Hope

Milo Finch slouched on a park bench, his rumpled suit a reminder of better days. He absently swirled the dregs of a cheap coffee while scanning job listings on his phone. Nothing. Six months since he’d been unceremoniously axed from his cushy analyst gig, and the closest he’d come to employment was a soul-crushing interview at a big box store. A fluttering commotion drew his gaze. An older woman in a flowing floral dress was scattering birdseed, surrounded by a swarm of cooing pigeons. Milo snorted. Feeding vermin - that’s about all he was qualified for these days. ...

Mira’s rental car crawled up the winding mountain road, each turn revealing another breathtaking vista of snow-capped peaks and plunging valleys. She should have felt awe, wonder, maybe even a spark of joy at the majestic landscape. Instead, a dull emptiness gnawed at her core, as it had for months now. The quaint town of Everdale came into view, a cluster of rustic buildings nestled in a high alpine meadow. Mira pulled into the gravel lot of the Pinewood Lodge, cut the engine, and sat motionless for several long moments. With a deep sigh, she finally gathered her resolve and stepped out into the crisp mountain air. ...

The fluorescent lights flickered as Mira Chen stepped into the elevator, her fingers tightening around the strap of her laptop bag. She pressed the button for the 14th floor, watching the doors slide shut with a soft whoosh. As the elevator began its ascent, Mira’s eyes darted to the small screen displaying the floor numbers. She relied on visual cues far more than most, her hearing aids only partially compensating for her impairment. ...

The clacking of typewriter keys filled the newsroom, a constant percussion accompanying the frenetic energy of reporters rushing to meet deadlines. Marian sat hunched over her machine, her fingers flying across the keys as she transcribed yet another article dictated by one of the male journalists. She paused only to push her glasses back up the bridge of her nose, leaving a smudge of ink behind. “Faster, Miss Holloway!” barked Edward Blackwell, the portly editor-in-chief, as he strode past her desk. “That piece needs to be on my desk in ten minutes!” ...

The wind howled as Mara Callahan stepped off the small research vessel onto the rocky shore. She squinted against the salt spray, taking in the looming silhouette of the lighthouse that would be her home for the next month. Its weathered white tower stood stark against the gray sky, a lonely sentinel on this remote stretch of coastline. “Welcome to the edge of the world!” Dr. Elena Reyes called out behind her, voice raised over the crashing waves. The expedition leader’s enthusiasm was infectious, despite the gloomy surroundings. ...

Mei Lin’s footsteps echoed through the empty streets of Lijiang as she made her way toward the ancient pagoda that loomed over the old town. The first rays of dawn were just beginning to peek over the horizon, casting long shadows across the cobblestone paths. A chill wind rustled through the trees, carrying with it the faint sound of whispers. She paused at the base of the pagoda, craning her neck to look up at its tiered eaves stretching into the sky. Even after weeks of investigating the strange occurrences in town, the sight still filled her with a sense of awe and unease. Taking a deep breath to steel her nerves, Mei Lin pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside. ...

The rain had been falling for six days straight when the Parker Creek dam gave way. Sarah Connor was in the middle of treating eight-year-old Ellie Matheson’s earache when her phone blared the emergency alert. The sound made both of them jump. Ellie’s mother Jennifer clutched her purse tighter to her chest. “What is it?” Jennifer asked, her voice tight with the worry that seemed to permeate everything in Millhaven these days. ...

Mai Linh’s feet pounded the cracked pavement as she wove through the chaotic streets of Saigon. The air hung heavy with exhaust fumes and the pungent aroma of fish sauce from nearby food stalls. A cacophony of honking horns and shouting vendors assaulted her ears as she dodged between sputtering scooters and precariously balanced bicycles. “Coi chừng!” she called out, narrowly avoiding collision with an elderly woman balancing twin baskets of mangoes on a shoulder pole. The woman scowled but Mai Linh was already gone, darting around the corner onto Đồng Khởi Street. ...

Eliza squinted against the glare of the afternoon sun as she pulled her rental car onto the dusty gravel driveway. The old farmhouse loomed before her, its weathered clapboards a faded gray in the harsh light. She put the car in park and sat for a moment, hands still gripping the steering wheel as she took in the overgrown yard and sagging porch. With a sigh, she grabbed her purse and stepped out into the sweltering heat. The crunch of gravel under her sensible flats seemed unnaturally loud in the still air. As she approached the house, movement caught her eye - a flash of orange darting through the tall grass beside the porch. A stray cat, no doubt. The place was probably crawling with vermin after sitting empty for so long. ...