Her Whistle In The Wildfire Novel by Nolan Crow _ Novel




Her Whistle In The Wildfire Chapter 01

In the Sherwood family, when a long-lost relative comes home, the family head’s gotta light their name up in the Family Registry System themselves.
My brother, Desmond Sherwood, did this for me ninety-nine times.
Each time, the screen flashed a cold, crimson warning: "Access Denied."
On the hundredth attempt, I watched through the glass partition as the prompt finally flickered into a steady green.
I had passed.
But Desmond simply flipped his phone face down on the desk.
After a long, heavy silence, he looked at me and said, "We have to act as if it didn't go through.
"Candie was raised in the lap of luxury here. She doesn't know what it's like to suffer.
"If you move in, she has to move out... and she won't survive that."
Rain dripped from the eaves onto my suitcase. I gripped the handle of my umbrella until my knuckles turned white.
Seven years ago, when he picked me up from the orphanage, he told me, "You have a home now."
I never thought the home they gave me could be taken away with just one selfish choice.
***
I didn't leave.
I stood at the corner of the foyer, hidden behind a potted plant, and watched Desmond's thumb slide across the screen.
That green "Passed" alert—like a flame smothered alive—flashed right back to red in an instant.
He looked up then, locking eyes with me. For a fleeting second, his gaze was a mess of pure panic.
I heard my own voice ask, "Des, did you hit the wrong button?"
His Adam's apple bobbed as he forced a strained smile. "The system is just glitchy."
He shoved the phone into his blazer's inner pocket, his movements hurried and guilty.
Hurried footsteps echoed on the stairs. Candace Sherwood rushed down in her nightgown, her eyes rimmed with a deep, painful red.
She threw herself at Desmond, clutching his sleeve, her voice thick with sobs. "Des, please don't fight with her because of me... I can move out. It's okay."
Desmond immediately covered her hand with his, his voice dropping into a tender coo. "Don't talk nonsense. You're a Sherwood."
Then he turned to me, his tone as cold as a blade. "Renata, go back for now. I've arranged a place for you outside."
Candace looked up at me, tears streaming down her face. "Renata, don't push Des, please?"
Watching his hand over hers, I felt a sudden, hysterical urge to laugh.
This so-called home wasn't a shelter for me, but for Candace.
I didn't ask "why." In the Sherwood family, their answers were just candy-coated excuses to brush it off.
I simply nodded. "Fine."
Desmond looked relieved, rushing to fill the silence. "Just stay there for a bit. Once Candie settles down, I'll..."
But Candace buried her face in the crook of his neck, her crying intensifying. "I don't want you to be stuck in the middle! I don't want you getting closer to her!"
As she wailed, she stole a glance at me. She was testing me, plain and simple—marking her territory without saying a word.
I set my umbrella by the entrance. Water seeped into the carpet, leaving a dark trail.
Desmond frowned. "Don't throw a tantrum."
I smiled faintly. "I'm not. You said to stay outside, so I'll stay outside. You said I didn't pass, so I'll act like I didn't pass."
My voice was so calm it startled him.
Candace whimpered, "Renata, do you hate me?"
I looked at her. "No."
She relaxed instantly, as if getting a free pass.
"Hating takes a lot of effort," I added. "And right now, I'm busy."
I dragged my suitcase upstairs. At the end of the hallway, a wooden plaque engraved with "Candie" hung on a door. My so-called "specially reserved" guest room didn't even have curtains.
On the nightstand sat a framed photo. Desmond, Father, Mother, and Candace—all four smiling brilliantly, a picture-perfect portrait of harmony.
I remembered the first time I came to the Sherwood's mansion, clutching my DNA report like a golden ticket.
Desmond had squeezed my shoulder and said, "Don't be afraid. You'll get used to it in time."
Downstairs, Candace's sobs swelled like a tide against the walls.
I set my suitcase down and checked my phone. The name at the top of my contacts was Hyman Walter.
I sent him a short text: "I'm coming over tonight."
When I went downstairs to grab my charger, Father was just stepping out of his study.
He paused when he saw me, seemingly searching for the right polite platitude. Finally, he said, "It's cold out. Don't stay out too late."
My mother stood behind him, holding a bowl of soup. She didn't offer it to me. Instead, she handed it to Candace, whispering softly, "Drink this; you'll feel better."
Standing by the door, I saw the access light still glowing with a faint, ghostly green.
It was the afterimage of that single "Pass."
I realized then that they had all seen it. They were all just pretending they hadn't.
I gripped my phone, the screen burning hot against my palm.

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