Then came the envelope.
I took it wordlessly. Names spilled out like a bad dream.
“Renna. Elias. Cole.” My voice felt foreign, heavy. “All gone?”
Elijah:
“Disappeared. No traces. No chatter on the usual channels. It's like someone’s erasing them.”
My jaw tightened. These weren’t just names—they were the few who’d made it out. Like me. Ghosts of the same past.
Elijah:
“He wants us back.”
He didn’t have to say who.
Kira:
“Of course he does. People are vanishing, and suddenly we’re worth remembering.”
Elijah:
“You always knew we wouldn’t get out clean, Kira. He trained us for this. We’re the ones he calls when the game turns dirty.”
Kira:
“I left that life behind for a reason.”
Elijah:
“And how’s pretending going for you? A university, a job, a tiny apartment? You’re not invisible anymore. Word of your stunt today already reached the network.”
I flinched at that. Just for a second. But Elijah caught it.
A silence stretched between us. Old and familiar.
Elijah:
“He said if we don’t come willingly, he’ll make us.”
I narrowed my eyes, slipping the list back into the envelope, my fingers slow and deliberate.
Kira:
“Let him try.”
I shoved it against his chest, firm. Turned and walked off, my hoodie catching in the wind.
But my mind was already racing.
If someone was targeting us, it wasn’t about settling scores—it was about erasing the past. And I wasn’t a memory yet.
The apartment was still when I stepped inside—just the soft hum of the refrigerator and the creak of old floorboards under my weight. I didn’t bother with the lights. Darkness felt honest.
I peeled off my hoodie, wincing at the stiffness in my back, then crossed to the corner where a faded rug covered the floor. Kneeling, I pulled it back, revealing a loose panel I’d pried open weeks ago.
Beneath it—a small metal box. Scuffed. Rusted around the edges. The kind of box a kid might use to stash candy or secrets. I carried it to the table and clicked it open.
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Inside, the past waited.
A frayed ribbon from a festival long ago.
A photo of my mother, folded into a perfect square.
A broken wooden comb, the handle worn smooth by time and travel.
And the knife.
Old. Plain. The kind they trained us with—weight balanced, blade dulled from years of abuse, not neglect.
I ran a thumb along the hilt. The coolness grounded me, but didn’t soothe.
I wasn’t afraid of what was coming. I was afraid of what I would have to become again to survive it.
Could I still be that girl?
Did I ever stop?
I rested my elbows on the table, head bowing low. The memories pressed in like a tide. I didn’t fight them—I just sat still and let them rise, crest, and fall. Quiet, like waves breaking against stone.
My phone buzzed beside the box.
Lilah.
You free tomorrow night? Got invited to an event. I need a wing. Or a friend. Preferably both. It’s snake season in the city.???
I stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the reply button.
A friend.
I’d never had many. And the ones I did... weren’t really in the business of staying alive.
But maybe this was a different kind of war.
Maybe I didn’t have to face all of it alone.
Kira:
I’ll be there.
Send.
The morning was a haze of muscle soreness and caffeine. I stood in front of the mirror, hair tied up, hoodie zipped high, and stared at the stranger with tired eyes staring back.
Tonight, I'd step into a world of silk and secrets with Lilah.
But first—school.
The walk to campus was uneventful. For once, I was almost grateful for the monotony. Head down. Music in. No eye contact. Stay invisible.
That lasted all of twenty minutes.
It started with the whispers.
In the hallway, by the lockers.
Near the staircase.
Just loud enough to catch my name and the word nurse.
Chair girl.
Jack’s hero.
My stomach sank.
Invisibility was slipping through my fingers like sand.
The cafeteria was a furnace of voices and fake smiles. I grabbed my tray, zeroed in on an empty table near the far wall, and moved fast. Almost made it.
Until the crowd parted.
They walked in like royalty.
Liam Carrington. Jasper Vale. And Sebastian Cross.
The air shifted. Like even gravity paid them attention.
They didn’t look at anyone. They didn’t need to. People looked at them—because not doing so felt like a mistake.
And then, he veered.
Sebastian.
Eyes like winter. Hair swept back. Every step measured.
I didn’t move.
Not when he reached me.
Not even when he slung an arm over my shoulders like we were old friends.
“Were you the one who helped our Jack?”
His voice was smooth, velvety.
A threat wrapped in silk.
I said nothing.
“Tell me,” he continued, like he had all the time in the world, “are you the kind who thinks they can save this world? Keep humanity alive on their own?”
He leaned closer. I could smell mint and something sharper beneath.
“Let me give you a free piece of advice.”
Pause.
“Steer clear of our business.”
I moved.
Not fast. Not loud.
Just… stepped down. Letting his arm slide off my shoulder like it meant nothing. Like he meant nothing.
Grabbed my tray. Walked away.
“Noted,” I said over my shoulder.
Didn’t run. Didn’t flinch.
But I felt his eyes burn into my back like ice.
I didn’t look back, but I could feel it—the silence I left behind.
The kind that wasn’t empty.
The kind that watches.
Across the cafeteria
Sebastian watched her retreat, hands in his pockets, head tilted ever so slightly.
“She didn’t flinch,” he murmured.
Jasper raised a brow, still halfway through his protein bar. “Should she have?”
Liam chuckled from his seat, swirling his coffee. “They usually do. New girl’s got teeth.”
Sebastian didn’t smile. His gaze was still fixed on the exit Kira had disappeared through.
“She’s not new,” he said quietly.
“She’s something else.”
A beat passed.
Then he finally turned back to his table, sliding into his seat with practiced grace.
“Keep an eye on her,” he said. “Let’s find out what kind of ghost walks around like she’s alive.”