Page 1 of The Scars of War (Of Ruin and Fire #1)

There’s a sound in my skull again.

Low. Subtle. Almost nothing at first—just a faint vibration behind the eyes, like the air’s gone too still and my body knows before my brain catches up. It hums steadily beneath my thoughts, like a thread wound tightly inside my chest.

It’s not real. It’s never real.

That’s what I tell myself, even as my spine starts to arch away from the mattress, even as my fingers curl around the sheet like I’m trying to dig into something solid, something safe.

There’s nothing solid left tonight.

The ceiling overhead warps at the edges of my vision, just slightly, like I’m looking at it underwater.

My pulse stutters. My mouth is dry. The refrigerator is running in the other room, and its noise seems louder and sharper than before.

A metallic whine buried under its usual drone that I can’t unhear once I’ve noticed it.

I press the heels of my hands to my eyes until light blooms behind them. Reds. Oranges. That sickly, living gold that always reminds me of something I can’t name.

The vibration gets louder.

It isn’t in the room. It’s in me.

It’s mine.

When I move, the world seems to move in the opposite direction.

The floor tilts slightly to the left. My knees crack when I stand.

The air feels thick, like I’ve stepped into a space that doesn’t want me in it.

My apartment hums around me, familiar and empty.

There’s a static in the walls that wasn’t there before.

I rub at the back of my neck. Skin clammy and breaths short. My limbs feel mistaken in my body, like I’ve grown too fast for my own bones.

I don’t remember falling asleep.

I must’ve, right? I must’ve slipped under for just a second, because this isn’t the same place I laid down in. It looks the same. Mostly. Although something’s shifted in the margins .

The walls are too clean. The shadows are too long.

And the silence is waiting.

I stumble into the bathroom on autopilot, needing the routine more than the mirror.

Water.

Cold.

Splash.

Breathe.

Pretend I’m human, cause at this point…I sure don’t feel it.

When I flip the switch, the overhead light sputters once, then burns to life too bright, too white. The mirror’s already fogged, but there’s no steam.

My skin prickles. I wipe the glass with the back of my hand, and for a moment, I wish I hadn’t. Because the girl looking back at me isn’t quite me.

Her face is the same, technically. The bones. The mouth. The mess of red hair clinging to damp skin. Her expression is off. She doesn’t look afraid or confused. Just… open. Her lips are parted slightly, like she’s been about to say something for a long time and forgot how .

And her eyes, they’re looking past me. Through me. Into something I don’t want to see.

The hum in my skull sharpens.

A new pressure blossoms in my chest, slow and hot and deep, like something unfolding in the space between my lungs. I double over on instinct, hands braced on the sink, but it doesn’t help. It’s not painful. Not really.

It’s pressure.

It’s noisy.

It’s the sensation of a scream—not a sound yet, not a cry, just the awful, violent build of one. A scream so massive it has to root itself in bone before it can be born.

I can’t breathe.

I try. My mouth opens and my lungs stretch, but nothing fills them.

The sound inside me grows louder.

The lights flicker.

My knees hit tile. Cold floods through me, yet it doesn’t anchor. I curl in on myself, head to the floor, hands over my ears like that’ll block out the inside.

There’s no blocking this .

It’s coming from the part of me that remembers something I don’t.

My jaw locks. My back arches. My body reacts to something I can’t name. A warning. A pull. A knowing. I open my mouth wider, as wide as I can, willing the sound out—willing anything out—but there’s nothing.

Not yet.

Only the silence between lightning and thunder. Only the beat before the world gives way.

And then I see it in the mirror behind me.

A figure. A man, maybe. Tall. Pale. Smoke drifting off his shoulders in thin threads like heat distortion. His face is shadowed, mouth a dark line, eyes unreadable.

I blink once.

He’s gone.

The mirror is empty.

Except for me.

Still open-mouthed.

Still wide-eyed.

Still hollow.

I stay on the floor a long time .

The pressure fades, eventually. Slowly. Like it’s backing off…not because it’s gone, because it’s waiting.

Waiting for something I haven’t given it yet.

My throat feels bruised. My limbs are trembling.

I stare at my reflection again, this time from the floor.

She’s still looking past me.

Still quiet.

Still not done.

And I know… I know… this isn’t over.

I’ll forget it again. Just like all the other nights.

I’ll pretend I was dreaming, that I’m fine, that I’m still just a girl with a broken lock and a too-quiet apartment and no monsters behind the glass.

Something inside me is waking up.

And when it does…

Whatever’s on the other side of that scream?

It’s going to answer.