Kristie Kline watched the explosions bloom across the sky, each burst echoing in the unnatural stillness of the valley. The pumpkins glowed with an unsettling light, their carved faces seeming to follow her gaze. A chill snaked down her spine despite the ornate corset she wore. She’d come seeking something—a feeling, a sign—but all she found was this strange convergence: fiery displays against a blood-red moon, and grinning gourds lining a path that vanished into the fog. Something felt wrong, deeply so. A whisper of wind carried a scent like burnt sugar and ozone, and Kristie knew, with sudden certainty, that she wasn't alone in watching the spectacle.