but what if you fly?

Her dad was back the next morning, far earlier than he was supposed to be.

Eve heard the truck long before she saw it, the crunch of tires over gravel carrying through the thin morning air. It was barely past dawn, the house still quiet, the light pale and cold as she sat at the kitchen table with her untouched coffee cooling beside her. She didn’t move when the door opened and closed, or when his boots sounded heavy across the floor — she just gripped the ceramic handle of the mug until her knuckles whitened.

He said her name softly from the doorway, like he wasn’t sure if she would answer. She nodded once without looking up, her throat too tight to speak.

She already knew why he was home.

The feeling had been there the second she opened her eyes, heavy and sour in the pit of her stomach. The dream still clung to her like smoke, filling her chest with something she couldn’t breathe around, but she’d shoved it down and forced herself through the motions of morning: get dressed, make coffee, pretend nothing had followed her out of sleep.

But then the radio crackled to life on the counter — her dad left it tuned to the local news constantly — and she heard the announcer’s voice, too calm, too steady for what he was saying.

“—found early this morning by a local hunter. The victim, identified as Mark Hewett, eighteen, was discovered in a wooded area approximately two miles north of Briarwood’s town limits. Authorities are not releasing details of the cause of death at this time, but they are urging residents to avoid hiking trails until further notice—”

Eve didn’t hear the rest.

Her chair scraped back hard against the tile as she bolted for the bathroom, barely making it in time before she fell to her knees in front of the toilet and vomited until her throat burned. Her chest ached with every dry heave, tears stinging hot behind her eyes as the world narrowed to the smell of bile and the cold bite of the tile under her palms.

Her dad knocked softly on the door, his voice low and worried. “Eve? You okay, kiddo?”

She couldn’t answer. Couldn’t even look at the door. Her pulse was a drumbeat in her ears, her heart hammering so hard it felt like it might split her ribs apart.

He had been in front of her hours ago, had been pressed against her. Despite how revolting it was she had felt him, his warmth, his breath, his heartbeat. He had been real — cruel and real and alive.

All she could see was the clearing.

Mark’s body in the dirt, his hands clawing uselessly at the ground. The creature’s long, pale fingers curling around his throat. The sound of the bells.

Her stomach lurched again, but there was nothing left to throw up. She sat back on her heels, trembling, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

In the mirror above the sink, her reflection looked pale and raw, her hair sticking damply to her face. Her own eyes stared back at her like she was someone she didn’t quite recognize — hollow, fever-bright, like she had seen something she wasn’t meant to see.

Outside the door, her dad waited, his footsteps slow, uncertain. She could feel him standing there, wanting to knock again but not knowing what to say.

Eve didn’t open the door.

—

School was cancelled for the next week.

The announcement came midmorning, after Eve had finally forced herself out of the bathroom and into something resembling clothes, stiffly avoiding her dad’s imploring looks before leaving for the investigation. Her phone lit up with a string of notifications — group texts, messages from April, a voicemail from the school — but she didn’t bother opening any of them. The words were all the same anyway: classes suspended until next Monday, counseling available for anyone who needed it, grief support for the student body.

She didn’t want support. She didn’t want to sit in a circle of folding chairs in the gym and listen to everyone whisper about Mark like he was some kind of saint now that he was gone. Eve didn’t want to deal with the stares either, knowing that people already fantasized about her being some sort of monster. Now that the boy she hated publicly was dead, she couldn’t imagine what people would think now. 

So she threw herself into work.

By noon the same day she was at the shop, keys in hand before Mrs. Whitlow even got there. The bell above the door startled her when she pushed it open — too bright, too cheerful — but she flipped the lights on anyway and started moving through the quiet space like she’d been wound too tight and couldn’t stop.

She stocked shelves, wiped down counters that were already clean, dragged the broom across the floor until the bristles were frayed. She worked like if she kept moving, the image of Mark’s face — slack-jawed and wrong, the way she’d seen it in her dream — might stop flashing behind her eyes every time she blinked.

When Mrs. Whitlow finally arrived, she stopped in the doorway and just looked at Eve for a moment, frowning.

“You didn’t have to come in today, sweetheart,” she said gently, setting her purse on the counter. “You should be resting.”

“I’m fine,” Eve said too quickly, avoiding her gaze as she swept the last line of dust into a pan.

Mrs. Whitlow crossed the room and laid a hand on her shoulder, soft and steady. “You don’t look fine.” Her voice was kind but firm. “Sit down for a minute before you wear yourself out. I’ll make us some tea.”

Eve wanted to argue, but her legs were shaking, so she sank into the chair behind the counter and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes until she saw sparks.

The kettle hissed, and soon the faint smell of chamomile filled the air. Mrs. Whitlow slid a mug in front of her and sat across from her, not asking questions, just being there — and somehow that made Eve’s throat tighten more than anything else had.

She worked every day after that.

Opening to closing, sometimes even staying later if Mrs. Whitlow would let her. When there were no customers, she reorganized displays, alphabetized stock, cleaned and re-cleaned the front windows until her reflection stared back at her like a stranger.

April came by a few times, usually in the afternoons, her chatter a sharp contrast to the heavy quiet that seemed to cling to Eve now. She tried to make her laugh, to distract her, but even April’s words started sounding hushed and careful, like she was afraid of saying the wrong thing.

Eve didn’t tell her about the dream. She didn’t tell anyone.

At night, when she finally collapsed into bed, she kept the lamp on until morning, the coin III had given her tucked beneath her pillow like it could ward off whatever might be waiting in the dark.

But the ringing still followed her into sleep sometimes, thin and sharp and distant, and every time she woke, she half-expected to see the tree line pressed close against the house again.

—

By Friday, the air had shifted again, sharper and clearer, with that particular brittle chill that meant autumn had finally sunk its teeth into Briarwood. The mornings were colder now, and Eve had started wearing her jacket every morning to work, pulling the sleeves down over her hands to keep the bite off her skin.

The shop had been quiet all morning, the occasional customer drifting in to pick up tea or candles, but Mrs. Whitlow had been restless, glancing at the shelves like something wasn’t sitting right with her. Around midday, she finally pulled a wicker basket out from under the counter and pressed it into Eve’s arms.

“Harper’s farm,” she said, brushing her hands off on her apron. “We’re running low on the fresh stuff, and I’ve got a feeling we’ll need more before the weekend’s over. You know the way, don’t you?”

Eve didn’t mind the errand. It meant time away from the shop, time away from the curious customers and the whispered conversations about Mark that made her sick when she overheard them. She set off on foot, the basket hooked over her arm, her boots crunching through the fine gravel that dusted the side of the road.

The walk to the farm was a long one, winding out of town and into the open fields that flanked the forest. It felt good to stretch her legs, though her thoughts kept turning in on themselves, circling the same things she’d been trying not to think about all week — the dream, Mark, the way she still woke up some nights with the sound of bells echoing faintly in her chest.

Harper’s farm sat on a low hill just before the tree line. The house was old and weathered but painted fresh, its windows catching the pale midday light. Beyond it, the barns stood like quiet sentinels, and beyond them, the woods loomed, dark and heavy.

She knocked on the screen door, and old Mr. Harper greeted her, smiling the same slow, gentle smile he always had. He gave her a nod, pressed a pair of shears into her hand, and told her to take whatever was ready from the herb garden out back.

The garden was wild but alive, bursting with the last stubborn green of the season. The air was thick with the smell of rosemary and thyme, and the soil was damp and cold beneath her boots. She crouched near the first row, clipping carefully, trying to let the rhythm of it settle her mind.

It was quiet enough that she heard the footsteps long before she saw him.

They were soft, measured, crunching through the dry grass with a rhythm that made her shoulders tense. She turned, expecting one of the Harpers — but it wasn’t anyone she recognized.

The boy standing at the edge of the garden was someone she had never seen before, and yet she knew instantly who — or what — he was. His clothes looked out of place here — clean, crisp, without a speck of dirt or grass on them. His expression was unreadable, almost serene, but it was his eyes that made her breath catch.

They were pale, gray like stormclouds, the same uncanny shade she’d seen thrice before — first in the shop, than in the antique store, then in the alleyway — but sharper somehow, more cutting, like they could see straight through her. They were fixed on her like he’d been waiting for her to look up.

“You’re Evelyn,” he said. Not a question.

Her fingers tightened on the shears, her pulse jumping. “Do I know you?”

He tilted his head a fraction, like the question amused him. “Not yet.”

There was something familiar about him — something that made the back of her neck prickle. His face was different, but the eyes were the same as the other three, eyes that looked almost silver when the light hit. However, his were closer to an eerie ice blue, beautiful in the sun. 

Eve stood, brushing soil off her knees, feeling her pulse thrum fast and loud in her throat. “Let me guess,” she said, voice coming out more brittle than she meant it to. “You’re another one of them.”

His mouth quirked, down into a shrewd frown. “II,” he said simply, as though that explained everything.

“Right,” she muttered. “Of course you are.”

He stepped closer, his boots soundless on the grass, and even though his movements were slow and he was definitely the shortest of the four brothers, Eve found herself taking a half-step back without meaning to, the basket pressing against her hip.

“You’ve been having nightmares,” he said, his tone still even, still calm.

The air seemed to thin in her lungs, and she scoffed. “You’ve been talking to Vessel.”

A faint shrug. “We talk to each other.”

A long silence stretched between them — long enough for her to hear the wind moving through the trees at the edge of the property, long enough for the hair on her arms to rise.

“Why are you here?” she asked finally, though she hated the way her voice sounded, too small and too sharp at the same time like she was afraid of his answer.

His gaze didn’t waver. “To make sure you’re still breathing.”

Something in her chest twisted at the bluntness of it. Her hands tightened on the basket until the wicker creaked. “I don’t need a babysitter,” she said, heat rising in her chest.

“That’s good,” he said softly, almost like he meant it. “Because we aren’t here to save you. Just to keep you standing long enough to do what you’re meant to do. Though my brothers seem to keep forgetting that.”

Her breath caught at that. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

But he didn’t answer, just as frustrating and elusive as the rest of his kin.

He turned with the same quiet grace they all seemed to arrive with, walking back across the yard, past the barns, until he vanished between them like smoke, leaving the garden empty and still.

Eve stood there for a long moment, the shears hanging limp in her hand, her chest tight.

When she finally moved, she worked quickly, gathering the herbs with shaking fingers, not even bothering to check which ones she was cutting. The basket grew heavy, the green smell almost cloying, and she kept glancing over her shoulder like he might be there again, waiting.

By the time she got back to town, her nails were rimmed with dirt and her hands stained green. She dropped the basket on the counter with more force than she meant to, startling Mrs. Whitlow, who glanced at her but didn’t ask what had happened.

Eve didn’t offer an explanation.

If she thought back to it hard enough, she could still feel his gaze on her, sharp and cutting, like he had seen something in her she didn’t even know was there. 

—

By Monday, the world had returned to something almost resembling normal — at least, for everyone else. Eve felt like she had been flayed open and left raw.

The first bus ride after classes resumed was unbearable. The air smelled like wet metal and mud, the windows fogged from breath, every voice just a little too sharp. Conversations dipped and died when she stepped on board. Someone near the back let out a low whistle, followed by half-muttered rumors that sent heat crawling up the back of her neck.

She slid into the front seat, stared out the window, and didn’t move until they reached the school.

The halls were too quiet, whispers rippling just behind her back as she passed. People stared outright, some with wide, pitying eyes, others with a sharp, gleeful curiosity that made her stomach turn. Her locker felt like a stage. People loitered too close, not even pretending not to watch her as she spun the dial, retrieved her books, and slammed the door shut. Her locker had been plastered with a cheap, photocopied flyer of Mark’s face, part of a memorial that had sprung up over the weekend. There were flowers and cards on the floor nearby, candles that weren’t allowed to be lit but sat there anyway, wax pooling in the September heat. His football jersey was pinned up on the wall now, scrawled with black marker messages: Gone too soon. Always in our hearts.

She forced herself past it, hearing snippets of conversation as she went.

“—police still won’t say what happened—” “—out by the north trail, right? My cousin said—” “—crazy they’re letting her just walk around after—”

She didn’t catch the rest.

Classes blurred together.

In history, she could feel people staring from three rows back. In math, a folded piece of paper landed on her desk. April’s handwriting: Smile or I’ll throw something at you. Eve tried, and it came out all wrong, but April just gave her a tiny wink and turned back to her notes.

At lunch, April pulled her over to their usual table, talking nonstop about festival gossip, about some couple who had gotten caught kissing under the bleachers. Eve chewed slowly, her stomach in knots. Across the cafeteria, Mark’s friends sat together in a silent cluster, their faces turned toward her like they were waiting for something. They didn’t laugh, didn’t joke, just stared at her. When she finally looked up, one of them mouthed something across the cafeteria.

Soon.

—

By the time the last bell rang, Eve was wound so tight she felt brittle, like one wrong touch might shatter her. She shoved her books into her bag and bolted out the door, April calling something after her that she didn’t catch.

But when she stepped into the parking lot, she saw them.

Three of them. Leaning against the side of a truck near the edge of the lot, arms crossed, smoke curling from the cigarette dangling from one boy’s fingers. They didn’t say anything at first — just stared, their faces carved into something hard and ugly. She felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle.

“Hey, Hale,” one of them called, his voice lazy but sharp.

She didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at them.

She started walking faster, heading for the road that led toward town, but she heard the crunch of boots behind her.

“Hey, we’re talking to you,” another snapped. 

Her pace quickened until she was almost jogging.

Something hit the pavement behind her — a crushed soda can.

Her heart thudded hard.

“You think you can just walk around like nothing happened?” one said, closer now. “Like you didn’t put him in the ground?”

“You think you’re getting away with this?” another shouted. “You think nobody knows what you did?”

She didn’t look back.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

Something whizzed past her head — a rock this time, clipping the edge of her hood.

That broke her.

She bolted.

Behind her, she heard them shout, heard their boots hit the pavement as they ran after her.

“Run, bitch! We’ll catch you!”

The road sloped downward toward the edge of the woods, and Eve’s feet carried her there before she realized what she was doing. The trees yawned open in front of her, dark and deep, and every instinct screamed not to go in — but behind her she heard them running now, their voices ugly and ragged.

Her body chose for her.

She sprinted into the woods.

Branches whipped her face, caught in her hair, tore at her jacket. Roots clawed at her boots, almost pitching her forward. The woods were darker here, colder, and the boys were still crashing behind her, their voices getting closer, uglier.

“Where you gonna go, huh?” “We just wanna talk!” “Bet she cries just like her crazy mom—”

The forest closed in, shadows stretching long as the sun dropped. The ground dipped, twisted. Roots snagged her boots. She nearly fell twice, but somehow stayed upright, barreling forward. She ran harder, lungs burning, the shouts spurring her on until the trees broke suddenly and she stumbled into a clearing.

She skidded to a stop.

For a moment, she thought she had run straight into a hallucination.

There they were.

All four brothers, lounging casually around the ruins of an old shack that slumped against the tree line like a half-broken animal. The air around them felt different — still, heavy — like stepping into a room that had been waiting for her, though their miniscule expressions showed they were just as shocked as she was.

Vessel sat on the splintered porch steps, his elbows on his knees, gaze sharp and unreadable as it landed on her. III leaned against one of the warped posts, flipping another coin idly between his fingers. IV crouched on the ground, rolling a smooth stone back and forth like he was bored. II stood in the shadows by the door, watching her with those pale, cutting eyes.

Her chest heaved as she stared at them, frozen.

Then something hit her from behind.

She went down hard, the breath knocked out of her, her palms scraping against the dirt as one of the boys — big, heavy — pinned her there.

“You think this is a joke?” he snarled, fist curling into the collar of her jacket. “You think you get to just walk around after what you did—”

“Let me go!” she shouted, trying to twist free.

“Not until you listen,” he said, leaning so his face was pressed into the side of her head, breath hot against her ear. “You’re gonna pay for what happened to him. You hear me? You don’t get to walk around like you’re normal. You don’t get to be normal after this.” 

Another boy stepped into view, grinning wide and cruel. He kicked dirt toward her face. “Maybe we should just teach her a lesson right here.”

Eve’s pulse roared in her ears.

“Get off her.”

The voice was quiet but sharp, and it didn’t come from Eve.

The boy on top of her didn’t even look up — just kept shouting at her, spit flying, until someone’s hand closed around his shoulder and yanked him backward with a force that sent him stumbling.

Vessel stood over him, expression unreadable but dangerous in its calmness.

“You heard me,” Vessel said, low and even. “Get off her.”

The boy’s friend surged forward, swearing, but IV stepped into his path so fast it was almost a blur, his stance loose but coiled, like he could end this whole thing with one move. 

“Go on,” III said lazily from the porch, still flipping his coin. “Try it. See what happens.”

For a second, no one moved.

Another figure crashed into the clearing — the third boy, face flushed from running.

“Jesus, just leave her,” he said breathlessly, grabbing his friend’s arm.

But the first one wasn’t done. His face twisted, and he spat on the ground near where Eve was finally crawling to her feet.

“Figures you’d end up out here,” he said. “Guess the woods just have a thing for Hales.”

Eve’s stomach dropped, but the boy kept speaking.

“Maybe we should leave you out here too,” he continued, voice low and ugly. “Let whatever took your mom finish off the rest of you freaks.”

The world went hot and narrow.

Eve lunged at him with a sound that barely qualified as human, her nails catching on his jacket as she tried to get a grip, tried to drag him down into the dirt with her, going for his throat like she could claw the words right out of him —

—but IV caught her around the middle, hauling her back against his chest with one strong arm. She kicked and struggled, feral, her breath coming in ragged gasps, but he didn’t let go.

“Easy,” he said in her ear, voice steady. “Not here.”

The boys laughed, harsh and cruel, but when Vessel stepped closer — just one step —  and the laughter died.

“Go home,” Vessel said. Not loud, not threatening — just final.

The boys hesitated.

III flicked his coin into the air and caught it again, his grin sharp. “Unless you’d like to stay. I could use the fun.”

That made them flinch.

The one that had tackled her pointed at her and snarled, “This isn’t over Hale!” before they turned as a group and backed toward the trees, disappearing into the dark with the sound of snapping branches.

The brothers didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched her.

IV let her go slowly, and she staggered forward, shaking. Eve stood there for a long moment, swaying where she stood, chest heaving like she had run headfirst into a nightmare she couldn’t wake from. Her palms stung and she could feel the grainy dirt stuck to her scraped, bleeding knees.

The clearing felt too quiet now, the air so still she could hear the faint creak of the shack’s boards as the wind moved through them.

They just watched her, the four of them spread across the clearing like pieces on a board she couldn’t read. Vessel had moved back to the porch steps, elbows on his knees, head tilted like he was studying her from a distance even though he was only a few feet away. III stopped flipping his coin but didn’t put it away, rolling it slowly across his knuckles instead. IV was still standing near her, looking at her with that unblinking calm that felt like a dare. And II — II just stood there, half in shadow, hands loose at his sides, eyes fixed on her face like he could see straight through it.

“What the hell was that?” she demanded, her voice sharp.

No one answered.

“You could’ve done something sooner,” she snapped, voice cracking from more than just the run. “You just sat there while they—”

“They aren’t here now,” Vessel said. His voice was level, not defensive. Just a fact.

“That’s not the point!” Her throat felt tight, her pulse a hammer. “Do you have any idea what they were going to—?”

III laughed, quiet and sharp, and it cut her off. “Yeah,” he said, spinning the coin once and catching it again. “We had a pretty good guess.”

Eve blinked at him, anger flaring hotter. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” III said easily. “What’s wrong with you?”

Something in the way he said it — not mocking, not quite — made her chest ache.

“Do you think this is funny?” Eve’s voice was rising now, jagged and thin. “Do you just sit out here waiting for me to — what? Lead them right to you?”

“They were already following you,” Vessel said, his tone even, too quiet for how much it burned. “You just happened to run the right way.”

“The right—?” She broke off, half-laughing, half-snarling. “You call this the right way?”

III tilted his head, considering her, then said lightly, “Better here than out there. You’d have been on your back a lot longer if we weren’t here to break it up.”

Eve’s stomach twisted at the phrasing, but IV cut in before she could speak.

“You shouldn’t be walking home alone,” he said simply.

“I don’t need babysitters,” she snapped.

“You need something,” III said, grinning again, but there was no humor in it now. “Because you don’t know when to stop running your mouth.”

Eve’s pulse roared in her ears. She took a step back, suddenly aware of how outnumbered she was — not by Mark’s friends this time, but by the four strange figures who seemed too still, too self-contained, as if they weren’t entirely part of the same world she was standing in.

The quiet stretched too long. Eve’s hands were trembling, and she hated that they could see it. “What do you want from me?” she asked, low.

None of them answered.

III just smiled again, slow and unnerving. Vessel’s gaze never left her face. II finally moved — just one step closer, soundless — and Eve felt her stomach drop.

She stumbled backward, heart hammering, and bumped into IV.

“You ran straight here,” he reiterated, his voice resolute as he placed a strong hand on her shoulder to steady her. “Through half the woods, straight to us.”

Eve’s throat burned. “I wasn’t running to you,” she repeated, though her voice cracked, uncertain now at their insistence. “I was running away from them.”

“That’s not what it looked like,” III said, his grin widening, coin flipping once, twice, landing in his palm with a metallic click. “Looked like you knew exactly where you were going. Didn’t you notice…how your body led you straight here?”

“I didn’t—” Eve’s voice hitched, because yes, she knows her feet ran with intention, that her body was pulled here. “I didn’t even know this place existed!”

Vessel stood then, the movement slow but so fluid it made her take a step back. “But you found it,” he said, his tone unreadable. “That’s what matters.”

Eve’s stomach twisted. “What is wrong with you?” she demanded. “You— you stalk me like you're obsessed or something! 

“No,” Vessel said, and for a second his voice was almost gentle. “We see you. And we see what’s coming for you, whether you believe it or not.”

Eve blinked, her skin prickling at his words. “What are you talking about?”

IV stepped past her and stood at Vessel’s side, “You’re in the middle of something now,” he said, calm but unyielding. “You can’t run from it anymore.”

Eve felt her breath catch, tears stinging the corners of her eyes, though she refused to let them fall. “Those aren’t clear answers!” she gasped out, chest heaving with a new panic she had never experienced around any of them before. “I didn’t want any of this,” the words leave her before she even understands what they mean, bold and honest, mostly to herself now with a gut aching realization that she didn’t ask for these dreams, these hauntings, these brothers who know everything. She knows they know, they seem to know everything and more.

“Wanting doesn’t change a thing,” II said from the doorway, his voice cutting through the panic like a blade. It was the first time he’d spoken, and it made her heart jolt.

Eve swallowed hard, her whole body trembling now. “Then stay out of my way,” she said, her voice brittle and too loud in the heavy air. “All of you. Just stay away from me.”

No one moved, they went so still Eve swore they stopped breathing. 

“Go if you want,” Vessel said finally, his voice calm, almost patient. “But you’ll come back.”

Eve’s throat felt tight. Her heart thudded so hard it hurt.

“What is wrong with you people?” she asked again, but it came out more like a whisper, defeated and exhausted.

III let out a low laugh, tipping his head back against the porch post. “Plenty,” he said. “But you’re not much better, are you?”

She flinched like he had slapped her, and she hated herself for letting it show.

“You don’t know me,” she said, but it came out desperate.

Vessel seemed to stand straighter, stretching to his full height until he felt like a shadow blotting out the last bit of sunlight in the clearing. “We know enough,” he said, his voice quiet but heavy, like something nailed into place. “Enough to know you don’t scare easy. Not anymore.”

The words chilled her more than the autumn air.

“I should be scared…right?,” she said finally, throat tight. “You should scare me. All of you.”

For the first time, Vessel’s mouth curved, not quite a smile, not quite a threat. “Maybe we do.”

The clearing felt too close, the air too thick. Their eyes pinned her in place, four pairs of them, and for one dizzy second she was sure her legs were about to give out.

“Just stay away from me,” she managed, though her voice shook.

“Not likely,” III said lightly, tossing the coin into the air and catching it again without even looking at it. “We like it when they come running.”

Something in Eve snapped at that — panic, white and hot — and she turned and ran for the trees, her boots crunching over roots and leaves.

No one tried to stop her, but she could feel them watching her go, could feel the weight of their silence pressing against her back until she was swallowed by the trees again, running as though the clearing itself might reach out and pull her back.

—

Eve spun on her heel and ran, the forest swallowing her whole. The woods slowly went still again, as though exhaling after her sudden departure.

None of the brothers moved to follow.

Vessel was the first to break the stillness, his gaze lingering on the path Eve had vanished down, his jaw tight. The stillness in him was not calm but coiled, like a storm that hadn’t broken yet. He turned toward the others, his voice low but carrying in the silence.

“That was too much,” he said. His tone wasn’t loud or angry, but it had weight to it, the kind that made III pause in his fidgeting and arch a brow, all sharp edges. 

“What, exactly, was too much?” he asked, tone deliberately light.

“You know what,” Vessel said, taking a slow step toward him. “You were pushing her — both of you were.” He glanced toward II, who remained a shadow by the shack’s doorway, pale eyes unblinking, before turning back to III. “She came here because of you, because of that coin, and you knew she would. You could have made this easier for her.”

III flipped said coin into the air and caught it on the back of his hand, then spun it once between his fingers before slipping it back into his palm. The metal glinted faintly, as if catching light that wasn’t there, and for a moment the clearing seemed to hum softly, like something responded to its presence.

“That’s why I gave it to her,” he said after a moment, his grin turning sly, though his voice was quieter now, almost thoughtful. “So she’d find us when she needed to. And she did. Tonight proved that.”

“She didn’t need to be here tonight,” IV countered, his voice steady but heavy. “She’s barely holding herself together as it is. Did you even look at her? The state she’s in? You think this was good for her?”

III tilted his head lazily, unconcerned. “Good for her? No. Necessary? Yes. If she can’t handle three boys from school, how do you think she’s going to handle anything else that’s coming?”

“She handled it,” II said, his voice flat, almost bored, though his eyes still followed the space where Eve had stood as if he could still see her there. “She fought back. Didn’t even think. Just went for him. That’s instinct. That’s what matters.”

Vessel’s shoulders were tense, his hands curling loosely at his sides, but he didn’t look at II. His gaze stayed on III instead, hard and searching.

“She’s not ready,” Vessel said finally, the words slow, deliberate, like each one had to be dragged out of him.

III’s grin widened, but there was something sharper under it now, something not entirely playful. “You’re wrong. She’s closer than you think. Did you see her face when that boy mentioned her mother? She looked like she wanted to tear his throat out. There’s fire in her. She just hasn’t figured out where to put it yet.”

For a long moment, the clearing was silent again, the air thick and heavy with the weight of what had just happened.

It was IV who broke it this time, his voice quiet, almost contemplative, as he crouched to pick up the stone he’d been rolling earlier and let it sit in his palm.

“She reminds me of her,” he said, not looking at the others. “Her mother. Same look in her eyes. Like she already knows she’s not going to get out of this whole.”

That made Vessel’s shoulders stiffen, body flinching back — subtle, but there.

“She is not her mother,” he said after a beat, his voice lower now, quieter, but there was an edge in it that made the others glance at him. It sounded less like a statement and more like a warning, to himself as much as them.

III shrugged, unconcerned. “Maybe. But she will be something.” He flipped the coin again, catching it with a soft clink, and for a moment the hum returned, the air vibrating faintly like a plucked string. “And…she came running to us without even knowing why. That coin called her here.” He chuckles and steps forwards, shaking his head in dark amusement. “And didn’t you smell her panic? She’s figuring it out, figuring us out. You can pretend that doesn’t mean anything, but it does. The thread’s already tied, Vessel. Whether you like it or not.” 

Vessel didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted toward the trees, toward the path Eve had taken, his expression unreadable.

“It means,” he said finally, his voice low and even, “that the coin works. That doesn’t mean she’s ready for what comes next.”

III only smiled, flipping the coin one last time before letting it vanish into his pocket. “She will be,” he said. “One way or another.”

This was originally two separate chapters but I decided to combine them for some more action as I feel like the previous chapters have been slow and simple.

I only have one more chapter nearly finished before I take time to focus on school work a little more, so chapters after the next one will be posted a lot slower.

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed!

The weeks after the festival blurred together, each one bleeding into the next until Eve wasn’t sure if she was moving forward or just standing still while time kept dragging her along. School settled back into its usual rhythm, though Eve felt like she was always a half-step behind everyone else. The whispers about the cafeteria fight had dulled but never disappeared entirely — they still flared up when she passed certain groups, sharp little sparks of gossip tossed over shoulders like pebbles, but the edge had dulled. Mark barely looked at her now, though once she caught him staring across the cafeteria with a glare that promised he hadn’t forgiven her.

When she wasn’t at school, she was at the shop. The quiet hours there became a kind of strange anchor, something steady and still she could hold on to while everything else shifted. Mrs. Whitlow kept her busy, setting her up with endless small tasks — restocking shelves, wiping down the glass cases, reorganizing the front displays until they were just right — and fussed over her with tea and lemon ginger drops when she thought Eve looked too pale. Sometimes April would stop by, bursting through the door with her loud, eccentric way of speaking, always staying late to help close and walk Eve home. She asked her once if she’d been sleeping better, and though she lied and said yes, the question lingered like April knew better.

The brothers didn’t come back, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of him lingering somewhere nearby. Sometimes, walking home after closing, she swore she saw a figure just behind her in the reflection of a shop window, gone when she turned.

It was almost a relief when life narrowed to something ordinary again — homework, coffee in the mornings when she chose to walk to school, April ranting about teachers over lunch — until a gray morning in late October, a few days before Eve’s nineteenth birthday.

When she came downstairs, her dad was already at the kitchen table, but he wasn’t rushing like usual. His jacket was draped over the back of the chair, his phone lying face-down beside a mug of coffee that had gone lukewarm, and there was something about the way he was sitting — too still, too deliberate — that made Eve pause.

“Morning,” he said, his voice careful, almost neutral.

“Morning,” she echoed, heading for the cupboard to grab a bowl.

She poured herself cereal and sat across from him, her shoulders tight, waiting for him to say whatever it was that had him sitting here like he was bracing himself for impact.

“I got called out,” he said finally, rubbing a hand over his face. “They need me on-site for the next week. Probably longer.”

Eve’s spoon stilled halfway to her mouth. “This next week?”

“Yeah.” He hesitated, then added, “I won’t be here for your birthday.”

The words hit harder than she expected, sitting there like a weight between them.

“Of course you won’t,” she said after a moment, her voice flat enough to make his mouth tighten.

“Eve—”

“No, it’s fine,” she said, shoving back her chair and carrying her cereal to the sink. The bowl clattered louder than she meant it to. “It’s just one more year, right? I’m used to it by now.”

“That’s not fair,” he said, standing now, his tone sharpening.

“Neither is you leaving,” she shot back, grabbing her bag from the hook by the door. “But you’re still doing it.”

“Don’t do that,” he said, stepping toward her. “Don’t make it sound like I’m choosing—”

“You are choosing,” she cut in, her voice cracking, heat rising in her chest. “You’re always choosing.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but she was already halfway out the door.

“Eve, wait—”

She didn’t. The screen door slammed behind her, the sound sharp enough to rattle the frame, and she stalked down the street toward the bus stop, her breath coming fast, her throat tight. By the time she climbed onto the bus, her hands were still trembling, her anger mixing with something sharper and smaller that sat heavy in her chest.

—

By the end of the day, her anger had cooled into something dull, but it hadn’t gone away. She went straight from school to the shop, glad for the familiarity of the creaky floors and the bell over the door.

April had eagerly tagged along, sitting cross-legged on the counter with a lollipop in one hand and an expression that promised she’d been rehearsing her tirade all afternoon.

“I cannot believe him,” April said before Eve had even hung up her bag. “Your birthday is, like, a big deal, and he’s just—what? Leaving? Again?”

Eve tied her apron and shrugged, trying to keep her voice even. “His work doesn’t care about birthdays.”

“Yeah, well, I do,” April said, her voice rising. “And so should he. He’s not even gonna try to make it up to you?”

“He said he’d call,” Eve said, the words bitter even as they left her mouth.

April groaned, throwing her head back dramatically. “Wow, a phone call. So generous.” She tossed the lollipop stick in the trash and hopped off the counter, pacing now. “Honestly, I don’t know how you put up with it. If it were my dad—”

“April,” Eve interrupted, her tone sharper than she meant.

April froze mid-step, then turned, her expression softening when she saw Eve’s face. Some of the fire went out of her, leaving her sounding smaller when she spoke again. “Okay, sorry. I’m just mad for you, you know? You don’t deserve this.”

Eve leaned against the counter, her shoulders sagging. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I know.”

April crossed the space between them and leaned beside her, shoulder bumping hers in an unspoken apology. “We’re gonna make it a good birthday anyway,” she said, her voice gentler now. “Cake, bad movies, maybe even get into trouble if we’re feeling bold. Just a small get together. Deal?”

Eve smiled faintly despite herself. “Deal.”

—

The shop felt strangely hollow once April left, the bell above the door jingling one last time as she disappeared down the street, her voice still in Eve’s ears telling her not to let her dad ruin her birthday. Eve stood behind the counter for a long moment, just breathing in the quiet. The radiator hissed softly in the back room, and the golden light from the windows had begun to slide toward orange as the sun dipped lower, painting long shadows across the floorboards.

She’d just started to wipe down the counter — more to keep her hands busy than anything — when the bell over the door chimed again. She looked up, half-expecting to see April again, but instead Vessel stood in the doorway.

He stepped inside with that strange, deliberate quiet of his, as if the shop itself had been holding its breath until he arrived. He shut the door behind him gently before crossing the room, his pale gray eyes flicking once toward the front windows before they settled on her.

“Evening,” he said, his voice low, steady.

Eve’s grip tightened on the rag she was holding. “Hi,” she said, her own voice softer than she meant it to be.

Ves came closer until he was standing just across the counter from her. “I wanted to check in,” he said after a moment, his tone calm but carrying weight beneath it. “IV told me what happened at the festival. With that boy.”

Eve froze, the rag slipping a little in her hand. Her mind flashed back to the alley, the rough brick at her back, Mark’s hand fisted in her shirt, the sharp sting of the shove that had knocked the air out of her — and then the way IV had stepped out of the dark like he’d been waiting for her.

“I didn’t need rescuing,” she said finally, the sharper and quick, defensive even as her stomach twisted. “And I don’t need you constantly showing up to check on me.”

Vessel’s mouth curved almost — but not quite — into a smirk, something faint and dry. “That’s not what IV said.”

“Well, he’s wrong,” she said, though her voice faltered at the edges.

“Maybe, but he didn’t see it that way when Mark had his hands on you.” Vessel said, his tone unreadable. He paused, studying her for a long moment with those pale eyes that seemed to see more than they should. 

The mention of Mark’s name again sent a cold ripple through her stomach, and she looked away. She hadn’t mentioned his name, not to IV or Vessel.

Her chest burned but it wasn’t quite fear — irritation, maybe, or embarrassment — and the words slipped out before she could stop them. “Are you guys stalking me?”

Vessel didn’t flinch. “No,” he said simply, and there was no hesitation in it. “But we are paying attention.”

“That’s the same thing,” Eve said, her pulse quickening.

“Not quite,” Ves said. His voice stayed calm, but there was something like amusement at the corner of his mouth. “If we were stalking you, you wouldn’t know we were there.”

Something in her shuddered at that — not exactly comforted, but not entirely afraid either. She hated how much it sent a rush through her, how the air felt suddenly thinner.

Vessel’s expression softened after a beat, the sharpness fading into something more measured. “IV acted on impulse,” he said, his voice lower now. “But he didn’t want you hurt. Neither of us do.”

Eve swallowed, the heat in her chest cooling to something heavier. “I didn’t need you to step in,” she reiterated, though the words felt fragile this time as they left her.

“Sure.” Vessel said, his gray eyes holding hers until she had to look away.

The rag in her hand felt suddenly pointless, and she set it down on the counter slowly, as if the motion might break the strange spell between them. “Mark isn’t going to try again,” she said, mostly to fill the space.

“Don’t count on that,” Vessel said, that faint edge creeping into his voice again. “People like him don’t take being put in their place very well.”

Eve didn’t know how to counter that, and Vessel lingered for a moment longer, his presence somehow both solid and quiet, before finally stepping back toward the door. “Be careful,” he said, almost softly, gaze steady on hers like he was memorizing her face, then finally stepped back toward the door. “I’ll see you soon.” He blinked at her before turning and slipping out into the dusky evening, the bell above the door giving one soft chime before the shop was still again.

Eve stood behind the counter, still staring at the door long after it closed, her pulse still too quick and uneven. Her hands felt cold against the counter. She thought about the way Vessel had said watching like it wasn’t even something to be ashamed of — like it was a promise. She wasn’t sure if that should make her feel safer or not.

—

Two days later, Eve’s birthday came whether she wanted it to or not. April, determined not to let it slip quietly by, had insisted on throwing a small party at her family’s house in town. It wasn’t supposed to be anything extravagant — just a mix of music and chatter, drinks cracking open, and more than a few familiar faces from school — but by the time the first wave of people arrived, the Hale girl’s birthday had somehow turned into the event of the weekend. April was like that — she had a way of pulling the entire school into her orbit, and tonight her parents’ house seemed to hum with life.

The music spilled through the halls, a mix of bass and laughter, and the kitchen table was buried under bowls of chips and half-empty soda bottles, a few cans that definitely weren’t soda smuggled in from someone’s trunk. Eve let herself be dragged from room to room, smiling when she was supposed to, laughing when someone toasted to her turning nineteen. The warmth of the house, the crowd, the faint blur of alcohol in her veins — it all wrapped around her until she felt heavy with it. But the laughter felt too loud, the air too warm, the people to fake, and after her second drink she excused herself from a conversation she wasn’t really listening to, weaving through the kitchen toward the back door and stepping out into the night like surfacing for air.

The air outside was cool against her flushed skin, a relief so sharp it almost stung. She gripped the porch railing with both hands, letting the breeze settle her pulse as the noise of the party softened to a distant thrum behind her. The stars hung faint and silver above the streetlights, and for a moment she let herself breathe, wishing she could stay out here until everyone went home.

She didn’t hear him until he was already there.

Mark stepped out of the dark between two parked cars, his shape all wrong in the hazy light, his walk loose and unsteady but still deliberate enough to make her stomach drop and grinning like this was funny — like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. That look on his face made her want to bolt back inside, but before she could move he was already too close, already putting himself between her and the door.

“Hey, birthday girl,” he said, his words just slightly slurred but his grin sharp enough to make her chest tighten. The smell of cheap beer rolled off him, sour and heavy. “Thought you’d be too busy– didn’t think I’d get my chance to say hi.”

Eve straightened, the railing digging into her back as every muscle in her body tensed. “Mark,” she said, her voice tight. “I don’t want to do this right now.”

But he didn’t move. He stepped closer instead, crowding her back against the railing. “Relax. I just wanted to talk.” His hand came up, fingers brushing the bare skin of her arm before she jerked it back. 

“Come on,” he said, leaning in closer, his voice dropping like this was some kind of secret. “Don’t pretend you don’t like the attention.”

“Don’t touch me.”

Mark’s grin sharpened, his eyes narrowing like she’d just challenged him. “Why not? You had no problem hitting me in front of everyone. You think that means you’re allowed to walk away from me now?”

He moved too fast after that — or maybe she was just too slow. His hand caught her waist, pulling her in before she could shove him back, the heat of him making her stomach flip. She pushed against his chest, but her arms felt heavy, sluggish from the drinks she’d had, and he barely budged.

The world narrowed to the sick weight of him pressing closer, the smell of him, the sound of her own breath catching sharp in her throat — and then suddenly he was gone.

Ripped away from her so fast it was like a wire had snapped.

Mark hit the ground hard, his breath leaving him in a grunt, and — he appeared like an apparition.

III.

He was standing over Mark, his typical grin nowhere to be found. His face was all teeth now, but not the playful kind — this grin was sharp, wild, and wrong.

“Wrong girl,” He said, and then crouched into Mark's space, crowding him down against the concrete. 

The thwack of knuckles against bone was louder than it should have been.

The sound of it cracked through the quiet night like a firecracker. Mark’s head snapped back, and he tried to roll away, but III was already on him, fist slamming down again and again until Mark’s hands came up just to shield his face. The sight of it should have scared Eve — and maybe it did — but she couldn’t make herself move, couldn’t make herself look away.

When III finally ripped himself away, his chest was heaving. His eyes caught the light from the street lamp and Eve swore they were different, shaped wrong and blown too wide.

When Mark finally stumbled to his feet and staggered back toward the street, blood smeared across his mouth, face swollen and fear flashing wild in his eyes, III didn’t chase him — not exactly. He followed just far enough to make sure Mark kept going, his steps lazy, almost playful — predatory — until Mark disappeared into the dark.

Then III turned back toward her.

For a second he just stood there, knuckles blood splattered and breathing hard, his hair sticking to his forehead, his grin curling back to something that almost looked like amusement again.

“You really know how to find trouble,” he said, voice rough but still carrying that same unsettling lightness as if nothing about this had rattled him.

Eve swallowed hard, her back still pressed against the railing, her whole body buzzing with fear and something else she didn’t want to name. She wanted to tell him to leave, to demand what he was doing here, but the words wouldn’t come.

III’s mouth softened just enough to look like something human again. “You’re welcome, by the way,” he added, almost flippant, before stepping back into the dark the way he came, vanishing between the parked cars without another word.

She didn’t answer. Not at first. Then, before she could think better of it, she pushed herself off the railing and stumbled after him as he started down the street. “Wait,” she called, her voice sharper than she meant.

III paused, one eyebrow lifting as if surprised she’d followed him.

“You—” Eve swallowed hard, trying to force the words into something steady. “You left me something. At the antique shop. That coin.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them, the night thick around them, and then III grinned wide— a flash of teeth, quick and bright and unsettling.

“You kept it,” he said, and he almost sounded pleased.

“Why did you leave it?” Eve pressed, stepping closer. “What does it mean?”

III tilted his head, the grin never fading. “You haven’t figured it out yet?” he asked simply, as though that would satisfy her.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Sure it is.” His voice was light, teasing again now, but there was something behind it — something that made the back of Eve’s neck prickle.

She stepped closer towards him and folded her arms across her chest, glaring at him. “You all can’t just keep showing up and acting like this is some kind of game.”

“Who said it wasn’t?” III’s grin widened, long legs stepping towards her in turn, and for a moment he looked almost delighted, like her anger was exactly what he’d hoped for. 

She flinched back at the sudden closeness, and something in his expression shuttered away, something she hadn’t noticed there before. It was almost fondness, but in the way a hound looks at their favorite prey before tearing it apart. 

Before she could respond, he was stepping back, his grin flashing one more time in the dark before he turned and melted into the night as easily as if he’d been part of it all along.

Eve stood frozen on the edge of the porch, the coin suddenly heavy in her pocket where she’d kept it since the day he gave it to her. Her pulse felt too loud in her ears, the sounds of the party inside muffled and distant, like the world she’d just stepped out of belonged to someone else entirely.

—

By the time Eve got home, the party glow had worn off completely, leaving behind a hollow ache in her chest and the faint throb of a headache pressing behind her eyes. The house was dark when she slipped inside, the only sound the hum of the refrigerator and the creak of the floorboards under her shoes. She locked the door behind her, just in case, though she knew it wouldn’t keep out the things that truly unsettled her.

Her bedroom felt cooler than usual, the curtains drawn tight, the moon casting only the faintest glow through the thin fabric. Eve kicked off her shoes, sat heavily on the edge of her bed, and stayed there for a long moment with her face in her hands. The weight of the night pressed down on her — Mark’s voice still in her ears, III’s grin flashing sharp and wild, the way her body had locked up when Mark’s hands were on her.

Eventually, her fingers moved on instinct, slipping into her pocket to pull out the coin.

It was warm from the heat of her skin, smooth against her palm, and she turned it over slowly, letting her thumb trace the familiar grooves. She had looked at it so many times over the past few weeks that she thought she knew every line, every worn edge — but under the dim light of her bedside lamp, she noticed something she hadn’t before.

Along the outer rim, where the metal dipped and caught the light, there was a faint engraving — so faint she must have missed it until now, or maybe it hadn’t been visible until tonight. The etching looked almost like a circle of tiny teeth or thorns, curling inward toward a center point.

She squinted, bringing it closer, and realized it wasn’t just a design — there were tiny letters threaded through the pattern, curling in a language she didn’t recognize. They seemed to shimmer slightly under the light, like water catching the moon, and the longer she stared, the harder it was to look away.

A chill skated down her arms.

It was almost like the coin was humming faintly, though that could have just been the blood rushing in her ears.

Eve set it carefully on her nightstand, as though it might burn her fingers if she held it too long. Then she switched off the lamp, slid under the covers, and lay there staring into the dark, listening to her own breathing.

Somewhere in the distance, maybe real, maybe not, a bell sounded — soft and hollow, like the ones from her dream.

—

Eve must have fallen asleep staring at the ceiling, because when her eyes opened again, she was standing. Barefoot.

The air around her was heavy, damp, clinging to her skin like a shroud. Moonlight cut through the trees above her, the light was wrong, silvery and pale, like moonlight filtered through water and she realized she wasn’t in her room anymore. She was standing in the forest.

Somewhere ahead, there was movement.

Eve’s chest tightened as she took a step forward, the undergrowth slick against her soles. The clearing opened the way she remembered, the one from the first nightmare, the one that had started everything — and for a moment she almost expected to see the girl again, the flash of pale skin, the copper shine of blood.

But it wasn’t the girl.

It was Mark.

He was on his knees in the center of a clearing, face swollen from III’s punches. His head hanging forward, his breath coming out in wet, ragged gasps that caught on something deep in his chest. His shirt was torn open down the front, smeared with dirt and streaked with blood, and his hands clawed at the ground like he was trying to crawl away but couldn’t make his legs work.

Eve froze, her heart hammering. She wanted to move toward him — to ask what happened — but the air was thick, her legs heavy, and something in her gut screamed that she shouldn’t get any closer.

The sound came next.

That same hollow ringing, faint at first, then rising like a chorus of bells underwater, vibrating through her bones. The trees shivered though there was no wind, their branches groaning like they were straining against something.

And then it was there.

The thing from her first nightmare, stepping into the clearing with that terrible, deliberate slowness, its shape too tall, too thin, its features stretched and wrong like the forest had tried to make a person and failed. Its head tilted toward Mark, the motion smooth and inhuman, and then it was crouching in one slow, fluid movement until its long fingers almost brushed the ground.

Mark tried to inch backward, his heels digging trenches in the mud. He made it barely a foot before his arms gave out and he collapsed onto his side, clawing at the ground with fingers Eve could see were discolored and broken. 

The creature didn’t hurry. It moved almost lazily, closing the distance with long, soundless steps. When it reached him, it crouched in one impossibly fluid motion, its spine bending too far, until it hovered over him like a shadow made of bone and ash. 

Its hand shot out, catching him by the back of the neck, fingers curling too far around like claws. Mark kicked, twisted, his breath coming out in a strangled sob, and Eve’s stomach lurched as it forced him forward until his face was pressed to the dirt. 

The ringing grew louder, almost unbearable now, and Eve’s hands flew to her ears, but it didn’t help. She wanted to scream, to run, to do anything, but she couldn’t move. Then came the sound — low, almost like a growl but threaded through with words, a whisper that made Eve shiver. She could only watch as the creature bent low over him, whispering in a language she couldn’t identify.

Mark screamed.

The sound ripped out of him raw and high, and then the creature wrenched him upright by the neck, his legs dangling uselessly as though he weighed nothing at all. The tips of its claws dug into the flesh of his throat, and blood began to bead along the lines where its fingers met his skin.

Mark’s hands clawed at its arm, but the more he struggled, the tighter the thing’s grip became. The ringing grew louder, shriller, until Eve thought her skull might split apart, and she dropped to her knees with her hands pressed to her ears.

When she looked back up, Mark’s body had gone slack.

The creature held him there for a moment longer, head cocking as if in consideration, before letting him drop. He hit the ground like a broken doll, limbs folding wrong beneath him. Blood pooled dark under his cheek, seeping into the earth.

Eve’s breath came in fast, panicked bursts, her heart hammering against her ribs. She wanted to run, to wake up, but she couldn’t move — could only watch as the creature turned its head toward her.

The ringing cut off.

Even from across the clearing, she felt its gaze slide over her like ice water, cold and heavy, pinning her to the spot. Its face didn’t change — she wasn’t even sure it had a face — but she felt the weight of it, like it was memorizing her.

And then, in one sickening lurch, it was closer.

Right there at the edge of the clearing, half-hidden by shadow, its head cocked in that same unnatural angle.

Eve stumbled back, her breath tearing out of her throat —

— and woke with a sharp gasp, her sheets twisted tight around her legs.

Her room was dark and still. The coin glinted faintly on the nightstand, catching the thin line of moonlight through the curtains.

Eve lay there staring at it, her heart still racing, the echo of the ringing still in her ears.

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed!

Two weeks later, school still felt like walking on a knife's edge.

The first morning back had been the worst — the stares, the whispers, the way everyone seemed to turn their heads just a little too slowly when she passed, like they’d been waiting to see what she would look like after five days gone, as if she would grow fangs and fur like the creature they wanted her to be. 

The bruise on Mark’s nose had faded to a sickly yellow, but the look in his eyes when they met hers across the cafeteria was still sharp, still promising something unfinished. Teachers watched her with polite suspicion now, their smiles a little too tight, as if they were waiting for her to crack again.

April kept close those first few days, sitting next to her in every class they shared, looping her arm through Eve’s when they walked down the hall, pretending not to notice how Eve’s shoulders stayed tense from first bell to last. The second week was easier, or maybe Eve just stopped noticing as much — the whispers lost their edge, bruises faded, and the days blurred into routine until she could almost pretend things were normal again.

When the flyers for Briarwood’s annual fall festival went up, bright orange against the bulletin boards, April had insisted they go. “We deserve something fun,” she said, as though it were a prescription, and Eve hadn’t had the energy to argue.

By the time Saturday rolled around, the town’s main street had been transformed. Strings of lights glowed warm overhead, swaying gently with the breeze, and the air was full of the mingled smells of frying dough, spiced cider, woodsmoke, and damp leaves. Booths lined the sidewalks, crowded with baked goods and handmade crafts, jack-o’-lanterns grinning from tabletops while kids darted between them with painted faces and sugar-sticky fingers.

April was all brightness and motion, tugging Eve from one booth to another, making her try bites of caramel apples and hot cider so sweet it made her teeth ache. For a while, Eve let herself be carried along with the crowd, her breath visible in the cool evening air, the sound of fiddle music spilling from the stage down the street. The warmth of the festival pressed close around her, and for a little while she felt almost normal, the weight in her chest loosening as she followed April through the maze of booths.

But the crowd was thick, shifting like a tide, and somewhere near the line of food trucks April’s hand slipped out of hers.

Eve turned, scanning the moving blur of strangers. “April?” she called, raising her voice over the music, but it was swallowed by the noise of laughter and chatter and the constant hum of the festival.

She caught a glimpse of April’s curls disappearing around the corner of a booth and tried to follow, but the crowd surged and she lost her again.

Her pulse quickened. She pushed her way toward the edge of the street where it was quieter, heading down a narrow side road she thought might loop back around to the square. The sounds of the festival faded behind her, replaced by the distant creak of a sign swinging in the wind and the hiss of dry leaves scraping along the pavement.

The streetlights here were spaced farther apart, leaving long, dark gaps between their pools of amber glow. The shutters of the closed shops stared like blind eyes, and her footsteps sounded too loud against the cracked sidewalk.

That was when she heard them — more footsteps, falling in behind her, not rushed but deliberate, steady enough to raise the hair on the back of her neck.

Eve turned, her breath catching, just as three shadows detached themselves from the mouth of an alley and stepped into the light.

Mark was at the front, his grin sharp and ugly, the bruise on his nose now faded but still faintly visible. Two other boys trailed just behind him, their faces slack with the kind of cruel anticipation that made Eve’s stomach twist.

“Well, look who it is,” Mark said, voice slow and mocking, like he’d been rehearsing it. “Miss Hale herself. You miss me?”

Eve said nothing, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

She turned as if to keep walking, but they shifted, closing ranks, herding her back toward the narrow alley between two buildings. The smell of wet leaves and trash hit her as her shoulders brushed the brick wall, the space too tight, too close.

“Thought we’d have a little chat,” Mark said, stepping closer. “You think you can just sucker-punch me in front of half the school and walk away like nothing happened?”

Her heart thudded hard against her ribs. “Move,” she said, forcing the word out even though it scraped in her throat.

Mark laughed and shoved her shoulder — not hard enough to knock her down, but hard enough that her back hit the wall, pain flaring through her spine.

“You gonna hit me again?” he said, leaning closer, his breath sour and warm against her face. “Go ahead. I dare you.”

Eve’s fists clenched tighter, nails digging into her palms. She wanted to swing, wanted to feel that same strange steadiness from the cafeteria — but there were three of them, and the alley felt too narrow to breathe.

Then another voice cut through the dark, calm but carrying, like the sound of someone who didn’t need to shout to be heard.

“She said move.”

The boys turned as one.

At the mouth of the alley stood someone Eve had never seen before. He was taller than Mark, but shorter than most with thick broad shoulders, his dark hair catching the faint light and his expression carved into something unreadable. He didn’t look angry — not exactly — but there was a weight in his gaze that made the air seem heavier.

“Who the hell are you?” Mark demanded, but the bravado in his voice had frayed at the edges.

The stranger didn’t answer, just stepped forward with slow, deliberate precision, each footfall echoing faintly off the brick.

Mark hesitated, glancing at his friends, but they were already backing up a step, their eyes darting nervously.

“Come on,” one of them muttered. “This isn’t worth it.”

Mark cursed and spat on the ground, shot Eve a last, hard glare, and shoved past the stranger as he stalked out of the alley.

When the last of their footsteps faded, Eve realized she had been holding her breath. She stayed against the wall, chest heaving, her fingers still curled into fists. Her heart slammed against her ribs, the sound of it so loud in her ears she almost didn’t hear the stranger when he spoke.

“You all right?” he asked, his voice quieter now, low and even, not rushed, not urgent — like he had all the time in the world to wait for her answer.

Eve swallowed hard and nodded, though the motion felt stiff, her throat too tight to speak.

Up close, he looked older than Vessel or III — older by a few years, maybe — and the resemblance was there as she looked for it. The dark hair was the first thing she noticed, then the eyes, that same silvery cast that seemed to catch and hold the light against the blue of his irises. But where Ves had seemed quiet, almost gentle, and III loud and abrasive, this one was solid in a way that made the space around him feel heavier.

“Who are you?” she asked finally, her voice low.

He hesitated, then said, “IV.”

The name landed between them like a stone dropped in still water.

Eve blinked. “Like III and Vessel?” She asked, though she already knew the answer.

His mouth curved in something that was almost a smile, though it never reached his eyes. “Like III and Vessel,” he said. “They’re my brothers.”

The words sent a sharp shiver through her, though she couldn’t have said why. “Do you all just… show up places?”

“Sometimes,” IV said, and there was no apology in his tone, only calm certainty, as though that answer should be enough.

Eve’s pulse hadn’t quite slowed yet, but her hands had started to unclench. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said, nodding toward the mouth of the alley where Mark had disappeared.

“I did,” IV said simply, like there was no version of the night where he would have chosen differently.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The wind shifted, carrying the sound of laughter and fiddle music from the square, the world outside this narrow space still bright and loud and oblivious.

“You should be more careful,” he said, his pale eyes steady on hers.

Eve’s jaw tightened. “You think I couldn’t handle him?”

“I think you’d try,” IV said, his tone not unkind, “and I think you’d bleed for it.”

Something about the calm way he said it made her stomach turn.

“Why do you care?” she asked, realizing only after the words left her mouth how sharp they sounded.

For a long moment, IV just looked at her, his expression unreadable, then said, “Because Ves does. And because you don’t belong in alleys with boys like that.”

Eve flinched at that, heat rushing to her face — partly from anger, partly from the sharp edge of his certainty.

“I didn’t exactly pick this,” she said, her voice sharper now that she could breathe again.

That almost smile ghosted across his face again, but it didn’t stay long. “I know.”

And then, as if something in him had decided their conversation was over, he turned and stepped back toward the mouth of the alley.

Eve found herself blurting, “Wait.”

He paused, looking at her over his shoulder.

She opened her mouth but nothing came out. The questions stuck to her throat, choking her. She felt her face heat in embarrassment and tried to find the right words, anything to get him to stay for a moment longer.

Something shifted in IV’s expression — not a smile, not exactly, but something that softened the hard edges of his face. “You should find your friend,” he said then, gentler now. “Before they come back looking for you.”

And then he was gone, disappearing into the night and the glow of the festival lights until she wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined him.

She stayed against the wall a moment longer, her breath coming fast, before she finally pushed herself off the brick and stumbled back toward the lights and noise of the festival, her hands shaking so badly she shoved them deep into her pockets just to make them stop.

—

The sounds of the festival grew louder as Eve stepped back into the crowd, the shift so abrupt it made her dizzy. The alley might as well have been miles away — the crush of people, the golden lights strung from stall to stall, the smell of fried dough and kettle corn all felt almost too bright, too alive, after the silence and danger she’d just come from.

“Eve!”

Her name cracked through the music, sharp enough to jolt her. She turned and saw April shoving her way through the crowd, curls flying, her face pulled tight with worry.

“There you are,” April said breathlessly, her hands finding Eve’s arms as soon as she was close enough. “Where the hell did you go? I turned around for like two seconds and you were just—gone. I thought maybe you ditched me, or that something—” She cut herself off, her gaze narrowing as she really looked at Eve.

“You’re pale,” she said after a beat. “And you’re shaking.”

“I’m fine,” Eve said quickly, too quickly. She shoved her hands deep into her pockets before April could reach for them. “I just… took a wrong turn, that’s all.”

April didn’t look convinced. Her eyes darted to the side, back toward the mouth of the alley, and then back to Eve. “A wrong turn doesn’t make you look like you saw a ghost,” she said, voice low now, searching.

Eve tried to laugh, but the sound cracked on the way out. “You worry too much.”

April’s jaw tightened, but her grip softened, and she sighed like she was choosing not to push. “Yeah, well, somebody’s gotta worry about you,” she muttered. Then, softer: “Just—next time you decide to go disappearing in the middle of a crowd, take me with you, okay?”

Eve nodded, grateful for the out, even as guilt twisted sharp and hot in her chest. “Okay.”

April looped their arms together and started steering them back toward the square, weaving them through the crowd with practiced ease. Eve let herself be pulled along, her heart still hammering in her throat.

But the longer they walked, the more she felt it — that same prickling at the back of her neck, the sense of being watched. She caught flashes of pale hair in the crowd, glimpses of sharp shoulders slipping just out of sight, the tilt of a head that felt too familiar. Once, across the wide square where the ferris wheel stood spinning slow and bright, she thought she saw IV leaning against a lamppost, arms crossed, his gray eyes catching the light — but when she blinked, the space was empty.

Later, near the caramel apple stand, she was almost certain she saw III — that grin, sharp and knowing — vanishing into the press of festival-goers with a flick of his fingers like he was waving at her.

And once, just before April dragged her toward the stage to watch the last song of the night, she thought she saw Vessel himself, standing at the very edge of the festival grounds, half-shadowed beneath one of the trees. He wasn’t moving, wasn’t trying to hide, just… there. Watching.

She wanted to look longer, to be sure — but April tugged her forward, and when she glanced back, the spot was empty.

They stayed until the lights of the festival were dimmed one by one, until the air turned colder and most of the families with kids had gone home. April walked with her all the way back to the Hale house, talking softly about nothing important — a teacher’s ridiculous haircut, a rumor about a party, the fried dough they should’ve split — filling up the silence with normalcy because Eve clearly wasn’t going to.

When they reached the porch, April stopped, glancing toward the dark line of trees at the edge of the yard before looking back at Eve. “You’re really not gonna tell me what happened back there, are you?” she asked.

Eve hesitated, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. “It was nothing,” she said, though the words felt like a lie the moment they left her mouth.

April studied her for a long moment, as if she could peel her open by just staring hard enough. Finally she nodded, but there was a weight to it, like she was filing the moment away for later. “Fine,” she said. “But you’ve been weird since before the suspension, and now you’re… I don’t know, twitchier. And don’t tell me it’s just senior year stress because I know you.”

Eve swallowed, unsure what to say to that, so she just nodded.

April gave her a long look. “Call me if you can’t sleep,” she said. “Even if it’s, like, three a.m. Oh! And we have to make plans for your birthday. It’s less than a month away now!”

“Yeah,” Eve said softly.

April smiled, hugged her tightly, and turned. Skipping down the porch steps she started down the street, her figure soon swallowed by the pools of lamplight, and Eve stood there until the sound of her footsteps faded completely.

Only then did she go inside, the quiet of the house settling heavy around her.

Upstairs, she sat on the edge of her bed and let her bag slide to the floor. Her back still ached faintly from where she’d hit the brick. She curled her hands into tight fists, slowly, just to feel that she was still here. Her split knuckles had scabbed over, and only ached faintly.

She could still hear IV’s voice, even and deep. And somewhere behind it, she could still hear the faint echo of Mark — his laughter, cruel and sharp — and the way it had cut off when IV stepped into the alley.

Eve lay back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling until her vision blurred. Outside, the trees loomed dark against the sky. She thought of Vessel. She thought of III. She thought of IV. And she thought of the thing she’d seen in her dream, the thing with the too-long shadow that had beckoned to her from the edge of the trees.

She closed her eyes, but the sound of the festival rang faintly in her ears, a distant carousel tune that refused to fade. And a feeling of being watched that seemed to never leave her alone, even when she finally drifted off.

Lowkey hated this ending but oh well!

YAYYY IV! I seriously can't wait to write more chapters with him ughhhh

I cannot WAIT to post the next chapter, it's my favorite by far! (probably because my fav member makes an appearence hehe

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed!