Oslo smelled like money and old secrets.
Santiago stayed quiet on the train, sitting across from me with his hood up, eyes scanning every reflection in the glass.
He looked out of place among polished shoes and tailored coats—like a predator forced into a cage of mirrors.
"You don't trust this place," I said.
"I don't trust your stepfather," he replied.
Fair.
Kristoffer Franzen's house rose from the hill like a fortress—steel, glass, and surveillance cameras tucked into every corner. It wasn't a home. It was a statement.
Power lives here.
My mother greeted me at the door in a silk dress the color of wine.
"Eliza," she said, kissing my cheek. "You look thin."
"You look busy," I replied.
Her smile tightened. "You could have dressed better."
Santiago stepped forward. "Thank you for hosting us."
She blinked. "And you are…?"
"A friend," he said smoothly.
A lie—but a necessary one.
Dinner was unbearable.
Kristoffer sat at the head of the table, silver hair perfect, eyes sharp and calculating. Every laugh felt rehearsed. Every question a test.
"So," he said, swirling his wine, "how is university?"
"Fine."
"Just fine?" His gaze lingered. "Your grades used to be exceptional."
I felt Santiago tense beside me.
"I've been tired."
Kristoffer smiled. "Ambition requires sacrifice."
Something in his voice made my skin crawl.
Then the lights flickered.
Just once.
No one else noticed.
I did.
The air thickened, heavy with something wrong.
Santiago's hand brushed mine under the table. Danger.
I excused myself and fled to the bathroom, locking the door behind me.
The mirror fogged.
My reflection blinked—late.
A voice whispered from the glass.
Hunter.
I staggered back.
That night, I dreamed.
I stood in Kristoffer's house—but twisted. Darker. Veins of shadow crawled along the walls.
A door pulsed at the end of the hall.
I opened it.
Inside was a cage.
Ruth was inside.
Screaming.
I lunged forward—
And woke choking on air.
Santiago was already awake.
"You dreamed," he said.
"Ruth's in danger."
He didn't argue.
That scared me more than disbelief.
We moved fast—quietly slipping through the house. As we passed Kristoffer's study, the door creaked open on its own.
Inside, symbols burned into the walls.
Old. Powerful.
Wrong.
Kristoffer stood in the center of the room.
Waiting.
"You should have stayed asleep," he said.
Santiago shifted, eyes glowing. "Step away from her."
Kristoffer laughed.
"You brought the Hunter to me?" he asked me. "How thoughtful."
"What are you?" I demanded.
His smile sharpened. "A survivor."
The shadows surged.
We ran.
Sirens. Shouts. The sound of something breaking free.
By the time we reached the street, my hands were shaking.
"He knows," I said. "About me."
"Yes," Santiago said grimly. "And he wants to use you."
"For what?"
Santiago looked back at the house, eyes burning gold.
"To start a war."