Elias sat on the edge of the rotted pier, watching his own reflection. He had come back to find answers, but the lake only offered him back his own tired eyes. They said the water washed away sins, but as the sun dipped below the ridge, the blue turned to an ink-black void.
To the locals, the water was a mirror—a perfect, silver sheet that reflected the towering pines and the silence of the valley. But mirrors have two sides. Beneath the "clear water" that gave the town its name lay a heavy, suffocating history. Elias sat on the edge of the rotted
Elias didn't turn around. He knew. Some waters are clear not because they are clean, but because they are deep enough to hide the bottom. And in Clearwater, the bottom was finally rising to meet them. To the locals, the water was a mirror—a