The city was breaking.
The evacuation order had turned the streets into a river of bodies. Cars jammed intersections, horns blared in frustration and fear. Parents dragged children by the hand, shouting over the endless wail of sirens. Soldiers in armored trucks blocked off avenues, rifles clutched tight, barking orders that no one listened to.
Kieran slipped through it all like a ghost, hood up, eyes sharp. He didn't waste breath screaming or asking questions. He already knew the truth.
The details clawed at him: a man's hands locked on the wheel until his knuckles split. A woman whispering "It's just a drill, it's just a drill," though her voice had already broken. A soldier barking orders—his rifle trembling in his grip.
Lakeview was one spark away from collapse.
By the time he reached the orphanage, the building itself felt like it was holding its breath. Kids crowded in the common room, the TV blaring so loud the walls seemed to hum.
On screen, a shaky news anchor stood in front of a collapsed highway overpass, smoke boiling behind him. His tie hung crooked, his eyes too wide.
"…mass casualties across the river. Citizens are ordered to remain indoors. Repeat, remain indoors. Evacuation procedures are in effect for all districts within five miles of the riverfront. The National Guard has been deployed—"
The feed cut.
The channel jumped to livestreams. Shaky phone footage of people sprinting through ruined streets, their voices ragged with terror.
One stream showed a creature rising from the river like a nightmare, water cascading off its scaled body. Its head scraped the streetlights, jaws lined with teeth like broken glass. It crushed a bus underfoot without slowing down.
Another feed showed soldiers in combat gear shouting orders, bullets sparking against a beast that looked like a spider made of stone. The gunfire shredded chunks from its body—until those same chunks crawled back, knitting into place with a sickening snap.
"Reload! Reload!" a soldier screamed. The camera jerked, catching his face pale with panic before the feed went dead.
Gasps rippled through the orphanage. Some kids covered their mouths. Others clutched their phones tighter, switching streams as if maybe, just maybe, one of them would show something hopeful.
Instead, every video was worse.
A bridge crumpled under the weight of another monster climbing onto it, and cars plunged into the river as screams filled the audio. A family hid under a stairwell, their livestream cutting out as shadows swallowed the screen. An influencer tried to joke nervously, until the camera whipped around and caught something massive moving in the smoke behind him. The video ended mid-scream.
Kieran's stomach heaved. He staggered into the hall, found the nearest sink, and vomited until his throat burned. His hands shook so badly he had to grip the porcelain just to stay upright.
This wasn't whispers. This wasn't some far-off prophecy from angels or fallen. This was here. This was real.
When he dragged himself back into the common room, the footage had changed again.
The news anchor was gone. In his place, the seal of the White House filled the screen.
Then came the President. Seated at a podium, the flag draped behind him, his suit too stiff, his face pale with fatigue. His voice was steady—too steady.
"My fellow Americans," he began, "our nation faces an unprecedented threat. At this time, I am authorizing full deployment of our armed forces to contain the situation. Citizens are to remain in their homes and follow the instructions of local authorities. We will overcome this. We must stand united."
For a moment, the illusion almost worked.
But then—movement, behind him. Advisors rushing. A soldier leaning in, whispering fast into his ear. The President's jaw tightened. His voice faltered.
And then it came.
A roar.
Not through the newsfeed—through the mic itself. So loud it rattled the windows of the orphanage, shaking dust from the ceiling. Something massive, close. Gasps and screams erupted behind the podium. The President's expression cracked.
The feed cut to black.
A moment later, a mechanical voice replaced him:
"This broadcast has been interrupted. Please remain calm. For your safety, stay where you are."
Over and over. Cold. Lifeless.
The common room dissolved into chaos. Kids crying. Shouting. One boy begged a staff member to let him out, swearing he needed to find his sister. Another kid hurled his phone at the wall, the plastic shattering like glass.
Kieran didn't join them. He climbed the stairs two at a time, shut his door, and pressed himself to the window.
From up here, Lakeview still looked normal. Streetlights glowed. Cars still crawled through clogged intersections. People clung to their routines with desperate stubbornness.
But beyond the skyline, black smoke coiled higher and higher into the sky like claws ripping through the heavens.
Helicopters swept past in formation, their searchlights cutting white beams through the dark. Gunfire rattled faintly across the distance, quick bursts like fireworks that never ended. The sound carried, sharp and raw.
And then—he felt it.
A faint tremor beneath his feet. Subtle, but real.
They weren't just across the river anymore.
They were coming.
Kieran gripped the silver cross at his neck until it cut into his palm, breath shallow.
Seven days until his awakening. Seven days until he would find out what he was.
But the monsters weren't waiting.
And if Lakeview fell before then…
He might not live long enough to find out.