Aunt May grips the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turn white. She hasn’t spoken since we left, her usual warmth replaced by a quiet, unsettling tension. I sneak a glance at her—the rigid set of her jaw, the slight crease between her brows. Whatever she whispered earlier, it’s still weighing on her.

And I don’t like it.

The car ride stretches in silence, the hum of the engine the only sound between us. Outside, the world moves on as if nothing is wrong—kids rushing to catch the bus, an old man walking his dog, the sun rising higher into the sky.

Everything feels normal, but yet it doesn't.

I shift in my seat, trying to shake the feeling still crawling under my skin. It was probably nothing. A static shock, maybe? Some weird reaction to stepping outside too fast? People feel weird sensations all the time. Right?

“Did you pack everything?” Aunt May’s voice cuts through my thoughts, softer now, like she’s trying to shake off her own unease.

I nod. “Yeah. Double-checked last night. Clothes, books, my laptop—all there.”

“And your meds?”

My stomach twists. “Aunt May—”

“I’m just making sure.”

I hesitate before answering. “I don’t take them anymore.”

The silence thickens.

I swallow hard, staring at my lap. “I haven’t needed them for months.”

Aunt May exhales, long and slow. “You could’ve told me.”

I shrug, trying to keep my voice light. “I didn’t want you to worry. And…I feel fine.”

Another lie.

I don’t feel fine.

Because deep down, I know what she’s really afraid of. The dreams. The memory lapses. The nights I wake up drenched in sweat, mind filled with shadows that don’t belong to me.

I’m not sick. I know I’m not.

But something is wrong with me.

We pull into the college parking lot, and my phone buzzes in my lap. A text from Laura, my roommate.

Laura: Tell me you’re here. If you ditch me today, I swear I’ll summon a demon to drag your ass to class.

I snort, tension easing slightly. At least some things are still normal.

Aunt May parks but doesn’t turn off the engine. She turns to face me fully, her expression unreadable. “Listen to me, Red. If anything strange happens—anything at all—you call me. Okay?”

I force a smile. “What, like if my books disappear or my professor starts speaking in tongues?”

“Red.”

The humor fades. I sigh. “Okay. I promise.”

She studies me for a second, then nods, satisfied. “Good.”

I reach for the door handle, but before I can step out, she speaks again.

“And, Red?”

I glance back. Her gaze softens, the way it always does when she looks at me. “Happy birthday once again, sweetheart. Hope you enjoy it.”

Something tightens in my chest.

“Thanks, Auntie.”

I step out of the car, slinging my bag over my shoulder. The moment my feet touch the pavement, a strange sensation ripples through me—like stepping into a place I’ve never been but somehow already know.

I freeze.

The feeling vanishes just as quickly, leaving behind only a lingering chill.

Shaking it off, I head toward the dorms, telling myself it’s just nerves.

Telling myself it’s just another ordinary day.

Lying to myself the whole way there.

~~~

After dropping my bags in my room, I don’t waste any time settling in. I should at least try to look for Laura—after all, I spent months nagging her to come to this college with me—but she’s nowhere in sight. No text, no note, nothing. Typical.

Still, I’m not about to sit around waiting for her to show up. I have just enough energy left to figure out my courses before exhaustion kicks in. I step out of the room, scanning the hall for anyone who might look remotely helpful. A few students pass by, caught up in their own worlds, barely sparing me a glance.

Alright, guess I’m asking around.

It takes some wandering and a couple of vague directions—“Left at the staircase, past the vending machines, then down the hall… or was it right?”—before I finally find my way to the reception. The door is slightly ajar, and before I even step inside, I hear it.

The frantic, almost desperate clacking of a keyboard.

It’s fast, relentless, as if someone is battling the keys rather than typing on them. The sound practically screams for help.

I hesitate, my hand hovering over the doorframe.

What exactly am I about to walk into?

"I take a slow breath and step inside, already bracing myself for whatever chaos awaits.

Behind the reception desk, a woman is hunched over a computer, her fingers flying across the keyboard in an almost aggressive manner. She looks like she’s in a battle with the screen, her brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. Papers are scattered across the desk, and a cup of coffee sits dangerously close to the edge, forgotten.

I clear my throat. "Ahem."

She barely reacts at first, then finally looks up, her eyes filled with unmistakable irritation.

Great. She already hates me, and I haven’t even said anything yet.

"I-I’m here to get my schedule," I say, cursing myself the second my voice wobbles. Seriously? Why now?

Her expression tells me she’s not impressed. "What’s your name?"

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. The air feels heavier, pressing down on my chest, making it harder to think, harder to breathe.

"Hey, young lady, I don’t have all day," she snaps.

I swallow hard. "I-It’s Red Hathaway, ma’am," I finally manage to say.

She rolls her eyes before turning back to the computer, typing with even more force than before. The clacking of the keys fills the room again, and I stand there, trying to push down the embarrassment curling in my stomach.

Why did I stutter? I thought I was over that.

Aunt May spent years helping me work through it. When I was twelve, my stutter was so bad I could barely introduce myself without tripping over my words. It had taken endless practice and patience, but I had gotten better—at least, I thought I had.

"You have five minutes until your next class," she says flatly, barely glancing at me.

"Umm, which course is it?" I ask, my voice still a little shaky.

"Chemistry 101," she replies.

I exhale, tension easing from my shoulders. Chemistry, I can handle. If it had been English, I might’ve just turned around and walked straight back to my dorm.

"Thank you," I say, trying to sound polite, but she’s already back to attacking the keyboard, dismissing me without a second thought.

I step out of the office, gripping my schedule, and let out a breath.

People here are so rude.

Welcome to college life.

As I reach for the door, a strange sensation washes over me—a sudden numbness, creeping up my spine like a cold wave. It’s the same eerie feeling I had back home, the one that stopped me in my tracks and made my skin prickle.

My body locks up, frozen in place. What the hell is happening to me?

Panic rises in my chest. Did I accidentally touch something electrified? But there’s nothing—no wires, no metal, nothing that should be causing this. My mind spins with questions, but before I can make sense of it, a voice suddenly cuts through the fog in my head.

"Excuse me?"

The sharpness of it startles me, and I stumble, barely managing to catch myself by gripping the door handle. My heart pounds as I glance toward the receptionist, who’s now eyeing me like I’m some kind of weirdo.

"Sorry," I mumble before quickly slipping out of the office.

The moment I step into the hallway, I inhale deeply, trying to shake off the lingering unease. Whatever just happened… it wasn’t normal. But right now, I have more pressing things to worry about—like getting to my class before I embarrass myself even more.

Following the directions on my schedule, I navigate through the building and head upstairs. When I finally reach the classroom, I step inside, only to be hit with an immediate sense of dread.

The room is packed.

Students are everywhere, huddled around lab stations, chatting, setting up equipment. The sight alone makes my stomach twist. I’ve never been a fan of crowds—too many people, too much noise, too many eyes. But I push forward, scanning the room.

It doesn’t take long to realize—Chemistry 101 is a practical class. Every table is lined with beakers, flasks, and other lab equipment, while students in lab coats work in pairs, already diving into experiments.

Yep. Definitely practical.

Good thing I’m actually decent at this.

"Excuse me, but we are about to commence the class," a firm voice announces.

I turn toward the front of the room, where an older man with graying hair stands, his sharp eyes sweeping over the students. Must be the professor.

My pulse picks up again. This is it—my first real college class.

Breathe, Red.

"I—I’m here for the class, sir," I manage, forcing my voice to stay steady.

The professor barely nods before his gaze sharpens. "Then why don’t you introduce yourself briefly before we begin?"

Oh, no.

"Um, sir… is that really necessary?" I ask, already dreading the attention.

His expression hardens. "We don’t have all day, Miss."

I swallow the lump in my throat. My feet feel heavy as I step toward the center of the room, my gaze darting to the students around me.

Thankfully, most of them look entirely uninterested.

That’s good.

"Hi, my name is Red Hathaway, and I am—"

I barely get the words out before the whispers start.

"What a weird name."

"Her eyes are so green, they almost look like contact lenses."

"Her hair is so obscure. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many curls on one head before."

"Her skin is so flawless."

"She’s actually pretty."

Their murmurs are a mix of curiosity and backhanded compliments, leaving me unsure whether to feel flattered or just plain uncomfortable.

It’s nothing new. My whole life, people have either admired or questioned the way I look. Some girls in high school even spread rumors that I’d had plastic surgery, convinced my features were too “perfect” to be natural. I never cared much for their opinions, but standing here now, with all these strangers dissecting me like some kind of exhibit, I can’t help but feel exposed.

Crazy people, right?

A sharp cough from the professor cuts through the chatter, snapping everyone back to order.

"That's enough," he says firmly, his stern gaze sweeping over the room.

I exhale, relieved.

"Miss Hathaway, why don't you take a seat over there?" He gestures toward an empty seat near a group of boys who are still staring at me—one even licking his lips like I’m a damn meal.

I force myself not to roll my eyes. Idiots.

"Miss Hathaway, since you’re not dressed in the required uniform for this experiment, I suggest you observe today," the professor continues. I glance down at my jeans and sweater, realizing he’s right. No lab coat. No gloves. The number one rule in a chemistry lab is safety first, and I’m definitely unprepared.

"Yes, sir," I say, resigning myself to watching from the sidelines.

Regret starts settling deep in my stomach.

Why did I come here?

The thought creeps in the moment I sit down.I should’ve just gone back to my dorm after getting my schedule. I should’ve ignored my stupid determination to act like I belonged here.

But it’s too late now.

The professor has already marked my name down, meaning I officially exist in this class, and walking out would just draw more attention to myself. So, I settle in my seat, trying to ignore the odd glances thrown my way.

Then, out of nowhere, a wave of dizziness crashes over me.

I grip the edge of the table as my vision blurs. My breath hitches. What the hell?

It feels like I’m on the verge of blacking out, but there’s no reason for it. I ate this morning. I’m not sick. So why—

A sharp vibration tingles against my fingers.

I look down at my hands, my pulse skyrocketing. My rings—delicate silver bands that have never done anything but sit prettily on my fingers—are trembling. Not just trembling. Ringing.

A soft, metallic hum vibrates through them, like a tiny bell chiming directly against my skin.

My stomach twists. This isn’t normal.

Then, as if drawn by an unseen force, my head snaps toward the window.

And I see it.

A figure.

Standing just beyond the closest tree, hidden partially by the leaves.

My heart slams against my ribs. The figure is too far away to make out any details, but they’re watching. I know they’re watching.

Then—

Ding. Ding. Ding.

The sudden sound of bells nearly knocks me out of my chair. I clutch my ears, my head spinning as the noise reverberates through my skull.

Students around me react, some groaning, some cursing.

"It's just the fire alarm," the professor announces, raising his voice over the noise. "Everyone, exit the building in an orderly manner."

But something feels wrong.

The alarm is blaring, but there’s no urgency in the professor’s voice. No smoke. No flashing lights. Nothing that actually signals a fire.

And yet, everything inside me is screaming. Get out.

I pushed my way through the crowd, shoving aside anyone in my path, my heart pounding against my ribs.

Students screamed and scattered in every direction, their panicked movements creating a dizzying blur around me. I burst through the nearest exit, gasping for breath, only to find myself trapped in another chaotic scene. The courtyard was packed—students pushing, yelling, searching for an escape.

No way out.

My pulse spiked. I couldn't stay here.

I turned sharply and darted back inside, weaving through the corridors with reckless urgency. Every instinct screamed at me to get away, but from what? Nothing made sense—the fire alarm, the strange ringing of my rings, the figure outside. Was I going crazy?

My lungs burned as I reached a staircase, taking the steps two at a time. The pounding of my own heartbeat filled my ears, drowning out the noise of the chaos below. When I reached the top, my gaze darted down the hallway, searching—anything, anywhere to hide.

A classroom.

I lunged toward the door, throwing myself inside and slamming it shut behind me. My hands trembled as I locked it, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The silence in the room was deafening compared to the madness outside.

I reached for my phone, needing—something. Help. Clarity. My aunt.

No service.

That wasn’t possible. The university had strong reception, and I’d never had an issue anywhere in the state before. The only time signals failed was when something—or someone—wanted them to.

Unless someone didn’t want anyone making calls.

A chill crept up my spine. This wasn’t just a fire drill. It wasn’t an accident.

It was a trap.

The logic was ridiculous, sure, but so was everything else happening to me. My rings vibrating. The shadowy figure by the tree. The suffocating sense of wrongness pressing against my ribs.

Footsteps.

A loud bang ripped me from my thoughts. The doorframe groaned, cracking under pressure. They were getting in.

The heavy footsteps outside grew louder, each step reverberating through the floor like a countdown.

They’re coming.

My pulse roared in my ears. I had to move. Now.

I pushed myself up from under the desk, my limbs shaking, and darted toward the storage room at the back of the class. If I could just—

"Did you see her?" A man’s voice. Rough. Sharp with irritation.

"How can you not find her? She’s the only one who ran this way."

My fingers tightened around my phone. They were looking for me.

"The boss won’t like this."

A cold wave of fear washed over me. Boss?

"Hold on. We haven’t checked that classroom yet."

My breath hitched.

They were coming.

My eyes darted around the room. There was nowhere to go. No other doors. Just desks, chairs, shelves lined with glass containers. A chemistry lab, same as before. My gaze snapped to the back—rows of desks pressed against the wall.

Without thinking, I ran.

I ducked under the furthest desk, curling into the shadows. My breaths were shallow, controlled, my heart hammering against my ribs like it wanted to escape on its own.

The doorknob rattled.

I pressed my hand over my mouth.

Then—

A loud BANG shook the door.

I flinched, gripping the desk so hard my knuckles turned white.

Another impact. Harder. Louder. The sound of something—someone—kicking it in.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to disappear.

But deep down, I knew—

They were coming inside.

Silent tears stream down my face, hot and relentless, but I don’t dare make a sound.

This can’t be how it ends. Not like this. Not before I’ve repaid her for everything she’s done for me. The thought fuels my desperation, but it does nothing to stop the fear coiling inside me, tightening like a noose around my throat.

The pounding on the door stops.

Footsteps.

My breath stills. Each step is slow, measured, the sound of polished soles tapping against the cold floor. My heart slams against my ribs, so loud it feels like they can hear it—like my fear is screaming for me. I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my palm over my mouth.

Then, a voice.

"Hello, boys."

Deep. Calm. Confident. A voice that doesn’t belong here, that doesn’t belong to the men chasing me.

I peek out from under the desk, my vision blurred by the unshed tears clinging to my lashes. There, standing in the doorway, is a man I’ve never seen before. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in dark, fitted clothes, but it’s his presence that chills me. He radiates control. He isn’t afraid.

Unlike me.

The men in black hesitate, their gazes locked on him. They know him. That much is clear.

"What a surprise," the man muses, his voice smooth as silk but laced with something sharper, something dangerous.

"It seems she isn’t here. Now, let’s be serious. Let the girl go."

His words are casual, almost lazy, but there’s a warning beneath them, coiled tight, ready to strike.

The men in black don’t back down.

"Haha… You think you’re in your realm," one of them sneers. "This is the human world, where I have more power than you."

Realm? Human world? My brain trips over the words, but I can’t piece together their meaning. Nothing makes sense. I don’t know who these men are. I don’t know who this new man is. And I definitely don’t know what I have to do with any of this.

The stranger tilts his head slightly, unimpressed. "I know. But that doesn’t change the fact that I will kick your and your men’s asses."

There’s no hesitation in his voice. He means it.

One of the men in black growls, shifting forward like a predator about to pounce. "We’ll see about that."

But before they can make their move—

The stranger bolts.

My lips part in shock.

Seriously?

"Get him!"

The order is sharp, and within seconds, the entire group is gone, their heavy footsteps fading down the hall as they chase after the man who just saved me.

I don’t move. Not yet. I force myself to listen, to wait until I’m sure they’re gone.

Then, cautiously, I crawl out from under the desk, my limbs stiff from how tightly I’ve been curled up. My knees nearly buckle when I stand, but I shake it off. Move. Move now.

I take a shaky step toward the door.

And then—

A hand clamps around my throat.

Air leaves me in a strangled gasp as I’m yanked backward, my spine slamming against the edge of a table. The impact stuns me, a shockwave of pain shooting through my ribs. I claw at the grip tightening around my windpipe, panic exploding in my chest.

I can’t breathe.

Black eyes stare down at me. Cold. Amused. A smirk plays on the man’s lips as he tilts his head, studying me like I’m something fragile beneath his fingers, something to be toyed with.

"Hello, little girl," he murmurs, his breath ghosting against my skin. His fingers graze my hair, trailing over my cheek, his touch featherlight but somehow more terrifying than his grip on my throat.

"You’ve grown so much."

A chill slithers down my spine.

He knows me.

But I don’t know him.

I gasp for breath, my throat burning, my lungs screaming. His grip is inhuman—too strong, too unyielding—and I know I’m at the edge of suffocation. Darkness creeps at the edges of my vision, my body weakening, my mind fracturing under the weight of it all.

And then he speaks.

"It’s a shame you have to end this way," he murmurs, his voice dripping with sadistic amusement. "But don’t worry. Your soul will be delicious… just like those of your parents."

My mind blanks.

What did he just say?

The words cut through me, sharper than any blade, deeper than any wound. My parents. He’s talking about my parents. My stomach twists violently, nausea clawing up my throat. He killed them. He—

"Let me go!" I scream, the sound raw, desperate, my voice cracking under the force of it.

And then—

He’s gone.

Just—gone.

One second, his suffocating presence looms over me, his fingers crushing my throat, and the next, he’s flying across the classroom like a ragdoll, his body slamming into the floor with a sickening thud.

I don’t stop to think.

I don’t stop to breathe.

I just run.

Grabbing my bag, I bolt out of the classroom, my legs moving before my brain catches up. The hallways blur around me, my pulse a deafening drumbeat in my ears. Run. Run. Don’t stop. Don’t look back.

I pray with every step. Not for a miracle—I think I already got one of those—but for safety, for escape, for a way out of whatever nightmare I’ve stumbled into.

Just when I think I’m free—

A hand grabs my arm.

Cold. Unrelenting.

I barely have time to scream before I’m yanked backward, my body crashing against something solid. My heart slams against my ribs, terror sinking its claws into me all over again.

No. No, no, no—

"Let go of me!" My voice is hoarse, shrill with desperation. Tears spill down my cheeks, hot and useless, mixing with the sweat clinging to my skin.

This isn’t how today was supposed to go.

This isn’t how my birthday was supposed to go.

I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for the worst. But then—

"Keep quiet, Red, or we’re done for."

The whisper brushes against my ear, urgent, familiar.

Wait.

That’s not him.

A hand covers my mouth before I can say anything, stifling my panicked breath. He isn’t hurting me. He isn’t trying to kill me. His touch is firm but careful, his fingers brushing against my hair, steadying me.

Hope flickers in my chest, fragile but alive.

"Sleep."

The word rolls over me like a lullaby, gentle, commanding, absolute.

The world tilts.

The fear, the pain, the panic—it all fades into the background as a wave of exhaustion crashes over me, pulling me under.

My body gives in.

As the darkness swallows me whole, one thought lingers, curling in the back of my mind, refusing to let go.

What have I gotten myself into?