Kiara had always trusted her instincts.
That was why the unease crawling up her spine refused to be ignored.
She sat beside Anny in class, her notebook open but untouched as the teacher droned on about equations no one cared to memorize. Anny sat perfectly still, her posture impeccable, but her eyes… they weren't hers. Not entirely. They seemed distant, watching something beyond the classroom.
"You're spacing out again," Kiara whispered, nudging her shoulder.
Anny blinked. "I… I'm fine. Just tired."
Kiara squinted at her friend. There was more to it—something she couldn't quite name.
Before she could press further, a subtle shift went through the air. It was barely noticeable, a soft tremor, like the world itself inhaling. Windows rattled faintly. A few students shivered. Anny stiffened, her fingers brushing against the pendant around her neck.
Something pulsed within it—a warmth that made her stomach tighten. And then, for a heartbeat, the world blurred.
A figure appeared at the edge of her vision.
Silver hair that caught even the dim light of the classroom. Eyes sharp, almost otherworldly, yet kind in some unplaceable way. He didn't speak, didn't move closer—he simply watched. And for reasons Anny couldn't explain, the sensation of danger she'd felt all her life eased slightly.
You're not alone… not yet, a voice whispered inside her mind.
Anny gasped, snapping out of it. Her pen slipped from her fingers.
"Anny?" Kiara whispered, leaning closer. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Anny said quickly, though her heartbeat raced. "I just… felt dizzy."
Kiara didn't look convinced.
Later, as Kiara insisted on walking Anny home, the streets seemed ordinary, yet Anny felt herself moving through the world behind a thin, invisible veil. Every reflective surface—windows, mirrors, puddles—made her flinch, half-expecting those silver eyes to reappear.
"You've been… different," Kiara said cautiously. "Since the nightmares started."
Anny hesitated. "I don't know what's happening. It's like… someone's calling me. I don't understand it."
Kiara slowed, glancing at her friend. "I just want you to be careful."
The Zedrack house came into view. The front door stood open. Abigail appeared, serene as ever, hands folded neatly in front of her.
"Welcome home, Miss Anita," she said, her gaze flicking toward Kiara. "And you must be Kiara."
Kiara froze. Something about Abigail's calmness made the hairs on her arms rise.
"We haven't met," Kiara said slowly.
"No," Abigail replied smoothly. "But I know you."
A chill ran through Kiara. She didn't know why, but she didn't like that answer.
Inside, everything was unnervingly quiet. Even the ticking clock seemed muted. Abigail moved with effortless grace, preparing tea as if nothing were amiss. Her eyes, however, flickered toward Anny now and then, subtle, unreadable.
Anny excused herself and went upstairs, her mind swirling with questions. Closing her bedroom door, she pressed her forehead to it, heart hammering.
"Why do you keep appearing?" she whispered.
The shadows in her room deepened.
He was there again.
The silver-haired figure, now faint, stood just beyond the reach of light. Not threatening. Protective. Silent. Watching.
"You're safe… for now," the voice whispered.
Anny swallowed hard. "Who… who are you?"
No answer. Just his presence, steady and certain, like a beacon in the dark. She didn't understand, but she felt calmer. Somehow, this stranger—this watcher—was connected to her fate.
Downstairs, Kiara lingered near the hallway, pretending to scroll through her phone. That was when she felt it—a faint shimmer along the floorboards, like something invisible pressed just beneath the surface. Her eyes widened as a dark, intricate symbol glowed briefly and disappeared.
Her stomach twisted. I'm not imagining this.
That night, Abigail stood alone beneath the open sky, her calm mask finally slipping.
"He's… there," she whispered. "The boy. Watching. Protecting. Even without knowing why."
The shadows thickened around her. Something ancient moved, alive, aware.
And far beyond the mortal realm, in a place fractured and cold, silver light glinted. He stood, quiet, observing the world he didn't yet fully understand—drawn to her.
The boy, the watcher, did not yet know his place. Did not know the full truth. But instincts, stronger than logic, pulled him toward the girl who was about to awaken powers she didn't yet understand.
Abigail's lips curved faintly. "The mortals are stirring. And he… will be needed."
The night stretched, heavy with expectation. Something was coming. Something that would change everything.
And for the first time, the boundary between the mortal world and what lay beyond trembled.