Stella sat at the dining table, absently pushing her food around the plate, barely tasting a bite. The house was quiet—too quiet—until the door suddenly burst open with a loud bang. She flinched at the intrusion, her fork clattering against the plate. Her startled expression quickly shifted to irritation as she turned to see Mallory standing in the doorway, her eyes burning with frustration.
"Aren't you tired of your life?" Mallory asked bluntly, not bothering with pleasantries.
Stella's grip tightened on the fork, her patience wearing thin. "Excuse me?" she said, her voice laced with annoyance.
Mallory stepped further inside, her presence unshaken. "The whole group is getting ready to kill you," she stated matter-of-factly. "And you're just going to sit here and let them?"
Stella stood, pushing her chair back with a sharp screech against the floor. "Give me one good reason why I should fight back—why I should even care," she shot back, her voice cold, her expression unreadable.
Mallory's brows furrowed, her frustration giving way to something sharper. "Because your life isn't just about Grams. It's not about Simon either. It's about you." She took a step closer, her voice unwavering. "Every single one of us is born alone, and we die alone. But what we do in between—that's on us."
Stella's breathing grew heavier, her fingers curling into fists.
"Grams believed in you," Mallory continued, her voice quieter now but just as intense. "She said you could fight the darkness. But looking at you now, I'm starting to doubt it. If this is who you're going to be, maybe you're no better than Nora."
Stella's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing dangerously.
"You're not just breaking their belief in you," Mallory added, turning toward the door. "You're breaking your own." She pulled the door open, stepping halfway out. "When you get your brain back, call me."
Mallory had barely taken another step when Stella's voice cut through the room.
"What's the plan?"
Mallory halted, the corner of her lips curling ever so slightly before she turned back.
"Kill Milor," she said simply, then walked away.
Stella stood on her balcony, watching as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson. The evening breeze brushed against her skin, but the warmth of the sunset did little to thaw the cold emptiness inside her.
She exhaled slowly, steadying herself as she pulled out her phone and began dialing. The ringing on the other end felt agonizingly long before a sharp voice finally answered.
"Blackstone Security," the receptionist stated, curt and professional.
"Is this Blackstone Security?" Stella asked, her voice steady but laced with quiet determination.
"Miss, if this is about job applications, we are not hiring," the receptionist interrupted, her tone dismissive. "Please refrain from calling regarding job offers."
Before Stella could respond, the call ended with a sharp click.
She stared at her phone, her grip tightening around the device. The rejection stung, but she refused to let it deter her. This was just the first step, and she wasn't about to let failure define her.
With a slow shake of her head, she turned back toward her apartment, determination hardening in her gaze.
Her first attempt to rise had failed.
But she wasn't done yet.
Stella didn't hesitate this time. She dialed another number, pressing the phone to her ear as she leaned against the balcony railing. The call barely rang twice before a familiar voice answered.
"Stella?" Earlene's surprise was evident. "I didn't expect to hear from you."
"I'm coming back to Potologo," Stella said, her tone firm. "If my job is still standing."
A brief silence stretched between them before Earlene responded, her voice warm. "Of course, Stella. We're ready to have you back. But…" She hesitated. "Can I ask what happened that night? You disappeared for six months without a word."
Stella's fingers tightened around her phone, her knuckles turning white. For a moment, she considered telling the truth, but the words lodged in her throat like thorns. Instead, she exhaled softly and forced a small, bitter smile.
"A bad dream," she murmured. "That's all it was."
Before Earlene could respond, Stella ended the call.
Stella stared at her phone for a long moment before shifting her gaze back to the darkening sky.
A bad dream.
A bad dream with beautiful, haunting memories.
Ones that refused to let her go.
A few days later, Stella sat on the beach, the rhythmic waves lapping at her feet, their cold touch grounding her in the moment. Craving solitude, she had wandered past the No Entry zone, slipping into a secluded spot where towering rocks shielded her from the world. Here, she was invisible—no one would see her, no one would hear her, even if she screamed.
She let the silence settle, closing her eyes to the sound of the ocean. But then—footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Unmistakable.
Stella smirked, tilting her head slightly but not bothering to turn around. So they finally came.
"Here to kill me?" she murmured, her voice void of fear, almost amused.
A blade pressed against her throat in response.
"You always did have a sharp tongue," a voice murmured behind her, the cold blade pressing lightly against her throat.
Stella didn't flinch. Instead, she let out a slow breath, her gaze fixed on the restless waves.
The smirk didn't falter. If anything, it deepened.
In a split second, Stella's hand shot up, gripping the attacker's wrist with unyielding force. With a sharp twist, she wrenched the knife from his grasp, the blade slipping free as he grunted in pain. Before he could react, she pivoted, using the momentum to shove him backward. His body hit the sand with a heavy thud, grains flying around them.
Milor barely had time to recover before Stella was on top of him, her knee pressing firmly into his chest, pinning him down. The knife he had just held was now in her grasp, its edge grazing his throat. His eyes flickered with a mix of shock and something close to amusement, but Stella didn't waver.
"I guess I got it from you, Milor," she murmured, her voice as sharp as the blade she held against him. Then her gaze darkened, and she tilted her head ever so slightly.
"Or should I say… Uncle?"