CHAPTER 7 — THE FOOTSTEPS THAT SHOULD NOT EXIST
The silence inside Xander's apartment thickened like fog—dense, unmoving, suffocating. Aurora couldn't make sense of the footprints spreading slowly across the polished wooden floor. They were wet, fresh, as if someone had stepped out of a river and walked straight into the room.
But there was no one.
No door had opened.
No window had moved.
No breath disturbed the air except hers and Xander's.
Yet the footprints kept appearing—one after the other—each one forming out of nothing.
Xander didn't flinch.
Didn't gasp.
Didn't even look shocked.
Aurora felt something cold wrap around her ribs.
"You've seen this before," she whispered.
His jaw tightened, but he didn't deny it.
The newest footprint glistened under the light, droplets sliding down the imprint's edges. It was larger than a normal foot. The arch was slightly too high. The toes were not shaped like human toes.
Aurora felt her heart twisting painfully.
"Xander… what is that?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he stepped forward, putting himself directly between her and the advancing footprints.
"Keep your eyes on me, Aurora," he said quietly. "Don't look at anything else."
"I—I can't pretend I don't see this!"
"Aurora, please."
His voice was soft, pleading, desperate in a way she had never heard from him. He never sounded afraid, not even the day she met him when he'd intervened between her and trouble with a calmness that felt unshakeable. But now… beneath that composed exterior, there was something trembling.
He wasn't afraid of the footprints.
He was afraid for her.
Aurora felt her knees weaken.
"It's here again…" she whispered. "The same thing from the building. The same voice."
Xander froze.
"What voice?"
She swallowed hard. "It… it said my name."
His eyes darkened. For a moment, Aurora thought anger flickered behind them—not toward her, but toward something else. Something unseen.
Then, like a sudden breath of wind, the lights flickered again.
The footprints stopped forming.
For a heartbeat, the room was still.
Then—
Something scraped against the hallway wall.
A long, dragging sound.
Aurora's breath stilled.
Xander pushed her behind him.
The scraping grew louder, slower, as though claws—or something worse—were dragging across the paint.
"S-stay here," Xander whispered.
"No," she grabbed his sleeve instinctively. "Don't go there."
"I won't let it touch you."
Before she could stop him, Xander moved toward the hallway. His shadow stretched across the floor ahead of him, tall and trembling. Aurora's hands shook violently as she watched him reach for the light switch.
The scraping stopped.
Silence filled the apartment so suddenly she felt a ringing in her ears.
"Aurora," Xander said without turning back, "whatever happens, don't—"
The lights went out.
Total darkness swallowed them.
Aurora gasped, stumbling back until her back hit the wall. She reached for anything—her phone, the counter, the chair—but found nothing in the blackness.
"Xander?" she called, her voice trembling.
No answer.
The darkness felt alive—thick, breathing, pressing closer.
"Aurora."
She froze.
The voice wasn't Xander's.
It echoed through the apartment like wind moving through hollow bones. The same haunting whisper from the abandoned building. Closer this time. More intimate.
"You can't run."
Aurora covered her ears, shaking violently. "Stop… stop… stop…"
Then—
A click.
The lights returned.
Xander stood at the end of the hallway, chest rising and falling sharply, eyes trained on something behind her.
"Aurora… don't… move…"
Her blood ran cold.
Slowly, terrified, she turned her head.
A handprint—dark, wet, and impossibly large—marked the wall just inches from where she stood. The streaks were smeared downward, as if something had touched her and dragged its fingers along the paint.
She staggered forward, almost collapsing, but Xander caught her before she hit the floor.
"You're okay," he whispered over and over, holding her tight. "You're alright. I've got you."
But she wasn't okay.
She wasn't alright.
She was trembling so hard she thought her bones might shatter.
And the worst part wasn't the footprints.
Or the handprint.
Or the voice that crawled through the dark.
It was the look in Xander's eyes.
Not shock.
Not disbelief.
Recognition.
"What aren't you telling me?" Aurora whispered hoarsely.
Xander closed his eyes, exhaling shakily. "Everything."
She stared at him, breaths shallow and uneven.
"You knew something was following me, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I was trying to protect you."
Her chest squeezed painfully. "From what?"
He hesitated.
And the hesitation told her everything.
Xander knew exactly what was happening.
He knew what had whispered her name.
He knew what had brushed against her spine in the building.
He knew what walked into his apartment tonight.
"Aurora," he whispered, "there's something about you. Something that… attracts them."
She felt the floor fall away beneath her.
"Them?" she whispered.
Xander met her eyes—haunted, exhausted, and filled with a truth he had tried desperately to hide.
"The shadows," he said.
"They've been searching for you long before you ever saw them."
Aurora's heartbeat collapsed into a painful throb.
Her voice broke.
"Why me?"
Xander opened his mouth—
—but before he could answer, every light in the apartment exploded with a sharp pop, plunging them into darkness once more.
This time, the whisper was not soft.
It was right behind her ear.
"Found you."
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END OF CHAPTER 7.