Page 2

T he mist coiled in ribbons, dissolving into the dark like a breath stolen from the night itself.

This should’ve been an ordinary moment, one last reckless act of defiance before everything changed.

I knew better. Nothing had been ordinary since the accident, since the phone rang in the dead of night and carved my life into before and after.

Lily and I had slipped out through my bedroom window, scaling the vine-covered awning in breathless silence. I could still feel the scrape at my knee, the sting of torn skin, the blood blooming like crushed raspberries.

Two guards nodded to us as the gates creaked open. The wood-paneled exterior looked damp, the darkened windows like unblinking eyes as they watched our approach. Beneath the cliffs, waves slammed into the jagged rocks.

“We’re on Arden Astoria’s list,” Lily said, handing over her keys like a parking space had a plaque with her name on it.

The host eyed her, unimpressed. “Arden’s?” He mumbled something under his breath, turning to hold the door open. “He’s in the Maritime Suite. Turn left. It’s the first room on your right. ”

Lily smirked as she slipped him a crisp hundred and sauntered inside. She always carried herself like that, confident and untouchable. It opened doors for us, ones we shouldn’t have been allowed through.

The polished dark wood gleamed under dim green lamps, and the runner stretched endlessly, like it led somewhere no one had ever returned from. I felt it even here, the low hum of the Thread, that strange pull stitched into my spine.

My attention snagged on an old photograph. “House Seraphim, ‘59.” The title was barely legible. I wanted to read the small description beneath it, but Lily huffed and grabbed me by the wrist, pulling me toward the suite. “What sort of members’ club is this exactly?”

“The insanely elite kind. Trust me. You’ll like Arden.”

The Maritime Suite smelled of cigars, leather, and something faintly metallic, like old blood. We felt our way toward a bar cart, and Lily quickly poured us two glasses of a dark-colored spirit. I scanned the room, noticing the leather sofa where two guys lounged.

The first was obscenely attractive, draped in a navy suit, his blonde hair perfectly tousled, and he possessed a bone structure designed chiefly for breaking hearts or starring as the heartthrob in black-and-white movies. It took me only a heartbeat to recognize him.

Hugo Fox. “Holy shit, Lily, is that?—”

“Yes. Be cool,” she hissed.

Beside him, his friend watched me, as if he’d already heard everything I might say. He knew he didn’t need to introduce himself to me. “The infamous Arabella.” Arden’s smile sharpened. “Do you like the manor?”

I hesitated. “It’s nice.” I forced a smile, though I was sure it wasn’t convincing. I felt like a thousand ants were crawling over my skin, like everyone in the room knew what had happened to me only days before.

“Don’t lie.” He smirked. “Help yourself to whatever you need, okay? Hugo, why don’t you show Arabella around,” Arden suggested casually, his eyes fixed on Lily.

I wanted to decline, but Lily’s pleading eyes stopped me. She needed me out of the way. I hated that I was still trying to earn her approval, like we were twelve again, and I didn’t want to be left out.

“Sure,” I said, only somewhat reluctantly. I cast a look over my shoulder as we parted. Lily’s description of Arden was definitely accurate, he was weird. He was scanning the room, no longer looking at her. Something about it made my stomach knot.

Hugo refilled my drink, and we wandered into the darkened corridor. “You’ve known Arden for a long time?” I asked as we paused by another faded photograph of a member from decades ago. I took a long sip of my drink, unable to shake the feeling that I was being watched.

“Since childhood,” Hugo said with a shrug. “And you and Lily?”

“Same story,” I replied. My heart stuttered in warning. “Though it’s sort of the end of the road for us. I’m being shipped off tomorrow.”

“Shipped off?” His eyes flicked to something distant, like he was processing my words in a way that didn’t quite sit right.

His gaze slid to the hallway for a brief moment, and in that instant, I caught a glimpse of something dark behind his eyes.

Was it a flash of guilt? Regret ? It was gone before I could place it.

He was so easy to talk to, the kind of person you told things to without meaning to. I kept expecting him to spot someone flashier and excuse himself, but he didn’t. Instead, he angled closer, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be .

A faint draft teased the corridor, carrying a damp smell and then something smoky, like snuffed candles. It brushed across my neck, leaving a chill that stood every hair on end. Somewhere deeper in the manor a door slammed, nothing unusual, but the sound lingered, echoing.

My glass slipped through my fingers. It hit the floor and burst, but instead of a bright shatter the noise was oddly muffled, swallowed by the hush around us.

I felt my cheeks heat as I blinked away the embarrassment, bending to collect the shards.

That was when the darkness on the far wall seemed to lift, edges unraveling like smoke.

“Hugo…?” My voice barely carried as I watched the shadows peel from the wall and curl, stretching toward me like the tacky ends of a web. Hugo followed my stare, but I wasn’t sure what I was looking at.

“Are you seeing this?” Hugo asked with trepidation.

They swirled ahead of us, the darkness behaving with a strange sentience that wasn’t a trick of the light. “Yeah,” I froze. “I see it.”

At once the shadows gathered, quickening as they lunged toward us, tendrils outstretched. My feet rooted to the floor, my mind fixed on understanding.

Hugo’s hand seized mine. “Move!”

The paralysis snapped. I stumbled forward, the Thread yanking me like a puppet on strings. Again, the shadows surged.

Terror lanced through me as I tore down the hall, the shadows close behind. It wasn’t darkness I felt from it, but hunger. Whatever this thing was, it smelled the break in me, the seam between grief and guilt where something tender still bled.

“Do something, Arabella ,” the Thread hissed, louder now. I bolted after Hugo, thoroughly lost.

The manor groaned against the wind, waves thrashing. I tripped, caught in the velvet runner, and hit the floor hard. The shadow surged. The louder the Thread screamed, the quieter my own voice became, until it felt like I was losing myself, dissolving into the shadows.

But someone was there. Hands pressed under my back, just as the darkness consumed me. My vision blurred, the edges of reality pulling away as I was carried by someone, my body too heavy to respond. I let myself sink into the darkness, my consciousness slipping like sand through my fingers .

Maybe I’d been drugged, the taste of that sickly brown liquor still on my tongue. The world spun, and I cursed Lily for bringing me here. I couldn’t shake the disorienting haze, the pull of the darkness that wasn’t just outside, but inside, too.

I felt the faintest brush of something soft against my shoulders, the abruptness of cold leather beneath me as I was placed in a car.

I moved my lips to protest, but there was no sound, as if my body had forgotten how to fight back. Every muscle felt sedated.

My exhaustion was a weight, pressing me deeper into the leather seat.

I sank into it, eyes unfocused, my mind a step behind, scrambling to catch up.

I wanted to believe I was drunk, delirious, that this wasn’t real, that there was no reaching darkness.

But something about it told me I was far past that illusion.

“Lily?” I called out. Whose car was this?

Where was I? Panic began to set in, revving against the hazy tiredness.

My breath fogged against the window, the world outside blurring into a smear of color as the car pulled away.

I turned away, trying to escape the weight of the car’s dark interior. “Hugo?”

I leaned forward, fingers curling around the edge of the passenger seat. “ Hello? ” I called.

Then the figure turned, and I recognized my assailant, or maybe my savior, immediately.

“I asked you not to leave the house,” the executor said, his voice low, like he was talking to a child who wouldn’t listen. “I’m supposed to watch you until you arrive at Evermore.”

“I’m an adult. I can take care of myself.” My voice wavered, pitching. He gave me a look I couldn’t place in the shadowy light of the car before reaching into the glove compartment.

“Have you eaten?” he said at last, and I felt something cool crinkle against my palm.

He didn’t speak again until I slowly unwrapped it.

A sticky cinnamon bun, something so incongruously normal in the chaos.

“You’ll need your strength. Trust your parents, Arabella. They only want what’s best for you.”

The icing sugar was tacky against my fingers as I peeled the plastic back, a rush of annoyance searing through me. But I hadn’t eaten a proper meal in three days, and I couldn’t really tell where the worry-knot in my stomach ended, and the hunger began.

I slumped back into my seat, sugar melting onto my tongue as I drove my fingers into the armrest. I wanted to scream at him, to demand he tore up the paperwork, to ask Lily to find me a lawyer, someone, anyone to fight for what was mine.

But the words caught in my throat. Maybe I didn’t know what was best for me anymore, really.

I tore off another bite. The taste turned cloying under his gaze.

Every second that passed felt like an assessment, like I was a problem he was trying to manage.

He had saved me, hadn’t he? It was his arms that had carried me to the car, and yet I wasn’t sure of what I had seen.

The shadows, the darkness. Had I imagined it all?

“You saw it, right?” I asked in a too-small voice, the weight of the question heavy in the air between us.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The executor’s tone was almost amused as he said, “All I saw was a lot of underage drinking.”

I didn’t press him further, but a flash of heat burned down my cheek. I didn’t want to leave home. I’d lost so much already. I wiped the tear away quickly, closing my eyes against the unanswered questions.

The Thread pulled at me, again, splintering through my chest like frostbite. I hated it. I hated how it never left me. I used to think it was something I’d inherited from my mother. She had her own kind of madness.

I remember the first time I heard it. I was seven. The mirror opposite my bed cracked clean down the center. Just… shattered. A voice whispered my name. I thought it was a ghost. A monster. My mother called it a nightmare and held me until I fell asleep.

But in the morning the mirror was gone.

Grief intensified it, but the Thread had been with me long before the accident. Long before I ever learned what death really meant. I didn’t know what it was, only that it wanted something.

And I was getting very tired of listening.