Rayne had not known what to expect of homecoming at Maria J. Westwood, but it certainly wasn't this. The Dining Hall lacked the tacky decor typical of the dances back home—in fact, there was not a single balloon or hand-painted banner in sight. The massive pillars lining the room were swathed in twinkling lights, and the booths were set with lavish centerpieces of onyx vases and roses dipped in silver. Rayne recalled the feeling of surprise that Bianca's extravagant attire had stirred within her, but looking around now, she realized that Bianca's dress was actually pretty tame.

Hillary adjusted the straps of her golden ball gown, its four-layered tulle skirt glistening beneath the warm lights. Next to her, Jackie wore an ebony sequined mermaid dress. Its right shoulder was long-sleeved while the other was bare; honestly, she looked like she had stepped out of an editorial for a fashion magazine. Rayne looked down now at the gown Jackie had lent her. With a waterfall organza skirt, its navy fabric fell above her knees and dragged in a long train behind her. The bodice was made of lace, which hung off her shoulders and left her feeling a little exposed. Her bare collarbone shimmered, the tiny wing-shaped pendants of her necklace catching the light with every movement. The sapphires and diamonds subtly enhanced the gown's navy hue, adding a refined and personal touch. Still, her fingers traced the contours of the necklace, feeling a mix of awkwardness and awe.

"Don't tell me you miss the uniform," Jackie teased.

"Just ready for the night to be over," Rayne admitted.

"Well, I'm ready for the night to get started!" said Hillary, bouncing a few paces down the great hall. "Honestly, I don't want tonight to ever end. Oh!" She pointed ahead. "Rayne, there's your date!"

And there, he was.

At present, Cole Bradford was standing near one of the round tables with his crew. He should have been the one to catch her eye first, but Rayne almost didn't even notice him. Lucas, on the other hand, was hard to miss in his three-piece tuxedo. The velvet midnight blue of his suit highlighted his features, his golden hair and honeyed eyes nearly glowing in the shadows. With dark lapels and trousers, he was in the middle of adjusting his bowtie when he looked up to meet her eyes. Rayne could feel the warmth of those irises from across the room. Lucas raised his brows at the sight of her, an expression of sweet surprise caught on the shy, tender lifting of a closed-lipped smile. Somehow, its vulnerability managed to elicit a soft, sweet sigh of surprise from her too.

Cole turned, a grin lighting his face as soon as he saw Rayne. On brand for him, his suit was charcoal black and fitted with a glossy, gunmetal print of his favorite designer monogram. He wore no tie or bow, and instead, kept the collar of his black dress shirt undone. "You're late," he said, approaching the girls as he fastened the middle button of his jacket with one hand.

"How does the phrase go?" Hillary asked, flipping her strawberry curls over her shoulder. " 'The best things in life are worth waiting for.' "

Cole smiled. "That they are."

Lucas studied the hall, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Feeling a whirlpool of shame and heartache swirl her breast, Rayne brushed her hair behind her ear as she turned away from the boys. Before she could even process her confusion, the hand that held still over her beating heart suddenly shot to her head. Her temples were pounding, a feeling all too familiar. When the brief thrumming began to subside, Rayne looked up to find that Bianca Hawthorne had been watching her as she strode across the hall. Her green eyes seemed agleam, just like the janitor's eyes had been on that day so long ago. Their familiarity did not end there though. Rayne gripped her temple, for just a moment, feeling submerged in the memory of the accident.

The red moon, the blood on her hands, the girl's skull between her fingers, the feel of it smashing into the pavement— Rayne recoiled.

It had been a girl. The person that Rayne had . . . hurt . . . no, killed . . . that night . . .

The beetle-like skittering of horror crept along her spine. Her cheeks reddened, mad with blistering self-contempt, but she still could not recall the entire memory. It had been a girl! she thought, fraught with panic. Could she remember more? Would she want to remember more?

"Are you okay?" asked Cole. Sincerity was rare upon his features, but he seemed to have been expressing it more and more with her lately.

Rayne composed herself, swallowing the pain, and offered him an unconvincing smile. "Let's dance," she said, reaching for his hand. She needed to lean into his chaos, a desperate attempt to tame her budding terror. Feel the mind-numbing rush she'd felt that rainy day he first brought her to the shack. Had she meant for this touch to conjure flashbacks of their kiss? The memory of his lips on hers washed away any lingering images of the gruesome accident, and Rayne pulled Cole closer to her on the dance floor, her chest reeling with fear, confusion, and ache as she avoided both Luke and Bianca's gazes.

Meanwhile, Pierce seemed unable to contain his goofy smirk when Jackie stood next to him. His white suit was a little big on his shoulders, but it seemed as though that was purposeful—like he enjoyed a loose-fitting suit. He and Jackie were polar opposites, standing side by side, but their smiles glowed with that same hue of untainted joy. Next to them, David and Spencer wore complimentary red and black suits, but they appeared trapped in a heteronormative performance, afraid to treat one another as lovers. The closest form of affection that Rayne saw on the dance floor was when David adjusted Spencer's tie.

She was just wishing that they could have the freedom to be brave, to pull one another into an embrace and kiss, at least, when Cole's arm slipped around her waist. He pulled her closer to him. Her eyes snapped up to his, inches above her, and they were looking at her lips. "Cole—"

He smirked. "I know, I know. We're not dating."

"Then, what're you . . . ?"

"Just . . . making you blush," he said. "For fun, of course."

A chill swept the back of her neck, and Rayne looked to her left to find Bianca's strange green eyes upon her once more. "Right," Rayne whispered, more to herself than anyone else. She looked to the dance floor. "For fun . . ."

◢✥◣

Dorian Matthews checked his watch as he ascended the creaking, front steps of the old Pennsylvanian home. The dance should have started by now, he thought to himself.

Emma seemed to be in awe of the mansion. He was beginning to see that it did not take much for her expression to twist upward with childlike wonder.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" she asked, looking at the balcony that hung above them. Dorian smiled, nodding slightly. It was beautiful, in a way. The house, once painted eggshell white, had aged into a muted beige, with patches of gray-teal along the edge of the roof, windows, and balcony banisters. Above the door frame, whorls of tiny lavender flowers were pinned with an old, rusty nail.

Emma took a deep breath. "Okay." She prepped her hand to knock. "Here goes nothing."

After three quick rappings, the demonologist threw open the door, surprise rushing his face. Dorian had to be honest with himself—this man was not what he'd been expecting. His long, brown beard obscured his neck, and dirt seemed to settle in every crease of his face. He donned a violet hoodie beneath a gold and gray Aztec-printed poncho, his eyes focused somewhere in the space between Emma and Dorian.

"Braiden Murphy?" asked Emma, her voice uncertain as she glanced at Dorian. "My name is Emma Scott. I called you about—"

"You brought him with you," the man whispered.

Dorian thought the demonologist had been referring to him.

Emma turned around, seeming to look at the space between them. "You . . . You can see him, too?"

Dorian frowned, but before he could ask what either of them meant, the man said, "I can feel him." Braiden took a quick look around the porch. "Quick, inside. Before anyone else follows you."

As they stepped over the threshold, Dorian noticed Braiden still eyeing the front steps. "Are you . . . going to close the door?"

Emma gripped his hand, and Dorian was surprised by the touch. She pulled away as quickly as she had approached, saying, "It's Daniel. He's still outside."

Dorian had not long to process his emotions before Braiden announced, "I have wards—protective barriers, you see—to halt spirits from entering without my permission."

"So," Dorian snapped absent-mindedly, "just let him in."

"I am thinking," the medium snapped back. "Alright," he said to the air outside, ushering it inward. "Hurry." After a few moments, Braiden slammed the door shut, nearly trembling with fright. Slowly, he shook his head and leveled darkened eyes to meet them. "This is far worse than you could possibly imagine."

◢✥◣

The grand hall shimmered with dainty lanterns, casting a tawny glow over the lavish centerpieces. As Rayne and Cole swayed to the rhythm, a horde of students whirled around them too, the music shifting to a more upbeat melody. His hands were on her waist, and hers were lifted high, reaching for the emptiness within the chaos. Other students bumped into them, and as hard as she tried, Rayne could not shake the feeling of feeling. God, how she longed to feel nothing! Roll up all of these somethings into a crumpled little ball and just toss it in the trash! Rayne could feel Cole's eyes fixed on her, but her mind was elsewhere. More precisely, it was standing right next to the punchbowl, looking rather miserable.

Lucas.

She wanted to talk to him, ask him to dance, and witness his face light up in that magical way that could banish all her demons. It was impossible to stop herself from stealing glances, watching his eyes scan the crowd. Perhaps, she mused, he was looking for someone, and some part of her had hoped it was her.

Eventually, Cole's eyes followed her distracted gaze, and he sighed softly, his hands a tether around her waist, pulling her attention back to him. "You keep looking away," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. "Something on your mind?"

Rayne's heart stilled, caught in the grip of her own hesitation. This was her moment—to craft an excuse to seek out Lucas, even if only fleetingly.

Cole squeezed her hand, a gesture that could have easily been mistaken for reassurance. But she knew better than anyone what he was really doing. He was mimicking her habit of probing his mind with touch. "Times like this. I really wish I had your ability—to be the one peering into the labyrinth of your mind for once."

Rayne swallowed hard. She was about to play with fire.

Her gaze flickered to Lucas, adopting a tone of practiced casualness. "It's Lucas," she confessed, lacing her voice with just the right amount of sympathy. "The last time he was at Homecoming, his girlfriend was still alive. And I just can't stop thinking about how hard that must be for him."

Cole wavered for a moment, his eyes darting between Rayne and Lucas. "You wanna meddle, don't you?"

"I was thinking of asking him to dance," she admitted. A ripple of anticipation surged through her, though she tried to mask it with a veneer of detached confidence. "Thought it might help him relax a bit."

Cole stood still, his eyes considering the request. For a moment, Rayne worried he might dismiss her. Instead, he seemed to warm to the thought. "You know," he began slowly, "Bianca never seemed to care about my friends as much as you do."

She was certain he'd meant it as a compliment, but for some reason, her heart ached. "I'm not Bianca," she murmured.

"Alright," said Cole, a faint smirk curving his lips. "Get Lucas out here. And while you do that, I'll talk to Pierce, see if I can convince him to get Jackie to dance too. If everyone's having a good time, then maybe it'll be easier for Luke to join in."

Rayne's shoulders relaxed, but that surge of gratitude was tinged by an undercurrent of shame. "That's a great idea."

With Cole's approval, Rayne headed towards Lucas, heart pounding. She made her way through the bustling crowd, giving Cole one final nod of reassurance before leaving his sightline. Perhaps embracing the chaos of Cole's inner world, akin to stoking the flames, would only fuel the turmoil. Perhaps, what she really needed right now was Lucas. A gentle light to her darkness.

The drumming of music pulsed through her veins.

Lucas looked her over as she drew nearer, his expression wary.

God. Maybe she was the chaos.

"Why, hello there, Sir Lucian," she said playfully, curtsying before him. "Care to dance?"

Lucas hesitated at first, looking around—perhaps for any sign of Cole. "You're gonna get me in trouble," he said with a small smile.

Rayne smiled back. "I like trouble."

As soon as Lucas took her hand, his touch filled her chest with a warmth that was so soothing she almost cried. It was a touch that teetered on the precipice of releasing the guilt that resided deep within her. They made their way to the dance floor, and Rayne felt a little self-conscious in her borrowed gown. She glanced over at Cole, who had gone over to Pierce and Jackie. The atmosphere was electric, with harmonies and laughter cracking throughout the hall and all around them. Despite the effervescence, Rayne couldn't overcome the impression that something was wrong—a gnawing intuition that the tapestry of their euphoria concealed a much darker thread, woven from all of their sins.

Maybe it was just her . . .

Suddenly, the upbeat track faded, lulling into a gentle melody, and Rayne felt her heartbeat quicken. The lights dimmed. Shimmering blue spotlights circled the hall. Lucas wavered, looking down at their feet. He seemed lost in thought, the weight of grief evident in his shoulders, and Rayne longed to help him forget, if only for a little while. Wasn't that what she had wanted, too?

She placed his hands on her waist, that familiar tender surprise glinting his eyes, and she let her hands fall over his shoulders. Lucas kept his eyes on hers, his gaze softening with something inexplicable. Undeniable. They began to move slowly to the music, each step bringing them closer together. Rayne became acutely aware of his body, hot against hers, the lean muscular form beneath his tuxedo, and the way his aurous eyes glistened in the pale blue light. Her emotions surged like a tempest within her, a storm of guilt, longing, and something else she couldn't quite name.

"You look beautiful," he said softly.

"I know."

" 'You know,' " he echoed with a laugh. He leaned in to whisper. "This is the part where you compliment me back."

"Oh." Rayne beamed up at him. "Well, you don't look bad yourself."

Lucas chuckled, his voice deep and low. "I haven't been to a dance since . . ." His smile crumbled.

Olivia. She knew, and he never had to finish his sentence. Rayne could feel the unspoken words linger between them like an uninvited guest. Trying to break the tension, she stepped a little closer, mere centimeters between them as they swayed. "So, why did you come to this one?"

"You wanted one dance, right?"

"So, you're here for me?"

He shook his head, a sad smile playing his lips. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Overthink it," he said, his voice soft. "Just . . . thank me."

Rayne couldn't hold back her grin. "I think you're the one who should be thanking me," she said, feeling bold. "Look at how blessed you are right now."

Tranquility settled around her, the haunting worries of the past few months slowly fading, and the music washed over them like a sultry summer breeze, a fleeting moment of peace amidst the looming shadows of the coming Pennsylvania winter. His arms were the sanctuary she had hoped they'd be, and Rayne lost herself in the moment—in the way his body moved against hers like the tide over sand. Here, the darkness couldn't reach them, and the only thing that mattered was the way their hearts beat in perfect rhythm to the melody.

◢✥◣

This night would truly be one to remember. Inspired by Rayne's insight, Cole took it upon himself to play matchmaker. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it sooner. Rayne's effect on him was undeniable. Her genuine compassion for his friends was something he deeply admired, and it made him want to become a better person. With that in mind, he caught Pierce and Jackie exchanging apprehensive glances and gently ushered them toward the dance floor. He was determined to lift Lucas's spirits and bring everyone together tonight. Hearts would sing.

"Oh, I don't know, Cole," Jackie began nervously, "I'm not—"

"Actually," Pierce interjected gingerly. "I think . . . I think I'd love to, Jackie."

Jackie blushed at his response, an occurrence so uncharacteristic, that Cole couldn't suppress the wave of satisfaction that came over him. He couldn't wait to see what else he could accomplish with Rayne at his side. Beaming with pride, he grabbed both Pierce and Jackie's hands and pulled them towards the dance floor. "Come on, you two," he said. "It's just one dance. What could it hurt?"

But just as Pierce and Jackie had made their way to the dance floor, Cole came to an abrupt halt, catching sight of Rayne and Lucas across the hall. He'd been so focused on his mission that he hadn't realized the romantic nature of the music in the air.

And Rayne . . . was smiling.

It was the kind of smile that could not exist in isolation. Cole saw that same bliss twirling in his best friend's eyes. And God, he couldn't remember the last time he had seen Lucas smile. Not like this. Cole felt his pulse race, a pang of dark ache spreading throughout his palms and into his fingertips—a familiar pain that he tried to quell by squeezing his hands into fists. Now all he could think about was hurling that fist into a wall . . .

I just want to see you smile, he thought suddenly, remembering the words he had told Rayne not too long ago.

That was all he had wanted . . .

The way Rayne looked at his best friend now, and the way Lucas looked back at her—it was as if they were in their own world, and Cole was the intruder. It had started with a simple, yet sudden, request from Rayne, and he had obliged. But now, as he watched her spin around with Lucas in matching midnight blues, Cole realized that maybe he had been the fool.

The one who was alone. The one who had been left behind.

He watched as Rayne's hands moved over Lucas's shoulders, the length of his body pressed against hers. A sense of foreboding consumed Cole's mind—a sense that maybe, just maybe, their happiness was fleeting, and that the darkness was slowly closing in around them all.

◢✥◣

Emma and Dorian found themselves sitting in a faintly illuminated living room, the air thick with incense and candles. The antique furniture scattered about was covered in dusty, yellowed sheets, while strange symbols and markings adorned the walls. A large wooden cabinet with glass doors stood along the eastward wall, filled with jars of mysterious liquids, herbs, and statuettes. The only sources of light were a few candles and a feeble lamp that cast eerie shadows across the room.

"You're being awfully quiet," Emma said, trying to pierce through the silence.

"I am speaking with the boy," Braiden replied gruffly.

"The boy?" Dorian questioned, his voice tinged with disbelief. "You mean, my brother?"

With disdain in his eyes, Braiden held up his finger to shush.

"Well, can you tell us anything?"

Braiden scoffed, gesturing the empty space beside him as though it were a cherished guest. "Can't you see I'm trying to have a conversation over here? Now hush."

"No!" Dorian stood, aiming his finger at the demonologist. "Quit playing games, goddamn it! We're here for answers! So, what is this? Is it possession?" The word seemed even stranger rolling off his tongue. "Is that what we're dealing with?"

"My, my. He's very rude," Braiden remarked casually to the air next to him. With pinky raised, he sipped from a tiny floral teacup. "From what I gather, possession is the least of your worries, I'm afraid."

Emma understood Dorian's growing fury. She could not begin to imagine how difficult this must have been for him. Still, it wasn't productive. Although she had to admit, her patience was beginning to thin as well. She faced the medium. "Is this . . . how these things normally go?"

"What, do clients normally bring the spirits with them?" Braiden said with a chuckle. "Can't say that they do. We conduct a seance, and I get to decide who comes and who goes, but this . . ." He waved his hand dismissively. "This is an entirely different affair. Your brother is remarkably strong. Trained, mind you, though it seems to have backfired on his master."

Master? Dorian was confused. "Trained? By who?"

Braiden rolled his eyes dramatically. "Oh, I don't know, the demon, probably."

"Demon?" Emma became aware of goosebumps along her nape.

"Well, not merely a demon. Leviathan."

Dorian and Emma looked at each other, bewildered by the information. They had no way to understand the implications. The name sent chills down their spines, and Emma could only comprehend how out of her depth they were.

"The Leviathan," Braiden pressed. "Demon Lord of the Seven Seas. Prince of Envy. That Leviathan." Braiden huffed, his voice thick with mockery. "Oh, for goodness sake. You two idiots have stumbled upon his playground away from home. Here in Pennsylvania, of all places." He tossed the back of his hand toward the air beside him. "And then you bring his henchmen right to my doorstep." He sighed. "You know, I hear Florida is delightful this time of year. Anyone fancy a trip?"

"Playground," Dorian repeated. "You're telling me that Maria J. Westwood is supposed to be a playground for some demon? I work for a reform school, Braiden."

"Yes, a secret reform school for the wealthy elite, Dorian," Braiden shot back. "Keep up." He turned his attention to the spirit. "Yes, thank you, Daniel. See, the dead one is clearly the smart one. Shame." Braiden's eyes flickered to Emma. "The demon admires their devious ruse, but he also resents it. He enjoys tempting souls into heresy."

Something clicked for Dorian. "The suicides?"

"Not suicides," Braiden said smoothly, his expression turning grave. "Sacrifices. He's trying to open a portal."