town whispered louder and it was finally starting to make sense.