Hillenwood was not the kind of place that welcomed strangers—or light.
It was a town wrapped in mist and shadow, cradled by a forest so thick it seemed to press in on all sides like a secret that refused to be forgotten. Fog clung to the treetops even during the day, and the branches twisted overhead like crooked fingers trying to block out the sun. At night, the darkness seemed heavier, like something alive was breathing in the silence.
It rained often, and when it did, the whole town looked like the backdrop of a horror film—gray streets slick with water, crooked streetlamps flickering like they were trying to warn you of something. The houses, old and creaky, huddled together as though they, too, were afraid of what lived beyond the edge of the woods. People said it felt like time itself had paused in Hillenwood, like the town was waiting… for something.
And everyone knew what that something might be.
Hillenwood was infamous for its vampire legends. Not the romantic kind found in glossy books, but the bone-chilling, whisper-in-the-dark kind. The stories weren't just old folklore passed down from generation to generation—they were alive, fed by real fear. Doors were bolted shut by 10 p.m. sharp. Windows double-locked. Curtains drawn. The streets would fall eerily silent, not even a stray dog daring to roam. It wasn't a curfew. It was a ritual.
Even the homeless man by the train station—grizzled, glassy-eyed, and permanently soaked from the rain—would shout every night about "them"
"They're watching! They're waiting!" he'd scream into the air, his voice hoarse and cracked. People dismissed him as mad, of course. But Iris couldn't help wondering… if everyone thought he was just some drunk lunatic, why did they still lock themselves in every night like he was right?
That was Hillenwood for you. A town steeped in secrets and superstition. The kind of place where even the silence had weight. Where you could feel eyes on you even when you were alone.
But Iris never believed in all that supernatural nonsense.
Or… she didn't used to.
She told herself there was always a logical explanation. The world didn't have room for monsters anymore. But her certainty began to waver the day Julien Fangs transferred to Hillenwood High.
He looked like he didn't belong in this era.
Pitch black hair that fell just a little too perfectly over his eyes. Skin pale like moonlight against snow—unearthly, not sickly. And those eyes… reddish-brown, like fresh blood diluted in wine, calm but coiled with danger. The kind of eyes that didn't just look at you, but through you, into you.
He never spoke to anyone. Never smiled. Sat at the back of the class like a statue—still, silent, detached.
Iris thought he was strange. But strangely, no one else seemed to mind. If anything, people were drawn to him. There was an aura about him, an invisible pull that seemed to bend attention toward him without effort. Girls giggled behind textbooks. Guys stared in a mix of envy and awe. Yet he never acknowledged any of it.
Julien didn't need to say a word. His presence was enough.
And then there was Iris.
The girl with golden eyes.
Eyes that no one ever forgot.
No one knew where they came from, not even Iris. No doctors ever gave her a real answer. She was simply… born with them. A burnished gold that caught the light strangely, sometimes almost glowing in the dark. Some said they were "cool." But most of her classmates thought they were unnerving—creepy, even.
They whispered about her. Called her names behind her back. She was the odd one out. The freak.
The one who always looked down when spoken to. The one who tried to hide behind her hoodie, behind her books, behind silence.
And yet, Julien Fangs stared at her. Always.
Not with attraction. Not with curiosity.
With something else.
A cold, unreadable intensity that froze her spine whenever she caught it. And she always caught it. No matter how careful she was, when she looked up—there he was. Watching her. As if he knew the precise moment her gaze would meet his.
And when she saw that look… she didn't feel flattered. She felt hunted.
She tried to ignore it. Pretended not to notice. Turned away when he passed her in the hallway. Lowered her eyes in class. Avoided walking near the window where he sat.
But it didn't matter.
He still stared.
His gaze never faltered, never wavered. Even when she locked eyes with him—openly, boldly, trying to show she wasn't afraid—he never looked away. He simply kept watching, like she was a puzzle he already knew the answer to.
And there was something else about him.
He was too perfect.
He answered history questions like he'd been there, like he'd seen empires rise and fall with his own eyes. He knew chemistry like it ran in his blood. His voice—on the rare occasion he did speak—was deep, composed, and strangely mesmerizing. Not smooth like a singer, but commanding like someone used to giving orders… and being obeyed.
It made Iris shiver.
No one else noticed how strange he was. Or if they did, they didn't care. Maybe it was easier to pretend he was just the hot new guy. Easier than admitting there was something wrong with him.
Because deep down, Iris knew.
There was something unnatural about Julien Fangs.
And it terrified her.
Because for the first time in her life, she wasn't the weirdest person in the room.
She wasn't the most dangerous one either.
And for all her disbelief in the supernatural, she couldn't explain why Julien's eyes felt so... Wrong.
Why they made her heart race—not with infatuation, but with something colder.
Something like fear.
Yes, Hillenwood was always a strange town.
But now, it was stranger than ever.
And Iris had a sinking feeling that something in
Hillenwood had finally woken up.
And it was looking straight at her.