Morning is cruel on campus. The sun rises soft, but the air still bites through Eli's coat as he sits on the stone bench outside the library. Students drift past him in clusters, half-awake chatter and coffee cups steaming in the frost. None of them look twice at him — just another tired boy hugging his bag to his chest like it might keep his ribs from splitting open.
He hasn't told the Fourfold where he slipped off to. Celeste would scold him. Jace would bark at him for being reckless. Liam would just look at him with that quiet disappointment that says more than any threat ever could.
But he needed to breathe — real air this time, not the heavy sage-and-salt that coats the dorm walls. He needed to feel the cold bite his skin and remind him he's still here. Still his.
The library door creaks open behind him, hinges complaining. He doesn't have to turn to know who it is — the chill that rolls across the courtyard is enough.
Khyro sits beside him without a word. No greeting, no warning. Just a presence like moonlight trapped in a bottle — cold, beautiful, dangerous if you breathe it in too deep.
Eli doesn't move. He keeps his eyes on the stone path winding between frozen hedges. "Stalking me now?"
Khyro's answer is a hum, low in his throat. Almost a yes.
Silence stretches between them like a wire pulled too tight. Eli tries not to look, but he catches the edge of Khyro's coat sleeve — the faint shimmer of runes stitched along the lining, the snowflakes clinging to his hair like a crown of ice.
"You're pushing them away," Khyro says at last, voice like frost cracking. "Your friends."
"I'm protecting them," Eli snaps, sharper than he means to.
Khyro tilts his head, studying him with eyes that see too much. "You think a cracked door protects anyone? It only invites monsters to push harder."
Eli barks out a laugh, but it's empty. "So what, you're the monster or the key?"
Khyro's lips twitch, the ghost of a smile that never reaches his eyes. "Both."
Eli shivers. Not from the cold this time. The mark under his collar flares warm, responding to the vampire's presence like it's alive, hungry.
"I don't want them hurt," Eli says, quieter now. "They're all I have."
"And you're all they have." Khyro's hand lifts — slow, deliberate — until his gloved fingers brush the back of Eli's hand resting on his bag. Cold seeps through the fabric, a pulse of winter that roots Eli to the bench. "You can't shut them out forever."
Eli pulls his hand away, burying it in his coat pocket. "You're not helping."
Khyro's eyes flicker, catching a shard of sunlight like a blade. "I'm not here to help."
"Then why are you here?"
But before Khyro can answer, a voice cuts through the courtyard — lazy, amused, warm like a hearth fire about to burn too bright.
"Because he can't stand the idea of me getting to you first."
Zyren appears from the library steps like he owns the whole damn building. He's dressed like he stepped out of a funeral and a nightclub at the same time — dark coat, collar turned up, a silver chain peeking from beneath his shirt. His smile is all teeth and promises he has no intention of keeping.
Khyro doesn't move. His eyes stay locked on Eli, but the frost around them sharpens. The air tastes like snow about to fall.
"Morning, darling," Zyren purrs, ignoring Khyro entirely as he drops onto the bench on Eli's other side, far too close. "Did you miss me?"
Eli grits his teeth. "Go away."
"Now, now," Zyren coos, leaning in until Eli can smell the faint spice of his breath — smoke, ash, something darker he doesn't want to name. "After all we've shared? So cruel."
Khyro shifts, just enough to draw Zyren's eyes. The demon's grin widens, hungry for the tension sparking between them.
"You keep circling him like you own him, prince," Zyren says, each word dripping sweet poison. "But we both know how this ends."
Khyro's voice is ice sharpened to a point. "Step back."
Zyren sighs dramatically, but doesn't budge. His hand lifts, brushing Eli's hair back from his temple — a touch so gentle it makes Eli's skin crawl.
"Tell him, Eli," Zyren murmurs, soft enough that Khyro has to lean closer to catch it. "Tell him whose blood hums in your veins when the mark sings."
Eli jerks away, heart hammering so hard it hurts. He stands, nearly stumbling over the edge of the bench. "I'm not yours. Either of you."
Zyren laughs — a low, dangerous sound that makes Eli's stomach twist. "That's the best part, little star. You're ours. And you don't even know why yet."
Khyro stands too, blocking Zyren's reach with a single step. His eyes never leave Eli's — a promise, a threat, a plea.
"Stay alive," he says again, but this time it sounds like a warning wrapped in frost.
Eli backs away, breath steaming in the cold air. He doesn't wait for more words, doesn't look back. He turns and bolts down the path, heart pounding, mark burning, both monsters' eyes carved into the back of his skull.
Behind him, the vampire and the demon stand like twin shadows on the bench — frost and flame, patience and hunger — and Eli runs because if he stops, he's not sure he'll ever find his way back to himself again.
Eli doesn't know how long he runs.
He just knows his breath turns raw in his throat, his chest burning worse than the mark under his collar. By the time he stumbles up the dorm steps, he's half certain his legs will give out before he reaches the door.
It swings open before he can even knock. Celeste stands there, wide-eyed, hair tangled, a half-burned ward paper clutched in her fist like a lifeline.
"Where the hell were you?" she hisses, dragging him inside before he can answer. "Do you want to get snatched off the path by those creeps?"
He tries to speak but the words choke in his throat. She shoves him onto the couch, hands fluttering over him like she wants to smack sense into him and hug him at the same time.
Jace is there too, glaring at him from the armrest, arms crossed over his chest, one foot tapping like a ticking bomb. Liam sits on the floor, back propped against the wall, eyes calm but sharp. They're all here — heavy with questions, heavier with worry.
"I needed air," Eli rasps, voice cracking on the lie that doesn't even try to hide itself anymore.
"You needed air," Jace repeats, deadpan. "And instead you found them."
Eli flinches but doesn't deny it. His silence says enough.
Celeste tosses the ward paper onto the table. The edges curl with leftover ash. "It's getting worse. The marks, the dreams, them circling you like wolves with a fresh kill."
"It's not like that—" Eli starts, but Jace cuts him off with a sharp laugh that has no humor in it.
"It's exactly like that, Serrano. You think you're protecting us by shutting us out? You're not. You're painting a target on your back, and when they come for you, they're coming through us, too."
Liam doesn't raise his voice, but when he finally speaks, it cuts deeper than Jace's bark ever could. "Did he touch you again?"
Eli's chest tightens. He doesn't answer. He doesn't have to.
Celeste sucks in a breath, sits down beside him, knees knocking his. Her voice is soft but iron-edged. "Which one?"
"Both," Eli says, the word tasting like rust.
Silence. Heavy, loaded. Jace's knuckles tap against the couch arm — once, twice, like he's drumming out curses he can't say.
"You're not their toy, Eli." Celeste's hand slips into his. Warm, grounding. She squeezes until the bones in his fingers protest. "You're ours. Ours to protect. Ours to fight for."
Liam shifts closer, the edge of his shoe nudging Eli's ankle like a quiet promise. "We break the door before they open it wider."
"And if they break us first?" Eli's voice is a whisper now, the fear crawling out where he can't swallow it down.
Jace leans in, eyes glinting like a storm. "Then we bite back harder."
Eli tries to laugh but it splinters into something sharp. He looks at them — this reckless, broken family — and for a heartbeat, the cold that Khyro left behind and the heat Zyren branded him with don't feel so big.
Outside, the winter sunlight bleeds through the blinds in stripes of pale gold and shadow. It won't hold the monsters back — but here, the Fourfold does.
And tonight, that has to be enough.
Later, when the frost outside melts into drizzle, the Fourfold gather again — not in the safety of the dorm but in a half-abandoned classroom on the third floor of the old humanities building.
The air here tastes like chalk and rain. Celeste sits on top of a battered teacher's desk, a stack of candles at her feet. Jace paces in front of the blackboard, tracing old rune sketches with the side of his fist. Liam stands by the windows, pushing them shut against the damp wind.
Eli stays near the door. He doesn't want to come in — but he doesn't want to leave, either. His hand keeps brushing the edge of his collar like he can hide the mark from the walls themselves.
"Okay," Celeste says, voice sharp as a blade dulled by overuse. "Here's what we know. Khyro's mark is binding you to the vampire court. Zyren's rune is burning through that same claim like acid. You're caught in the middle — whoever tears the other out first wins."
"Wins what?" Eli snaps. The word echoes too loud in the empty room. "What the hell is there to win? I'm not— I'm not anything."
Jace slams a piece of chalk against the board. It shatters, dust raining down his sleeve. "You think this is about you? It's about what's inside you, Serrano. They wouldn't circle like carrion birds if you were just a warm body."
Liam glances over his shoulder, rain dripping down the window glass behind him like veins. "They want the door. The door in your blood."
Celeste nods. "Or the key. Or both."
Eli swallows. His throat feels raw. "So what do we do? We can't just fight them off forever."
"No," Celeste says, hopping off the desk. She grabs a piece of chalk from Jace's hand and scrawls a new sigil across the old runes. "We don't fight them head-on. We anchor you to us. If they want to drag you through their door, they'll have to drag us too."
Jace raises an eyebrow. "Didn't know we were signing up for group possession. Cute."
Celeste flicks chalk dust at him. "It's a binding. Not a curse. Not exactly." She glances at Eli, eyes softer now, but stubborn as ever. "If you trust us."
Eli's voice is so small he almost hates it. "What happens if I don't?"
Liam answers, stepping forward, shadows pooling at his feet from the flickering hallway lights. "Then they rip you apart, piece by piece, until there's nothing left but the mark."
Celeste lights the candles, one by one, the tiny flames quivering in the draft. The scent of burnt wax and stale chalk wraps around them like an old blanket.
Jace drags Eli to the center of the room, ignoring Eli's half-hearted protest. Liam steps closer too, folding his arms across his chest like a silent guardian.
Celeste raises her hands over the chalk circle she's drawn, eyes closed, whispering words that feel too old for her clumsy grin. The flames dance higher, smoke curling toward the ceiling in fragile spirals.
Eli tries not to flinch when Celeste presses her thumb to his mark. Her touch burns, but not like Khyro's frost or Zyren's ash. It burns warm — human.
"You're ours," she murmurs, a vow threaded through her shaky breath. "Ours to guard. Ours to lose. Ours to break if we have to — but never alone."
The mark hums under her touch, the room tilting just slightly. The candles flicker, shadows flick and stretch — and in the quiet between heartbeats, Eli thinks he feels something anchor him down. Not chains. Not runes. Just four hands, stubborn and trembling, dragging him back when the dark wants to pull him under.
Jace's hand clamps down on his shoulder. Liam's knuckles brush his sleeve. Celeste's thumb stays firm against the mark.
Outside, the rain hammers the windows like claws — but for a moment, Eli doesn't care.
Inside the circle, he's still his own. And he's theirs.
When the binding is done, the candles flicker out one by one, smoke trailing into the cracked ceiling like ghosts escaping an old, locked chest. The chalk circle blurs under Eli's feet as he shifts his weight, exhaustion dragging at his bones.
Celeste's hand drops from his chest, fingers smudged with chalk dust and sweat. She looks like she's about to fall over but forces a tired grin anyway. "Told you. Not dead yet."
Jace snorts, cracking his knuckles like he's ready to fight the next nightmare that kicks down their door. "Give it an hour. Prince Frostbite or Ash Breath is gonna sniff this out soon enough."
Liam folds the last melted candle stub into a napkin, tucking it into his pocket like a talisman. "Let them. They're not getting through us. Not tonight."
Eli tries to smile but it sticks halfway, a twitch of lips that tastes more like fear than relief. The mark under his collar hums softer now — not gone, never gone, but buried under layers of salt, runes, and the raw promise of the Fourfold's grip around his ribs.
Outside, the rain slackens to a soft drizzle. The wind rattles the loose window panes like claws tapping a warning.
"Don't run off again," Jace says, voice flat but sharp around the edges. "Next time you disappear, I'm tying you to the radiator. You think I won't?"
Celeste elbows him, but there's no bite in it — just weariness disguised as humor. She reaches out and flicks a piece of chalk dust from Eli's collar. "He won't run. He knows better now."
Eli shifts, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I didn't mean to—"
"Yeah," Jace cuts in, his smirk half-real. "You never do. That's your problem."
Liam crosses the room, stopping just close enough that Eli feels the warmth radiating off him like a small shield. He doesn't say anything clever or sharp — just rests his palm flat against Eli's shoulder, grounding him to the floor.
"We're all you've got," Liam says quietly. "And that's enough."
The old classroom buzzes with silence after that — the hum of lights, the drip of rain in the broken gutter outside, the soft sound of Celeste shoving leftover chalk back into her bag like she's packing away a bomb.
Eli looks at each of them in turn. Jace, scowling but stubbornly here. Celeste, sleeves smudged with sigils, eyes still burning. Liam, stone-still and solid like he'd stand between Eli and the world a thousand times over.
He wants to tell them thank you. He wants to tell them sorry.
He just says, "I know."
And for tonight, that's enough.
Outside, somewhere beyond the rain and cracked windows, frost drifts like breath on glass. Shadows curl under old stone. A promise of fangs. A promise of ash.
They're coming.
And the Fourfold is ready to bite back.