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KENDALL

I wake up to the smell of burnt toast and panic.

For a second, I think I’m still dreaming. My head is swimming in leftover moonlight and teeth. The nightmare clings to my ribs like smoke—something about running and snarling and?—

I sit up too fast. My head throbs.

The sunlight’s too bright, all sharp angles slicing through my blinds. I squint at the time. 9:46 AM. Which means it’s already late. Which means something’s off.

I hear Mom’s voice, muffled and sharp. She's on the phone, pacing. Something about her tone prickles under my skin—it’s the voice she uses when shit’s gone sideways.

I pull on leggings and a hoodie, not bothering with makeup. My hair’s a mess, silver streak sticking up like it’s trying to signal for help. I stumble down the stairs barefoot.

She doesn’t hear me at first. She’s in the kitchen, clutching her phone like it’s the only thing holding her upright.

“...yes, yes, I understand. We’ll be there soon. Thank you, Doctor—yes. I appreciate it.”

Click.

“Mom?” My voice comes out cracked.

She spins like I slapped her. Her eyes are wide and bloodshot. She looks like she’s aged five years overnight.

“Oh, Kendall.” Her voice breaks. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“What happened?” I step closer. “Who were you talking to?”

She opens her mouth, then closes it again. Her hands shake as she sets the phone down.

“It’s Adora.”

My stomach drops.

“What about her?”

“She… she went out last night. Late. I thought she was just going for a walk, but—” Her voice catches. “There was… an incident.”

I feel like I’m falling and not hitting the ground.

“What kind of incident?”

“She’s at St. Anne’s. The hospital called me this morning.”

“Jesus, why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I didn’t want to scare you.” She says it like that makes it okay. “They said she’s stable. But she was attacked, Kendall. Something—or someone—hurt her.”

“Attacked?” I repeat, numb. “By who?”

“They don’t know. She was found collapsed outside of town, near the old mill road. Bruised, bloodied, unconscious.” Her voice cracks again. “I’m going there now. Come with me?”

I’m already grabbing my keys.

The hospital smells like bleach and grief. I hate it.

Mom’s grip on my arm is too tight as we walk through the sliding doors. Her fingers are ice. The receptionist recognizes her instantly and waves us through. Apparently, trauma makes people efficient.

We ride the elevator up in silence. I can feel the words she’s not saying pressing against the walls. The worst part? I don’t know if I want her to say them.

Room 312. I push open the door gently.

Adora’s lying there like someone pressed pause on her life.

Her face is pale. One eye’s swollen shut, and there’s a jagged line of stitches across her forehead. Her arms are bandaged, bruises blooming dark on her collarbone and ribs. She looks like she got hit by a truck—or mauled by something worse.

“Jesus,” I whisper, heart cracking open. “Dora…”

Her good eye flutters open.

“Kenny,” she croaks.

I rush to her side, nearly knocking over a tray of gauze and ice chips.

“What the hell happened?” My voice is shaking. “Who did this to you?”

She blinks slowly. Her gaze darts toward Mom, then back to me.

“Don’t remember,” she whispers.

“Bullshit,” I snap before I can stop myself. “Adora, come on. You don’t just forget something like this.”

She flinches, and I immediately feel like a monster.

“I—I’m sorry,” I murmur, reaching for her hand. “I’m just… I’m scared, okay? You look like hell.”

Adora manages the ghost of a smile. “Thanks.”

I glance over my shoulder. Mom’s in the corner, arms wrapped around herself like she’s holding her ribs in.

“They said no broken bones,” she says quietly. “But they’re keeping her for observation. Her blood pressure was erratic when she came in. She had a panic response when they tried to sedate her.”

Adora closes her eye again, breathing slow and shallow.

“She doesn’t want to talk about it,” Mom adds, her voice almost apologetic.

“I can see that,” I mutter, brushing Adora’s hair off her cheek. “But I’m not gonna just pretend this didn’t happen.”

“Neither am I.”

I look at her. “Do you think it was some psycho? A random attack?”

Her lips press into a thin line. “I don’t know.”

But she does.

I can tell.

There’s something in her eye—something haunted. Like whatever happened, it wasn’t human. And she knows I’ll dig until I find the truth.

So why the hell is she trying to protect it?

“My nightmare last night,” I say suddenly. “That bad one. Blood and teeth and…I don’t know. It felt real. I woke up shaking. That’s why I came to your room. And you said…” I try to read her. “Why did you go out?”

Adora’s fingers twitch in mine but she says nothing.

“I didn’t think it meant anything,” I go on. “Until now.”

She opens her mouth, closes it. Her throat bobs.

“I was just walking,” she whispers. “And then… something shifted. I didn’t see it. I just felt it. Like the world blinked and I was somewhere else.”

“That doesn’t make any goddamn sense,” I say softly.

She nods. “I know.”

And that’s it.

That’s all she gives me.

The silence stretches.

We leave her sleeping. Mom promises to stay the rest of the day, and I need to breathe air that doesn’t taste like antiseptic and lies.

Outside, the sun is high and too damn bright. I sit on the curb in the parking lot, elbows on my knees, trying not to lose my shit.

Something’s wrong.

Adora knows more than she’s saying. Mom’s acting like she’s seen a ghost. And I’m stuck in the middle with no map and this awful weight in my gut that won’t let go.

I pull out my phone and text Stefan.

Me: Adora’s in the hospital. Don’t know what happened. I’m freaking out.

Three dots.

Then nothing.

Then: Stefan : Want me to come?

Me: No. Not yet.

Because I don’t want to say it out loud, but deep down I already know:

This isn’t just some freak attack. This is the start of something, I can feel it.