"Don't get up," Dreck said softly, lowering me back down slowly. "You feel better?"
"I… I don't know," I answered faintly.
"What happened?" he asked.
I didn't know if I could trust him. He was hiding things from me—things I had every right to know.
My dad… he was the reason for Cyra's condition.
Once I fully understood what he had done—once the memories came flooding back—I felt like my stomach was screaming.
I pushed myself up, bolted to the bathroom, and slammed the door. My whole body felt like it was trying to break free, my soul clawing to escape. I couldn't breathe. My vision blurred with anger and pain.
I just wanted it to stop.
My stomach twisted, and I sank onto the cold bathroom tiles, vowing I wouldn't cry—not here.
Not on the bathroom floor of my childhood crush.
Pulling myself up, I realized Dreck hadn't even bothered to check on me.
Asshole.
I washed my face and looked into the mirror.
The purple in my eyes was gone, replaced with… a faint golden shimmer.
Better than purple.
That woman—she was real. And whatever she had done to my eyes… I could feel it.
I could feel her.
God knows how much time I spent in the bathroom, thinking on how to confront Dreck. Did he know? He said that a man had his dad believe in demons. Is that why he was mad? Why couldn't he look at me?
I heard a voice in my head telling me he knew. He knew and was hiding it from me. A gut. It was so strong I believed it.
"Taty?" Dreck knocked on the door. "Still alive?"
I opened it sharply. "Would you care if I wasn't?"
"Are you okay?" he asked quietly, reaching for me.
"Get off me—as if you care. It was a mistake to come with you."
"Taty, what are you talking about?"
"You know what? It's time you tell me everything. No half-truths. No lies. Everything!" I demanded. He looked at me like no one had ever spoken to him like that before.
"Ehh, Taty, I don't thi—"
"Sit down and tell me. Now."
"I ain't your dog, Tafukt," he snapped, storming out.
"Oh, yeah, run away—just like last time. You always run when things get serious. You push me away and run. The poor boy who lost his mom, the misunderstood kid with daddy issues. Poor Dreck."
His eyes flickered purple. "Don't…"
"Then tell me!" I screamed, rage boiling up—but my tattoos didn't burn this time.
"Taty, go back to the room and lock the door," he demanded, walking toward the mansion's doorway. I grabbed his hand.
"I'm not scared of you anymore, Dreck. You will tell me the truth."
Something surged inside me—something powerful. My tattoos began to glow.
Danger.
Dreck's neck tattoo lit up, a fierce swirl of purple and blue—the colors battling for dominance.
"Go!" he shouted, shoving me so hard I hit the floor.
He clutched his head, as if fighting something inside him. The shadow from my dream—it was real. That's what Cyra meant when she said Dreck was slipping away.
"No!"
"Dreck!" I reached for him, grabbing his arms. "Look at me!"
"Get away from me! I'll hurt you!" His voice fractured, layered—like more than one person was speaking through him.
"You won't."
The mansion lights flickered wildly. Wind roared down the hall, violent and sharp. In an instant, I was airborne.
"Dreeeeck!" I screamed as the wind tossed me like I used to do with my toy when I was 5. "I'm sorry, Bob," I whispered to the childhood punching bag I'd hated.
"Dreck, please—come back to me!"
He slammed to the ground, screaming.
"Dreck!" I called out—then a flickering smoke spiraled around him like a tornado. The wind was protecting him from the shadows.
"Taty!" he yelled. "I can't hold on much longer. Run!"
"Do I look like I'm not trying?" I yelled back.
Then—the voice.
"Taty…"
"Cyra?"
"No."
"Who is it?" I shouted over the wind.
"You don't have to yell."
"You're in my head?!" I thought.
"Yes."
"Who are you?"
"An old friend. You have to save him—or he'll lose his soul to Ash."
"Who's Ash?"
"Not the time for stories. Focus on your love interest first."
"He's not my love interest."
"Tafukt, you have the strength to consume the dark. You've done it before."
"What? No—I burned that shadow. I didn't consume it."
"Taty, open your eyes."
"Why does everyone keep saying that without explaining? My eyes are open!"
"You'll understand soon. Ground yourself. Control your emotions."
"How?"
"Remember."
"Run, Taty!" Dreck's voice cut through the storm. "Please, I can't lose you too!"
"Zahra already told you," the voice said.
"How do you know my mother?"
"Remember."
"What?"
"Remember, Tafukt. Remember your name. Remember who you are."
"I can't."
"Close your eyes. Remember."
And then—I felt light.
I closed my eyes… and heard my mother singing a lullaby.
Tafukt, Tafukt, shine so bright…
I opened my eyes in a baby's room.
My mom stood in pink pajamas, her long hair down, singing to a baby.
Someone walked through me—a little boy.
"Mama," Adam called.
They couldn't see me.
"Come here, Adam."
"She Can't sleep either?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.
Adam was four when I was born.
My mom said that when I came into the world, he cried and begged to sleep at the hospital so I wouldn't be alone—just in case I was scared of the dark.
"She might not be your…" Mom began.
The scene shifted, like a skipped heartbeat.
Mom's voice was singing again, Adam asleep in his bed against the wall.
We shared a room. Cute.
Her voice was soft, wrapping the air in gold. I lay beside Adam, just listening.
Tafukt, Tafukt, shine so bright,
ⵜⴰⴼⵓⴽⵜ, ⵜⴰⴼⵓⴽⵜ, ⵉⵎⵓⵍ ⵉⵎⵓⵍ
The baby… was me.
You warm the hills with golden light,
ⵉⵙⵙⴰ ⵉⵏⴰⵡⴰⵙ ⵉⵙⵙⴰ ⵉⵏⴰⵡⴰⵙ
Sleep, my child, the day is done,
ⵉⵎⵎⵓ ⵉⵎⵎⵓ, ⵉⵙ ⵉⵎⵓⵍ ⵉⵙ ⵉⵎⵓⵍ
Dream beneath the setting sun.
ⵉⵣⵣⵓ ⵉⵣⵣⵓ ⵉⵏⵉ ⵜⴰⴼⵓⴽⵜ ⵉⵏⵉ ⵜⴰⴼⵓⴽⵜ
This moment—I wanted to stay in it forever.
My brother was exactly like me.
Tafukt walks the sky so high,
ⵜⴰⴼⵓⴽⵜ ⵉⵙⵙⴰ ⵉⵏ ⵉⵙⵙⴰ ⵉⵏ
Painting dreams across the sky.
ⵉⵣⵣⵓ ⵉⵣⵣⵓ ⵉⵏⵉ ⵉⵏⵉ ⵉⵏⵉ
If he had lived, he'd be in the UNV right now.
My dad wouldn't have lost his senses.
My mom would be happy.
And I wouldn't be my parents' sole center of attention.
Close your eyes, the stars will sing,
ⵉⵎⵎⵓ ⵉⵎⵎⵓ, ⵉⵙ ⵉⵙ ⵉⵙ
Wrapped in Tafukt's golden wing.
ⵉⵙⵙⴰ ⵉⵙⵙⴰ ⵉⵏⵉ ⵜⴰⴼⵓⴽⵜ ⵉⵏⵉ ⵜⴰⴼⵓⴽⵜ
I looked at Adam, trying to salvage the image of his face—
his brown eyes, his straight brown hair, his tanned skin so unlike mine.
His beautiful smile.
His voice.
His laugh.
The way we fought as children.
I had forgotten them.
Forgotten him.
"My dad… he's the only one who remembers," I whispered, tears staining the white-and-blue blanket.
"I'm sorry," my voice cracked. "I miss you. I never thought I did, but I do. I miss you so much I wish I could hold you right now. I wish you could hear me. I miss you, Adam." I started sobbing.
"My dad misses you every single moment, and he makes sure we all know. My mom… she loves you so much. She keeps it together for my sake, but I can see her eyes blur every time she sees a kid. We miss you, Adam.
I'm a bad sister. I'm sorry. I wish you were here, older brother—to protect me, to stand up for me like you did in first grade against the bullies. To buy me chocolate bars when I'm on my period, like Emmeline's brother does. To fight with pillows before we sleep, to throw sand at me at the beach.
It was too soon. Too soon. You were just seventeen. Remember Eva, your prom date? She didn't go to prom. David and Mark—your best friends—they were devastated. They loved you so much. We all did. We still do.
Please don't feel bad about Dad bringing the imposter cousin into our lives. He will never be your replacement."
The pain ripped open like a long-forgotten scar.
I wanted to keep speaking, but suddenly… the singing stopped.
I looked at mom.
Mom was gone from the room, and the baby was asleep.
I looked back at Adam.
He was staring at me.
"Adam?"
"Who are you?"
"I… I…"
How can he see me?
"Mom!" he called.
"No! No, don't worry—I won't hurt you…"
"MOM!" he screamed again.
"Adam?" My dad entered the room.
He looked different… happy.
"Daddy, who is this girl?" Adam spread his arms toward him, and Dad scooped him up against his chest.
"What girl, son?" Dad asked quietly. "Your baby sister?"
"No, Daddy. That woman over there." He pointed straight at me.
"There's no one there, Adam."
"Yes there is!" Adam yelled.
"Hey—voice," I called into the nothingness. "I think it's time we leave… whatever this memory is. Voice?"
No answer.
The baby started crying. Dad set Adam back on the bed. "Hold on," he murmured, and crossed to the crib.
"Zahra!" Dad's voice sharpened. "Zehra!"
"What's happening?" Mom rushed in, only to stop dead, a hand flying to her mouth as she looked down at the baby.
"What is this…" Her words cut to silence—muted, like someone had pressed pause.
I stepped closer, straining to hear, but the silence swallowed everything.
I looked at the baby—me.
And then… my hands.
Tattooed. Glowing. The same shining markings I have now.
Adam's eyes locked on me, wide with fear—like I was an intruder.
"Stay away from my sister!" he shouted.
"Adam, honey, are you okay?" Mom rushed to him. He buried himself in her embrace, hiding.
"Mom, there's a girl over there."
Mom's gaze flicked toward me—like she could see me, but not quite.
"Hakim, take Adam downstairs," she said sharply.
"Zahra—"
"Now!" she snapped.
"What about Tafukt?"
"She'll be fine."
Mom's stare lingered—like she was trying to memorize me.
Then Adam ran from dad's grip and peeked from behind her, eyes still wide.
"She looks just like me," he whispered.
My chest tightened. Heat surged under my skin as my tattoos burned and blazed with light.
The baby started crying—her tiny tattoos glowing just as fiercely.
Mom whipped her head toward my brother. "Adam, are you okay?"
He didn't answer. He just sat on the bed, staring at me.
His eyes…
Purple.
And he started screaming.
The nursery shattered like glass, fragments spinning away into shadow. I was falling—back into the storm, back toward Dreck—Adam's scream echoing in my head, pitched and haunting:
"Find me."