Page 5

5

KENDALL

I ’m back in Adora’s room for the third time today, hoping maybe this time she’ll crack. Open up. Give me something. Anything. Instead, I get less than before.

She barely looks at me. Won’t answer more than yes or no. Won’t meet my eyes unless I ask her something dumb, like if she wants more ice chips or a goddamn puzzle book.

I sit in the corner, picking at a string on my sleeve, chewing on every second of silence like it’s a punishment. And maybe it is.

“You said you felt something,” I try again, quieter now. “That’s not nothing, Dora.”

She closes her eyes. Pretends to sleep. I know she’s faking. Her fingers twitch when I speak, and her jaw clenches.

“Fine,” I mutter, grabbing my bag. “Pretend it didn’t happen. Pretend nothing ever does.”

She doesn’t respond.

Typical.

I leave without saying goodbye.

It’s almost dark by the time I hit the sidewalk outside St. Anne’s. The streetlights flicker to life like they’re shaking off sleep. Wind picks up, colder than it should be for late September.

I pull my hoodie tight and keep walking.

I’m not in the mood to go home, and I sure as hell don’t want to see Stefan. He’s texted three times. I haven’t answered. I don’t know what I’d even say.

Hey babe, my sister got mauled by something no one will talk about and I keep dreaming of blood and bones and feeling like my skin doesn’t fit. Wanna grab pizza?

Yeah. No.

I shove my hands in my pockets and keep moving, cutting through backstreets on autopilot. My sneakers scuff against uneven pavement, kicking up gravel. The hum of traffic fades the deeper I go, replaced by the buzz of a broken streetlamp and the occasional dog barking behind fences.

I shouldn’t be out here alone. I know that. But some part of me needs the quiet. Needs the space to breathe .

I’m halfway down a narrow alley when I feel it.

That prickle.

Like static across the back of my neck. The hairs on my arms lift. My gut flips.

Something’s wrong.

I freeze.

Behind me, a whisper of movement. A scrape of boot on asphalt.

I spin around, heart in my throat.

“Who’s there?”

Nothing.

Then hands are grabbing me.

A body slams me into the brick wall. I cry out, struggle, kick, but whoever it is, they’re strong . Unnaturally strong. A hand clamps over my mouth, pinning me in place. I thrash, panic taking over.

And then I hear him.

Not with my ears.

With my head .

“Kendall. Stop. It’s me.”

I go still.

His lips don’t move, but the voice is his . Deep. Familiar. Ragged with urgency.

“You can hear me?”

I nod, breath stuck in my lungs.

The hand drops from my mouth. My back’s still pressed to the wall, adrenaline shaking through every limb. I finally get a look at him.

“Dad?”

Edmund Bolvi looks like hell.

Worse than usual. His eyes are sunken making his pale blue eyes even paler, his beard overgrown, skin sallow under the low light. There’s a silver streak in his hair that used to look cool. Now it just looks like stress made flesh.

“What the fuck , Dad?” I hiss, shoving at his chest. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“I had to,” he growls. “You’re being watched.”

“What?! By who?”

“Not who. What. ”

He leans in close, eyes burning. Not metaphorically. Literally . For a second, they flash a sickly gold, and I stagger back.

“Nope. No. Absolutely not,” I say, voice shaking. “I’m done with this cryptic nightmare bullshit. You’ve been gone for days, Adora’s in the hospital with bite marks, and now you’re here whispering in my brain ? What the hell is happening?”

He stares at me, chest rising and falling fast. He looks like he wants to say a million things and none at all.

“You were always the one who could hear,” he mutters, almost to himself.

“What?”

“You had the spark,” he continues. “Adora didn’t. Not until—” He cuts himself off. His jaw tightens. “You were always meant to change.”

I take a step back.

“Change into what , Dad?”

He closes the space between us, gripping my shoulders. “You won’t survive the coming months if I don’t awaken it in you.”

“Awaken what ? You’re not making sense!”

He hesitates, eyes searching mine like he’s looking for permission.

Then he lets go. Takes one step back.

“I’m sorry, Kendall.”

“For wha?—”

His hands shift before I see it.

His fingers twist, stretch, darken. Nails become claws.

And then he lunges.

I scream.

Pain explodes in my shoulder. Burning, searing, splitting . It’s like fire and electricity are racing through my veins, tearing everything apart from the inside out. I collapse to the ground, writhing, gasping for air.

“What—what did you— what the fuck did you do? ”

He crouches beside me, eyes shining in the dark. “It’s done. You’ll feel it soon.”

“I’m going to kill you,” I hiss, shaking so hard I can barely lift my head.

“You’ll understand. When it starts. When your senses sharpen. When your skin itches and your blood howls.”

“Go to hell.”

He touches my face gently.

Then he’s gone. Just like that. Like smoke in the wind.

I lay there, panting, everything burning. The bite on my shoulder throbs like it’s alive. My pulse is erratic, wild. My vision blurs at the edges.

Time blends together, making it hard to know how long I stay there before I force myself to my feet.

The world feels tilted now. Every shadow is too loud. Every scent too strong. My skin prickles like it’s rejecting itself.

And deep in my chest, something ancient stirs.

My whole body is buzzing.

I make it maybe twenty feet before I collapse against a dumpster, dragging in shaky, uneven breaths. The pain in my shoulder is still there, pulsing in sick waves, but it’s spreading —down my arm, across my chest, up my neck. It’s like fire under my skin, like my nerves are being rewired without anesthesia.

I squeeze my eyes shut. “What the fuck is happening to me?”

My heart’s doing this weird double-beat, thudding so hard it makes my teeth ache. Everything around me feels wrong . Too sharp. Too alive. I can hear a dog barking four blocks away. I can smell—God, everything . Oil from the street. Rotten food in the dumpster. Someone’s goddamn shampoo lingering in the air like they passed by hours ago.

It’s overwhelming.

I fall to my knees, dry-heaving, but nothing comes up. Just that pressure. That throb in my bones, like they’re trying to rearrange themselves.

My fingers twitch. Crack. Something shifts in my wrist, and I scream. I swear I feel the bones elongate, just for a second and then snap back into place. Sweat pours down my face. My skin feels too tight , like I’m gonna burst out of it if I don’t crawl out first.

I claw at my hoodie, yanking it off, then the tank top underneath. My shoulder’s bleeding. Not normal bleeding, black around the edges, like the wound’s smoking. I touch it and recoil, the skin is hot, pulsing, almost alive under my fingers.

“No. No, no, no, no,” I mumble, panic rising like bile. “This isn’t real. This can’t be real.”

My vision flickers.

I blink and everything sharpens.

The alley isn’t dark anymore—it’s glowing. Moonlight reflecting off concrete like silver. I can see bugs on the ground. Tiny things crawling through cracks, each leg moving in slow motion. The colors around me are… wrong . Too bright. Too much contrast.

I look at my hands.

They’re shaking.

The veins under my skin pulse with that same dark hue. My nails look longer, sharper. I scrape one against the pavement and sparks fly.

I sob—loud and ugly.

This isn’t happening.

This isn’t me .

I try to stand and almost fall. My legs don’t feel like mine anymore. They’re too fast. Too twitchy. Like they’re trying to run without permission.

My breathing gets shallow. I lean back against the brick wall, pressing my forehead to the cool surface.

Get it together. Get it together, Kendall.

But nothing’s together.

Everything’s broken and bleeding and changing , and the worst part is—I can feel something watching me. Not out there.

In me.

Something is awake. And it’s not entirely me .

My head pounds. My pulse skitters. I don’t know how to move. Or if I even want to. I’m scared if I take another step, I’ll turn into something that doesn’t remember how to be human.

Is this what happened to Adora?

A sob catches in my throat. She knew. She fucking knew .

I slide down the wall until I’m curled into myself on the ground, arms wrapped tight, like that’ll keep my bones from breaking apart and remaking themselves.