I stood still, a smile finding its way to my face as my colored hair relaxed in all directions, catching the light like it had a mind of its own. Sometimes I forgot it wasn't normal—how it moved, how it responded to my moods before I even understood them myself. Right now, it felt loose. Unbothered. Almost happy.
He was sitting across the room, quiet as always. Watching.
He always watched—like he was afraid the world might shift if he blinked too long, like vigilance was the only thing keeping everything from collapsing. It used to annoy me. Now, it comforted me in ways I didn't like admitting.
And now, somehow, he was mine.
The thought settled in my chest, warm and dangerous, the kind of warmth that could either keep you alive or burn the house down if you weren't careful. I let myself sit with it for a moment, not questioning it, not dissecting it. Just feeling it.
We had a lot to figure out.
What I was.
Why they wanted me dead—or worse, why they still did.
Why the word ancient refused to leave my thoughts no matter how hard I tried to drown it out.
Questions layered over questions, none of them polite enough to wait their turn.
"Are you all packed for Cuba?" he asked.
His voice cut cleanly through my thoughts, grounding me. I turned slowly, deliberately, giving him a long look before rolling my eyes.
"Really?" I said. "Are you always this annoying, or are you trying extra hard today?"
A soft chuckle slipped from him, low and familiar. The sound still did strange things to me—settled me, unraveled me, sometimes both at once. We didn't say anything else. We didn't need to. We just moved, like we'd done this a thousand times before. No promises. No reassurances. Just motion, muscle memory, survival stitched into routine.
I grabbed my keys.
"I'm driving."
Robert raised an eyebrow, mild disbelief flickering across his face. "Since when?"
"Since I remembered you drive like you don't value existence," I replied flatly. "I may not be human, but I don't plan on dying. In any way."
That earned me a smile—small, resigned. He didn't argue. That alone told me he knew I was right.
Outside, the air felt restless.
Not windy. Not cold. Just… aware. Like something unseen had leaned closer, listening in on a conversation it wasn't invited to. I shook the feeling off as I slid into the driver's seat, fingers curling around the steering wheel.
The engine hummed to life, smooth and obedient, and just as I pulled onto the road—
Beeeeep.
My phone lit up.
"Hello, bitch," a voice sang through the speaker. "Are you ready? Because the trip is going to be bumpy—and you know I won't make it easy."
I laughed before I could stop myself. "Lexi."
Of course it was Lexi. Loud, dramatic, allergic to subtlety. Somehow always calling at exactly the wrong—or right—moment.
"Who was that?" Robert asked, already suspicious.
I tilted the phone so he could see the name. His expression shifted—not dramatic, not alarmed, just… alert. The way a predator stills when something unfamiliar enters its territory. He signed quickly, precise movements cutting through the air.
Something about her feels wrong. Dangerous.
I snorted, waving a hand dismissively. "Oh, come on. She's just jealous. Loud. Dramatic. Slightly unhinged. Forget her."
But even as I said it, the word dangerous lingered, clinging to the edges of my thoughts like it didn't want to be dismissed so easily.
The city slipped past us in blurs of concrete and light. Traffic signs, storefronts, strangers I would never remember. I focused on the road, on the steady rhythm of driving, on anything that kept my thoughts from spiraling too far ahead of me. Robert leaned back in his seat, one arm resting casually against the door, eyes scanning everything—reflections in windows, passing shadows, people we overtook and left behind.
Always watching.
"You're tense," he said after a while.
"I'm fine."
"That wasn't an answer."
I sighed, fingers tightening briefly on the wheel before relaxing again. "Cuba feels like a bad idea."
He didn't respond immediately. When he did, his voice was calm. Too calm. "Most important things do."
I glanced at him. "You always say things like that, like you've already seen the ending."
A corner of his mouth lifted. "Maybe I've just seen enough beginnings."
The airport hit me like a wall.
Too loud. Too bright. Too many heartbeats, overlapping and chaotic, each one distinct if I focused too hard. The hunger stirred faintly at the edges of my awareness, irritated by proximity, by abundance. It wasn't violent. Not yet. More like a reminder.
I shoved it down, hard.
Not now.
Lexi texted again while we waited, my phone vibrating against my palm.
LEXI: You better not disappear on me.
LEXI: People are asking questions.
My brow furrowed. "What people?"
Robert leaned closer to read, his shoulder brushing mine. His jaw tightened just slightly—enough that I noticed, enough that it mattered.
"That's new," he muttered.
"Lexi exaggerates," I said, though my confidence wavered.
"Sometimes," he agreed. "Sometimes she doesn't."
The announcement for our flight echoed through the terminal, metallic and final. Cuba felt closer now. Too close. Like stepping onto a chessboard when you didn't know which piece you were—or who was already planning your next move.
As we boarded, that sensation returned.
Not hunger.
Not fear.
Recognition.
It pressed beneath my skin, quiet but insistent, like something inside me had stirred awake and was stretching after a very long sleep.
I didn't know why they wanted me dead.
I didn't know what I was becoming.
But I knew this—
Whatever I was running toward in Cuba…
It had been waiting for me long before I ever knew its name.