"Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour."
—1 Peter 5:8
⸻
Moments before Luciel and Caleb met
Thalia didn't realize how tightly she'd been gripping the edge of the stair rail until Jazz gently pried her hand away.
"You'll dent the stone, babe," Jazz said with a crooked smile, the kind she used when trying not to show her own nerves.
Thalia gave a weak laugh, but it didn't reach her eyes. "It's the only thing holding me together right now."
The music still boomed from the manor's main hall, the rhythmic pulse vibrating through her ribs like an artificial heartbeat. Around them, guests danced, laughed, and drank under the chandelier light—oblivious, or pretending to be.
But ever since that moment with Caleb, something had shifted in her.
Not just emotionally.
Existentially.
The flash of that memory—that other life—kept replaying like a broken reel behind her eyes. Blood. Screams. A dagger in a child's hand. The smell of fire and old wood. It didn't feel like a dream. It felt like something remembered.
Like something inherited.
And when she'd stumbled out of that room, she had caught sight of Jazz standing rigidly by the buffet table, staring at one of the professors—Dr. Ruel, she thought his name was. But there had been something off about him. His eyes too still. His smile too long. His suit fitting like it had been borrowed from someone with bones. Jazz had looked… shaken.
Thalia had walked straight past Caleb without another word.
Now, both girls stood outside on the manor's wraparound balcony. The night air was colder than it should've been for late spring, but Thalia welcomed it. The sharp air helped her stay grounded, her fingers brushing the stone banister rhythmically, as if trying to drum herself back into this reality.
Jazz exhaled heavily, arms crossed over her sequined dress. "This whole night's got me twisted."
"You saw him too?" Thalia asked quietly.
Jazz nodded. "Dr. Ruel. I don't even think that's his face. Felt like my skin was crawling just looking at him. And I've been hit on by professors before—that ain't it."
They both chuckled, but unease hung between them like the mist rising from the garden hedges below.
Thalia's breath shuddered in her chest. "I keep thinking about what I saw in the study."
Jazz didn't ask what. She'd stopped asking a long time ago, once the nightmares started coming every night like clockwork. Once Thalia started describing people who had been dead for centuries. Once she started waking up speaking languages she swore she'd never learned.
"You want to talk about it?" Jazz offered.
Thalia shook her head. "Not here. Not tonight."
Jazz hesitated. "Maybe you should let someone in, Like… maybe Caleb—?"
"Don't," Thalia said a little too quickly. "Please. Not him."
Jazz studied her face. "Because of what you saw… or because of what you feel?"
Thalia didn't answer. She didn't have to. The weight of her silence was enough.
Jazz rolled her eyes fondly. "You're the most stubborn supernatural mystery I've ever loved."
Thalia laughed softly, finally allowing a small smile. "Thanks, Jazz."
They stood in silence for a moment, the distant thrum of the music muting slightly as a slow song began to play.
"I left my phone on the snack table," Jazz suddenly said, patting the tiny bag slung across her chest. "Don't move, okay? I'll be back in a second."
"Take your time," Thalia replied.
Jazz turned, heels clicking against the polished wood floor as she slipped back into the manor.
The silence that followed was… strange.
The wind didn't rustle the trees. The stars overhead seemed too still. And the night pressed closer, like something was inhaling all the air around her.
Thalia gripped the edge of the banister, goosebumps crawling up her arms.
Then—
Footsteps.
Soft.
Measured.
Coming from the far end of the balcony.
She turned.
And saw him.
Dr. Ruel.
Except… no.
This wasn't the man she'd passed in lectures or seen in the university library.
This wasn't a man at all.
Not truly.
The suit was the same. The voice when it spoke was still smooth and articulate, marked by a refined Oxford accent. But the eyes… the eyes were wrong.
They didn't blink.
Didn't shimmer.
They weren't eyes at all.
Just two deep, black pinholes set in pale flesh.
"Miss Vale" he said smoothly, as if they'd merely bumped into one another on campus. "How refreshing to see you outside the classroom."
Thalia straightened, heart pounding. She forced a smile, fingers tightening behind her. "Evening, Professor."
"Strange, isn't it," he continued, walking slowly toward her, "how even in a room full of people, some souls manage to remain… utterly alone."
She said nothing. Her instincts screamed at her to move—but something about his voice rooted her in place.
"Tell me, have your dreams grown louder lately?" he asked. "The memories not your own. The blood not yours. The guilt that drips into your soul like candlewax."
Thalia's lips parted. "How do you—?"
"You wear the Curse well, child. Just as your mother did." His voice dipped lower, rich with mock sympathy. "But the burden will only grow heavier. The wraiths will not stop screaming. They never do."
The air grew colder. The mist slithered up the side of the manor walls.
He took another step forward.
That broke her.
Thalia turned on her heel and bolted—only to find the balcony door now sealed shut behind her.
Glass. Locked from the inside.
Her breath fogged the pane as she slammed her hand against it. "Jazz! Anyone!"
Behind her, the Professor stepped closer.
"You should not be afraid," he said, calm as moonlight. "We do not wish to harm you."
Thalia turned slowly, pressing her back to the glass.
"But you do wish to use me," she said, voice trembling.
The false Professor tilted his head. "Your blood sings with something forgotten. And the dagger remembers your hand. We are only here to… awaken what is already yours."
The world spun.
The wraiths screamed in her skull.
And just before her vision blurred entirely, she whispered—
"Help me…"
—