Iris woke to the dull throb of pain pulsing behind her eyes, like a storm cloud trapped in her skull. Her limbs felt heavy, her room oddly colder than usual. Sunlight poured in weakly through the curtains, but it didn't offer much warmth. The world outside was just as grey as the one in her head.
She blinked slowly, dragging herself upright. Her hair was a mess, and her throat dry. All she could remember from last night was how the panic had come—like an ambush. Sharp. Sudden. How the world spun beneath her feet. The blaring music. The stifling crowd. The moment the lights shut off. The glowing red-brown eyes across the room.
And then—darkness.
She'd barely remembered climbing into the back seat of that stranger's car with Olivia. She barely remembered stumbling up the stairs and falling face-first into her bed. But the feeling remained.
The fear hadn't left her. It clung to her skin.
A sharp knock and the door creaked open.
"Iris! You overslept again," her mom's voice snapped, cutting through the haze in her head. Her mother stood at the doorway with her arms crossed tightly, lips pursed. "What did you even do all night?"
Iris jolted like a deer caught in headlights. "U-uhm… studying… for—for maths!" she said, stammering through the lie.
Her mother's brow lifted sharply. "Right. So does studying involve sneaking out to a party with Olivia?"
The lie collapsed in her throat. Iris froze. Her face went pale.
Her mother had found out.
"I—Mom, I'm sorry," she said quickly, lowering her gaze like a guilty child.
"After I told you not to go?" her mother said, tone sharper now. "I'm very disappointed, Iris. What if something had happened to you?"
Iris swallowed. "Nothing did. I even told Olivia to go home early…"
"That doesn't change the fact that you went to a party—at night—without telling me. On a school night, no less."
Her mother's voice was tight. But beneath it, Iris heard something else—fear.
Iris sighed heavily, the guilt weighing down on her chest. "Okay. I'm sorry," she said, softer now.
Mrs. Millerson looked at her for a long moment. Then sighed. "Just come down for breakfast."
Iris hesitated. "Actually… I don't think I'll… be able to go to school today," she muttered, pressing her fingers to her temples.
Her mother narrowed her eyes, ready to argue. But something in Iris's face must've changed her mind. "Okay. Only today," she relented, turning away. But just before she disappeared down the hall, she added, "And you're grounded."
The door clicked shut.
Iris dropped back onto her pillow and exhaled slowly. Her fingers dug into the sheets. Grounded. Fine. But it wasn't like she was in a state to go anywhere anyway.
The party had shaken her more than she wanted to admit.
And those… flashbacks. They weren't dreams. They were something else.
A girl crying. Scientists in coats. Needles. Screaming. Metal rooms.
They felt real.
Too real.
She couldn't keep brushing it off anymore. She had to understand what was happening. Where she really came from. Because all she remembered about her past began in the orphanage—nothing before that. No baby photos. No childhood memories. Just a name, a file, and blank years that no one could explain.
After a quiet, tasteless breakfast, she returned to her room, pulled out her laptop, and began typing.
"Hillenwood unexplained deaths history."
The search results loaded with a mixture of conspiracy articles, obscure blogs, and official reports that didn't say much at all. But as she scrolled, one article caught her eye. It looked older, like it had been archived.
She clicked.
It detailed how, years ago, Hillenwood had been plagued by a series of bizarre deaths—bodies found pale, drained, with no signs of physical injury. Not a scratch. Not a drop of blood spilled.
Autopsies showed no clear cause of death.
Locals panicked. Doors were locked. Churches lit candles every night. Whispers began.
Vampires, two scientists claimed. Though the article didn't name them. Only that they were not local—that they came from somewhere else, that they had "ties to something classified."
Iris rolled her eyes. Vampires. Really?
Still, she read on.
The two researchers had supposedly discovered a rare flower deep in the northern woods, blooming only under blood moonlight. It had peculiar properties. Toxic to something—not humans—but something… else. They had refined it, condensed it, and turned it into a gas. They claimed it had the power to kill whatever was draining the townspeople.
And apparently, it worked. The deaths stopped. Just like that.
But the scientists?
Vanished.
No records. No names. Nothing more than rumors and grainy photos that had since been removed from public access.
Iris frowned.
It all sounded like the kind of story lonely teenagers passed around on forums at 2 AM. But still… something about it made her skin crawl.
She scrolled back up to the picture of the flower.
It was deep blue. Almost black at the tips. Thin petals shaped like small blades. And somehow—she recognized it. Her chest tightened. She didn't know where she'd seen it, but she had. Somewhere.
Then, as if struck by lightning, a memory snapped into place.
Julien.
That day at school. When they were assigned their project. She remembered glancing into his bag when he dropped it on the desk. A book poking out, leather-bound. It had the same flower pressed on the cover—and it was titled "Myths of the Vampire Lineage.
Julien had that book.
Julien—who never blinked. Whose skin looked cold. Whose presence drained the air around him. Who just stared. Always stared.
She shook her head. No. It was insane. She didn't believe in that stuff. Supernatural creatures. Vampires. Flowers that bled poison. It wasn't real.
Right?
But her fingers hovered over the trackpad. And she scrolled again.
Her attention went to the phrase: "The flowe was the last hope."
Her stomach dropped.
Before she could process it, her bedroom door creaked open.
"Iris," her mom called, "someone's at the door for you."
She blinked. "What? For me?"
Her mother didn't reply.
Still in her faded pink pajamas, hair unbrushed, she padded down the stairs and opened the door—and froze.
Julien stood in front of her.
His presence was cold. Like the air had shifted with him. He wore a dark coat, his eyes unreadable, his expression blank.
"Iris, am I right?" he asked, his voice smooth and oddly formal. "I was instructed to bring you your project. We'll be working together."
She stared at him, her mouth slightly open. "Oh… o-okay."
He extended a file toward her, wrapped in his long fingers. "Tomorrow, we start," he said simply. Not a blink. Not a twitch.
Then he turned and walked away. Silent. Like he didn't even step on the ground.
Iris stood there for a moment, the folder heavy in her hand, heart pounding in her chest. She didn't say goodbye. She didn't move.
She just watched him vanish down the street like a shadow melting into sunlight.
Something was wrong with him.
Terribly, terribly wrong.
And Iris would find out.