The Night hung over the convent like a suffocating blanket—heavy, stale, way too close for comfort. No noise, no breeze, not even the sad little squawk of a bird that got left behind. Just the pounding of her thoughts thudded through Lia's head like a messed-up drumbeat, off rhythm and way too familiar.

  She lay in bed, blanket pulled up to her chest like she could hide in it. The lights were off. Only the moon leaked in, sketching pale lines across the floor, over Ezra's jacket on the chair. The lines twitched like they were alive, even though nothing out there was supposed to move.

  Too quiet. Way too empty. And deep inside her, something flickered. That thin, sharp edge between blackout and memory, the kind you slice your thoughts on without noticing.

  She started falling but not into sleep. She fell into something alive.

  ———————————

  It started with light.

  But not the warm, healing kind. This was sharp and blinding—like it came from somewhere past sun, fire, or logic. Light that was never meant to be seen.

  When Lia opened her eyes—or maybe just remembered she had eyes—she was standing, tied up.

  The tree behind her was black to its bones. Not a single crack, branch, or patch of bark untouched. Burned clean to the top, its limbs twisted like broken fingers.

  Flames licked at the trunk, but they didn't roar. They whispered.

  The vines holding her weren't ropes. They looked like scorched flesh. Were too tight, too alive but too cold. She tried to move, and turn her head, but even her eyelids fought her like she was being held by something older than her will.

  Up above, birds were sitting in the crooked branches. Or what used to be birds. Feathers scorched, stuck together, half-burned to hell. Beaks frozen in silent, endless screams. They didn't twitch. Just stared.

  One of them fell in slow-motion but never hit the ground. It turned to ash mid-air.

  A whisper slid through the branches. No wind, but it moved. It sounded like music—backward, broken, wrong.

  Then she showed up.

  The figure. Female—at least in the way she moved. Her body was light—but not a warm light. It was cold as hell. The kind that eats shadows, eats contrast, leaves nothing but flickering chill. Her face wasn't a face. Just a flat surface, smooth and shiny like glass.

  No reflection. Just the golden eyes, like coins from some kingdom, you'd try really hard to forget.

  Faces flickered in the fire—twisted, warped. Not human kinds but still, heartbreakingly familiar. Voices whispered—not sound, more like thoughts wrapping around her mind like chains. Then the woman stepped through the flames.

  Barefoot. Silent. Like the world moved out of her way.

  The flames curled around her. The air smelled like burned-up memories. She got closer. One step. Another.

  The heat climbed. Lia gasped. Her throat was dry—but not empty. Something wanted out—a scream, a name, a question. But nothing came. Just silence.

  And in that second, everything shifted.

  The world went still. The tree stopped crackling. The fire froze like time glitched out. And in the middle of that quiet, deeper than silence, Lia heard something that wasn't sound at all.

  "You will betray us all. And you'll die here like Ann before you."

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  The voice didn't come from her mouth. It came from everywhere. Through skin, bone, and thought. It seared itself into her like a sentence already passed.

  Then the dark yanked her under.

  That was all it took.

  Lia's head snapped back. Light exploded in black, white, blinding. The bindings burned. Everything vibrated, flickered, vanished until it was silent again.

  ———————————

  Lia didn't wake up.

  She was ripped out like someone yanked her from a nightmare too real, too late.

  She sat up in bed, breathing too fast. Her skin was ice, but her inside was burning. And the pain was real, not some dream crap.

  She stared at her hands. Her wrists were red and irritated. Like something actually held her there. Not in her head. Not some freak-out. Very real. Her fingers trembled as she touched her forehead then pulled back.

  It burned like hell.

  She ran to the bathroom. The light hit her like a slap, and the face staring back was someone she didn't know. Scared. Shaken. The blister on her forehead was round and sharp. Branded.

  And in her eyes there was no more doubt.

  Not anymore.

  She'd seen something. Something was inside her now.

  And it wasn't leaving.

  Sleep was off the table. Her heart still racing, her forehead was on fire, and the dark in the room felt like it was pressing in from the walls.

  So she threw on her black hoodie over her tiny frame, sleeves covering her thin wrists until just her fingers stuck out—tight, twitchy. Her black curls hung messy in her face, her skin pale, shadows under her eyes like the night had spit her out.

  Who the hell was Ann? Or maybe the better question: did she even wanna know?

  She wandered around. No plan. Not running, just standing still felt worse.

  The convent halls were soaked in dark blue light bleeding through the old windows like the sky had lost all color. Lia walked barefoot. The cold stone under her feet didn't even register. Her body felt numb. Full of that voice, that touch, that curse she didn't understand. She didn't even know where she was going.

  The chapel was half in shadow. Candlelight barely flickered, like it was scared to wake something up. The stone floor was silent. Too respectful. No whispering, no breathing. Just the sound of Lia's bare feet echoing louder than they should've.

  She felt like glass. Thin. Full of pressure. The burn on her forehead stung with every step, like something beneath her skin was whispering. But still, she walked.

  Because there was nowhere else to go.

  She almost missed him, the way he was sitting in the dark.

  Maliel knelt right in front of the altar. Candlelight caught the edge of his sharp shoulders. His hands were folded on the stone covered in dried up blood, knuckles cracked, skin raw. At first glance, he looked like a statue. One that scared you. 'Cause it looked too damn alive.

  His shirt stuck to his back, sweaty, torn. The fabric was thin, and when his body moved, from barely breathing, you could see the muscle underneath, like carved stone. His back was marked with scars. Long. Deep. Crisscrossed. You could clearly see where the wings once were. And over his left shoulder was a black snake. Inked into the skin, tongue split. Its eyes looked more alive than most people Lia had met.

  She froze. Because even wrecked like this—he was too beautiful to be real. And that was kinda embarrassing.

  "You shouldn't be here," he said, suddenly. Didn't even turn around. His voice was low, rough—like it had been dragged through smoke.

  "You don't pray like someone who wants company," Lia muttered, but she didn't move. Her voice came out quieter than she meant.

  Maliel didn't look back. "Sometimes you pray so you don't scream."

  Lia stepped into the first pew, dropped onto the edge, and pulled her knees to her chest. Hoodie sleeves over her hands—like she was five again. This wasn't the place for rebellion. But not for worship either. So she said, flat, "You think penance fixes anything?"

  "No."

  He looked up.

  And for the first time, really saw her.

  His eyes didn't lock on hers. They went to her forehead. Something in his face shifted. Just a flick of the brow. Then real, actual concern.

  He stood. Moved like a predator controlled, smooth, but not soft. As he got closer, Lia suddenly felt how big he really was. How near. How much everything about him screamed danger and safety.

  He raised a hand. Paused. Like he thought she might break if he touched her.

  She flinched. Tried to pull back. But his fingers just hovered, a breath away from her skin and still, she felt it.

  "That's no normal mark," he muttered.

  "Guess I'm just having a crap week," she tried to joke. Flat. Unconvincing. He knew it too.

  His gaze dropped to her wrists. Saw the marks. The red skin. The invisible chains that somehow left real bruises.

  "Where's that from?" he asked, soft. No demand. No judgment. Lia shook her head. Stared at the floor. Then up. "Had a vision. Again. Whatever."

  "What did you see?"

  She bit her lip. The shaking started because she hated that. Defiance was her last defense. And it was crumbling fast.

  "Not your problem."

  Maliel frowned. His eyes felt like they could see what she wouldn't say. That made it worse.

  "Lia..." he started. His voice is lower now. Calmer. Like the sky before a storm.

  "No," she snapped. Faster. Sharper. "I don't need a damn savior. Least of all you."

  And before he could say another word, she turned, shoved her hands deep into her hoodie pockets, and left the chapel like someone who'd rather run than be touched one more time.

  Behind her, Maliel stayed with a feeling he couldn't shake. He stayed there, alone, candlelight flickering on his cheekbones like even the light wasn't sure it should touch him.

  But his thoughts weren't quiet.

  Ezrael... I think we've got a problem.

  And somewhere from the shadows:

  Yep. Real ray of sunshine, this one.