She noticed him before he ever saw her.
From the staircase overlooking the courtyard, Elara Moon stood perfectly still, hands resting lightly against the cool stone railing. Dark hair fell loosely over her shoulders, untouched by the cold wind that threaded through the open space below. The morning light brushed her skin without warming it.
It never did.
Evershade High stretched beneath her like a carefully preserved relic. Stone paths traced the courtyard in deliberate patterns, guiding students through a space designed long before any of them were born. From here, Elara could see nearly everything—the iron gates, the old oak tree at the courtyard's center, the slow drift of students who moved as though they had learned, instinctively, to keep their voices down.
She had lived in Evershade her entire life.
She had watched decades pass like seasons, measured time not by years but by faces aging, changing, disappearing. She had learned the rhythm of the town's silence—the way grief and secrets were folded neatly into routine, how nothing truly loud or chaotic ever lasted here.
Her family had always been among the first to sense when something shifted.
And something had shifted.
She felt it before dawn, a subtle pressure beneath her ribs that refused to ease. The air itself had felt wrong, thick with a tension she hadn't known in centuries. She had stood at her bedroom window as fog curled along the treeline, listening to the forest breathe.
The moment the moving truck crossed the boundary.
The moment the forest stirred.
The moment the air thickened with a scent she had not breathed in centuries.
Elara's fingers tightened on the stone railing as the memory of it returned.
She felt him before she saw him.
Elf.
The thought surfaced unbidden, sharp and impossible. The elves were gone—destroyed after they tried to steal eternity. That was the story carved into stone plaques and whispered by the vampire elders when the fire burned low and the past was allowed to surface.
Elves were myths now. Cautionary tales.
And yet—
As the new boy stepped into the courtyard, the air bent subtly around him. It wasn't dramatic. No sudden gusts or flashes of light. Just a quiet adjustment, like the world had leaned closer to listen.
Plants along the stone paths tilted almost imperceptibly in his direction. Leaves shivered though the air was still.
It tightened something deep in Elara's chest.
Recognition.
And curiosity far more dangerous than hunger.
He didn't look mythical.
He looked tired.
His shoulders were slightly hunched beneath his jacket, a backpack strap looped too tightly around his fingers as if he needed something to anchor himself. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his expression carried the wary alertness of someone who had learned not to expect kindness from new places.
Human.
Almost ordinary.
Almost.
Elara watched him move through the courtyard, watched the way his steps slowed as if the ground beneath his feet was speaking a language he didn't yet understand. When he paused near the courtyard's lone oak tree—the oldest living thing in Evershade—the air shifted.
The wind surged though the morning had been still.
Branches creaked sharply, leaves shuddering in a sudden violent ripple.
For one breathless moment, Elara could have sworn the tree bowed.
Her breath caught painfully in her chest.
That tree had been planted after the war.
As a marker.
As a boundary.
As a grave.
No one spoke of it openly, but every elder knew what lay beneath its roots. The soil there had been fed with blood—elf blood, spilled so thoroughly the earth itself had remembered.
Elara turned away from the railing.
She descended the staircase slowly, deliberately, each step sharpening the sensation coiled inside her. His presence grew clearer with every footfall, his blood thrumming beneath his skin like distant thunder.
Not the erratic rush of human life.
Something steadier. Deeper.
Older.
When he turned suddenly, as if he felt her gaze brush against him, their eyes met across the courtyard.
The world tilted.
Rowan felt it too—a pressure behind his ribs, a pull he couldn't explain. She stood near the edge of the courtyard now, close enough that he could make out the details he hadn't noticed at first. Her eyes were a color he couldn't immediately name—dark, reflective, like water that hid its depth well.
She wasn't smiling.
She wasn't unfriendly.
She was watching him.
And somehow, that felt worse.
Rowan looked away first. Holding her gaze felt dangerous, though he couldn't explain why. His pulse spiked, warmth blooming at the base of his throat.
Footsteps approached.
"New," she said.
Her voice was calm, steady, but there was something beneath it—an edge of restraint that made the word feel heavier than it should have.
"Is it that obvious?" Rowan asked, forcing a half-smile.
"Yes."
The faintest hint of amusement touched her lips, gone as quickly as it appeared.
"I'm Rowan."
He held out his hand before he could second-guess himself.
The moment their skin met, something ignited.
Not sparks. Not fire.
Something quieter and far more unsettling.
Warmth surged up Rowan's arm, racing beneath his skin, settling deep in his chest. At the same time, cold burned through Elara's veins, sharp and startling, like moonlight piercing through darkness.
Her breath caught.
A vision flashed unbidden—moonlight on pale skin, laughter echoing through trees, white fabric darkening with blood. A scream cut short. Hands slick and trembling.
Elara recoiled, pulling her hand back too quickly.
"Sorry," she said, though her voice had thinned. "Elara."
Her name settled heavily between them, vibrating with unspoken history.
Rowan nodded, unsure why his fingers still tingled. "Nice to meet you."
It didn't feel like the truth.