Morning bleeds into afternoon like ink spilled in a sink. Classes drag by in a haze of half-listened lectures and scribbled notes Eli can't remember writing. Outside the lecture hall window, the clouds hang low and bruised, promising another downpour.
He catches himself staring at his reflection in the glass. The ghost of the mark under his collarbone seems to burn through his sweater if he tilts his head just right — a stain only he can see.
Celeste nudges him from the next seat over, her pencil tapping against her open notebook. She mouths, Stay awake, then flicks a candy wrapper at his arm. Eli manages the smallest grin. Small, but real enough.
When the lecture ends, they funnel out into the corridor — bright lights, cold tiles, other students brushing past without knowing the monsters that stalk these halls at night. Jace appears out of nowhere, leaning against a row of lockers, sunglasses perched on his nose like the sun's out just for him.
"You look like hell," Jace says by way of greeting, flicking Eli's hood up to hide the mark that isn't even showing. "Try sleeping sometime, fearless leader."
"I did," Eli lies.
"You look like you fought the mattress and lost," Jace fires back. Celeste rolls her eyes, slipping between them to yank the hood down again and fuss with his hair. She doesn't say anything — just hums a little under her breath, pretending everything's normal.
A voice cuts through the hallway noise. "There you are."
Liam. He's carrying a beat-up messenger bag and a thermos he probably hasn't let go of since sunrise. He slides it into Eli's hands without asking. Warm tea, dark and bitter, the kind that sticks to your ribs better than food.
"You skipped breakfast again," Liam says. It's not a question.
Eli opens his mouth to protest but thinks better of it. The warmth of the thermos leaks into his palms, pushing back the chill that's settled there since Khyro's last visit.
They're halfway down the corridor when a group of students parts around them like a tide. Whispers follow — not about the Fourfold, not about runes or marks, but about the two figures standing at the end of the hallway.
Khyro stands like a ghost draped in black. His eyes lock on Eli, cold and patient, like the first snow waiting to fall. Beside him, Zyren leans against the trophy case, boots crossed at the ankle, lips curled into a grin that doesn't reach his eyes.
Jace mutters under his breath, "I swear, if they show up in our dorms next, I'm staking both."
Celeste slips her arm through Eli's, squeezing just hard enough to keep him moving. "Keep walking," she whispers. "They want you to stop."
But Eli doesn't stop — not really. He tries to look anywhere but at them, but Khyro's stare pins him in place. Zyren's grin widens, eyes glittering like something sharp under lamplight.
"Later, darling," Zyren calls softly, just loud enough for Eli to hear. "Save me a dance."
The Fourfold pushes through the doors and into the courtyard. The wind bites at Eli's cheeks, cold and sharp, but real — not a mark, not a rune. Just wind. Just winter.
He grips the thermos tighter, heart pounding so loud he wonders if they can all hear it.
Beside him, Celeste's arm tightens around his. Jace strides ahead, barking half-hearted insults into the breeze. Liam follows at Eli's shoulder, silent as ever, a shadow that feels like a shield.
They can feel the shadows waiting. The fangs. The ash.
And still, they move forward.
The courtyard is mostly empty — the cold keeps everyone indoors except for a few stray smokers and a couple laughing under the awning by the bike racks. The sky presses low and heavy, clouds bruised purple like a healing wound that hasn't decided if it wants to split open again.
Eli keeps his eyes on the patchy grass. Jace kicks at a loose stone, muttering curses that rise in frosted puffs of breath. Celeste hums under her breath, the same old habit she clings to when silence grows too sharp to swallow. Liam drifts at Eli's side, close enough that their shoulders brush every other step.
Eli knows he should say something — a joke, a plan, anything to fill the space Khyro and Zyren left behind. But the words get stuck behind his teeth, drowned under the cold memory of Khyro's frostbite stare and Zyren's grin that promises ruin and sweet ruin alone.
"You shouldn't let them talk to you like that," Jace snaps, out of nowhere. He kicks the stone again, sending it skittering across the dead grass. "Standing there like they own the damn hallway — like you're their chew toy."
Celeste flicks Jace's ear, not unkindly. "He didn't let them. He's surviving them."
"Same thing," Jace huffs. "Surviving is not enough. I want to punch that smug grin off Ash Boy's face."
Liam's voice cuts through the bickering, soft but solid. "Violence won't fix this."
Jace glares at him. "No, but it'll make me feel better."
Celeste giggles at that — short, sharp, a crack of warmth in the chill air. She leans her head on Eli's shoulder for a heartbeat, her curls brushing his cheek. "Ignore them, El. They only play big bad monster when you're alone."
Eli tries to believe that. He tries to let the warmth of her leaning weight push the cold away. But the memory of Khyro's eyes and Zyren's grin seeps back in — a promise that next time won't be a hallway. It won't be words.
It'll be something else. Closer. Hungrier.
They cross the quad toward the student union, where cheap coffee and leftover pastries usually buy them an hour or two of fragile normal. Jace pushes the door open so hard it bangs against the stopper. Liam slips inside first, scouting the tables like they're battlegrounds.
Celeste nudges Eli forward, her palm a soft anchor between his shoulder blades. "Come on. You need sugar. Maybe you'll actually sleep for more than twenty minutes if you eat something real."
He wants to tell her sleep won't help — not when the dreams come dripping in ash and frost, claws at the edges of memory that feels older than him. But he doesn't. He lets her drag him to the corner table instead, where the light from the high windows spills over cracked Formica and mismatched chairs.
Jace drops a handful of coins on the sticky tabletop. "I'm getting the strongest coffee this dump sells. Don't move."
Liam slides into the seat across from Eli, the quiet weight of him comforting in its own strange way. Celeste flops down beside Eli, hip bumping his, her knee knocking his under the table like a heartbeat that won't stop.
For a moment, it's almost normal — four kids in a cheap campus café, avoiding homework and midterms and the monsters waiting outside.
Almost.
Because Eli's phone buzzes in his pocket — just once, but enough to make his blood run cold.
One message.
A single rune.
Frost and flame tangled together, burned into the screen like a brand.
Khyro and Zyren's promise: You're not out of reach.
And under the table, Eli's mark thrums — answering in a language only monsters know.
Jace drops back into his seat with two cups of cheap coffee balanced in one hand and a plastic tray of pastries in the other. He slams the cups down like a threat, scowling at Eli's pale face.
"What? Did I miss another cryptic vampire text?" he growls, tearing open a sugar packet with his teeth.
Eli doesn't answer right away. He's staring at the message — at the single rune burned so deep into his phone's screen that he half expects frost to bloom across the glass. The mark on his chest echoes that burn, a dull ache under his collarbone.
Celeste leans over his shoulder, her curls brushing his cheek again as she peers at the screen. Her warm breath fogs the cold threat of the rune. "Is that…?"
"It's them," Eli murmurs. "Both of them."
Liam doesn't bother asking which them. He just reaches out and turns Eli's phone face down on the table. "Ignore it. That's what they want — to see you rattle."
Jace snorts, tossing three sugar packets into his cup with aggressive precision. "Yeah, well, they're not exactly subtle, are they? 'Oh look at us, we're so ancient and terrifying — let's text our prey like we're bored teenagers.' Pathetic."
Eli tries to laugh, but it catches in his throat. His fingers drum a nervous beat against the coffee cup. The paper sleeve does nothing to stop the chill sinking into his palms. He half-expects frost to creep up from his own skin.
Celeste loops her arm through his, stubborn and steady. "You're here with us. They're not getting past us."
Jace jabs a finger at Eli's chest, just above the hidden mark. "If they want you, they're gonna have to claw through me first. And her. And tall, dark, and broody over there."
Liam rolls his eyes but doesn't argue. He unwraps a chocolate croissant and pushes it into Eli's free hand. "Eat. You're no good to us if you collapse."
Eli doesn't argue, either. He tears off a piece of pastry, but it tastes like ash on his tongue. Khyro's voice curls in the back of his mind like a lullaby made of ice. Zyren's laugh crackles through the memory, smoke and flame in every syllable.
The café around them buzzes with ordinary life — the hiss of the espresso machine, the low hum of someone's music leaking from their earbuds, the scrape of chairs across cheap linoleum. It feels unreal, too bright, too breakable.
Celeste watches him chew like she's making sure he won't choke on his own fear. Jace flicks crumbs off the table, pretending not to notice the tremor in Eli's hands. Liam stays silent, his eyes fixed on the window — on the courtyard beyond, where shadows shift just out of sight.
"Hey." Celeste's voice cuts through the noise. She hooks a finger under Eli's chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. There's no softness there now — just steel wrapped in warmth. "They don't own you. Not your breath, not your blood, not your bones. You hear me?"
Eli nods. He doesn't trust his voice to hold.
Jace claps him on the shoulder, too hard, like he needs the sting to feel real. "Good. Now drink that coffee before it goes cold. We've got runes to scrape off chapel walls and monsters to piss off."
Outside, the wind rattles the window glass. Eli's phone buzzes again — once, then stops.
He doesn't flip it over this time.
He just grips the cup tighter, lets the warmth burn his palms raw, and tells himself — They don't own me.
Not yet.
They linger in the café long after the coffee goes cold and the pastries crumble into flakes of sugar and chocolate on napkins. Outside, dusk smothers what little daylight clings to the quad. The campus hums like an old heartbeat — streetlights flicker, footsteps echo in empty halls.
Jace keeps pacing. Every time Eli's phone vibrates in his pocket, Jace's shoulders jerk up like a dog ready to sink its teeth in.
Celeste doodles lazy sigils in the condensation on her coffee cup. Runes for warding, for safe passage, for hope. They drip down the paper sleeve when she shifts, smudging her thumb black with ink that isn't really there.
Liam has taken to watching the door — every swing of it, every face that passes by the glass. He's so still, he might be carved from the marble statue on the chapel steps. Only his eyes flicker, quick and dark.
Eli tries to pretend he can breathe.
He watches the way the shadows pool under the tables, how the last flickers of sunset catch in Celeste's hair like gold threads. He listens to Jace's restless footsteps, the scrape of his boots across the cheap tiles. He feels Liam's steadiness like an anchor tied to his ribs.
They're waiting — not just for the next text, the next rune, the next teeth-baring threat. They're waiting for him to decide.
Because the mark under his collar doesn't just bind him to Khyro's frost and Zyren's flame — it's a door, half-open, half-hungry. He can feel it now, humming like a second heartbeat.
When Jace rounds the table again, he stops just short of Eli's shoulder. "Say the word," he mutters. "We fight. We run. We burn the chapel down if we have to."
Celeste leans over, flicking Jace's sleeve. "No burning things. Yet."
"Yet," Jace echoes, teeth flashing in a crooked grin.
Liam finally breaks his silence. He folds his arms on the table, voice a low rumble like distant thunder. "They're not backing down. Neither are we."
Eli lifts his eyes. The café lights catch in his irises, turning them to shards of gold and shadow.
"They won't stop," he says. His voice is steady, but the mark pulses under his skin, echoing every word. "Not until they get what they want."
Celeste's fingers curl around his. Small, warm, stubborn. "Then they don't get it."
Outside, the street lamps buzz to life, throwing long knives of light across the quad. Beyond the glass, Eli thinks he sees a shape — frost drifting over stone, a shadow slipping behind the old chapel wall. Gone in a blink, but the taste of it lingers.
He stands. Jace straightens beside him. Liam pushes his chair back without a sound. Celeste slips her notebook into her bag, chalk dust ghosting her fingertips.
No one says goodnight. No one says be safe. They don't need to.
The Fourfold moves like a single pulse through the door, out into the cold that waits with open jaws. Eli feels the rune on his phone hum. Feels the mark burn low and patient beneath his collar.
They want him. They're waiting.
Let them wait.
He's not alone.
And the night is still young enough to bite back.
A/N:
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