When the fog rises in Windhollow, it doesn't just hide the town-it hunts. Figures drift within its gray, moving like the living but wearing the faces of the forgotten. Laila Avent thought she'd left her brother's death behind, but when her father dies during fog season, she returns-and the fog comes early. Rowan waits... but he is not a boy, not a ghost. He is a shape carved from her grief, an echo that remembers everything she tried to bury. The Fog People are not the dead-they are the parts of the living the world forgot. And this time, the fog wants her. When the fog rises, it doesn't just cover the town-it uncovers the parts of us we've lost. Every evening in Windhollow, the fog creeps in: thick, silent, and heavy enough to swallow sound. Figures drift through it-moving like the living, but wearing the faces of the forgotten: the fishermen who drowned, the miners trapped underground, the Hollowed who are little more than empty shells. Laila Avent thought she'd left the town behind after her brother Rowan's death. But when her estranged father dies during fog season, leaving a cryptic note, she returns to settle his affairs. The fog comes early. And Rowan is waiting. But he isn't a ghost. He is a shape made from her grief-an echo carved from everything she refuses to face. As Laila unravels her father's death, the town's ritualized silence, and her family's connection to the lost miners, she discovers a terrifying truth: Fog People are not the dead. They are the missing pieces of the living. And the fog has come for the piece of Laila she can't let go. To survive, she must confront the horrors it has learned from every loss, every sorrow, every unfinished story in Windhollow. Grief has a shape. And now, it knows Laila's name.