Rayne Foster regained consciousness in the heart of the Maria J. Westwood courtyard, her mind a chaotic whirlwind of disorientation, spinning in twenty different directions as she lay motionless on her back. Above her, the sky stretched like a vast canvas, a tapestry of shimmering stars and ink-black mystery. Blurred orbs of red and blue flashed over her eyes, vibrant yet mystifying, like distant fireworks exploding in her mind. Her hand outstretched toward them. Sirens blared, their screams slicing through the air, a haunting chorus fading with the screech of tires until silence loomed once more.

"Rayne," a voice broke through the mayhem of her mind. "Rayne, look at me." Her eyes slid to the right, her vision settling over her teacher, Dorian Matthews. "Can you hear me?" he pressed. "Nod if you're with me."

With great reluctance, she complied, confusion swarming her.

Where was she? What happened?

Dorian's gaze shot upward, his neck straining as he bellowed across the courtyard, "Someone get Doctor MacGowan!" Then, he returned his attention to her, those pale blue irises glowing with urgency in the silvery light, a beacon amidst the chaos.

But Rayne didn't want to be found. She tried to turn away, the weight of her body forbidding her. Everything was so heavy; she could do little more than simply close her eyelids. Every breath was a monumental endeavor, her chest feeling the weight of a thousand-ton cave in. She tried to inhale. The effort caused an upsurge in her heartbeat that made her eyes pop open in panic.

"Rayne, I need you to breathe, okay?" Dorian urged firmly, noting her struggle. Another figure tried to approach, but he held up a hand, keeping the shadow at bay. "Not now, Bradford! Give her space!" His fingers gently grazed her chin. "Rayne, stay with me now."

She stared up, Dorian's face silhouetted by the luminous moon, a halo around the black curtain of his hair. For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw a flicker of a scar across his nose, a dimple in his cheek. "Come back to me, sweetheart," he whispered.

A sharp inhalation finally broke free! She breathed in so deeply, it felt like a tidal wave, sweeping through her, flooding all of her senses. She could breathe! She could feel! She could remember! The pain, the loneliness, and oh, the crushing weight of failure!—it all ripped through her like a gaping, jagged wound, everything spilling over! She gasped again. Memories besieged her, vivid and suffocating. She remembered standing in the woods with Dorian, and then . . . the scream. Oh, God! Her soul had recognized it immediately, a visceral echo reverberating her core.

Lucas.

She recalled the heart-stopping gravity of the moment as she and Dorian raced back to the courtyard, following the cry that obliterated the silence of the night. Rayne was stumbling as she neared the school, eyes falling over smears of crimson, an impacted bush, and an empty trail of displaced gravel and blood. There was no body, but she knew—she knew with horrifying certainty that this blood belonged to Lucas. The sight had caused her to black out on the spot, her knees giving way, oxygen failing to supply her brain; and now, here she was, coming to in the middle of the courtyard.

The recollection clawed its way up her drying throat, forcing a cry from her lips, "No!"

Dorian's hand clasped hers tightly as awareness ripped through her.

"Lucas!" she wailed. "Oh, God! I—I didn't tell him . . . I didn't tell him I—" Tears spilled over, relentless as she found Dorian's eyes, the echoes of a scar having vanished from his face now. Her irises stirred. "Say it wasn't him."

"They've taken him to the hospital," Dorian said slowly, the weight of his words settling like lead in her stomach.

"Is he . . . ?"

"He's hurt. Badly. We'll know more soon." He drove his chin over his shoulder, scanning the courtyard. "Where the hell is MacGowan?"

Footsteps thundered across the gravel. Doctor Campbell emerged under the fall of moonlight, her face cloaked in shadows, the jewelry around her neck glinting with a cold shimmer as it hung over Rayne. "How bad is she?" the doctor demanded, grabbing her gear.

"Shock, I think," replied Dorian. "You know her history. She's at risk for a psychotic break. We're gonna need MacGowan."

"Where is he?" the doctor pressed, eyes narrowing.

Rayne searched Dorian's face as they exchanged terse words, a glimmer of confusion cutting through the fog. "Y-you called me 'sweetheart'?"

Doctor Campbell glanced at Dorian, who shrugged his shoulders like he had no idea what she was talking about. The doctor's voice became steely. "Rayne, that boy is tough as nails, you hear me. He's gonna make it."

"Wh-what happened?"

"He . . ." The doctor hesitated, meeting Dorian's gaze. "Fell off the roof, it looks like."

"That trail . . . the trail of blood?"

"Tough as nails," she repeated. "He crawled for help."

"She doesn't need to hear this," Dorian interjected, his voice taut.

"Yes, she does. Her boyfriend's a goddamn tank." The doctor's eyes found hers. "Rayne, I'm not gonna sugarcoat it—Lucas broke many, many bones in his body, but he managed to crawl all the way to Security for help. He's a fighter, okay? He'll pull through. I know he will."

"He wouldn't do this," Rayne insisted. "I saw that look between you two. This isn't another suicide. H-he didn't do this!" She struggled to sit up, eyes scanning the courtyard for any sight of her friends. Huddled near the fountain, she found Pierce and Cole, their voices rising in a heated exchange. "Pierce, please! They took him! The shadow people! They got Lucas! We have to—!"

"I'm sedating her," said the doctor, and before Rayne could grasp another thought, darkness surged around her once again, pulling her under. 

◢✥◣

Cole Bradford stood trembling by the fountain, his body finally betraying him. Every muscle ached, the fading adrenaline leaving his limbs heavy. Weak. The worst of it was in his back—where the taser prongs had struck him, a searing pain radiating with every breath. His fist, still throbbing from tearing open old wounds when he'd punched stone, shot stabbing twinges up his arm; narrow, ruby streams spilled over his knuckles, dripping into the swirling basin below. His chest heaved, breaths growing more ragged, fury still flickering even as exhaustion crept in. But he clung to that anger. It was all he had left. He turned, locking his glare onto Pierce.

"Where the hell were you?" Cole spat, the words coming out harsher than he'd intended, his voice trembling as the pain in his hands became harder to ignore. "Every single one of you shut me out, just when everything was falling apart, but I could've done something! I could've helped!"

"You? Help?" Pierce took a step forward, meeting Cole's gaze without flinching. "You've been treating us like pawns for months, expecting us to just fall in line while you call all the shots. And when Lucas stopped doing that, when he finally started standing up for himself—"

"Lucas wasn't standing up for himself! He was getting himself killed!" Cole's fists curled again, though the tender spasms that tore through his fingers forced him to release them just as quickly. "And you knew, Pierce! You knew something was going on, but you kept me in the dark anyway! You should've protected him. If you were gonna leave my side to stand by him, then you should've kept him safe! The way I would have!"

Pierce's gaze darkened, and for a second, there was nothing but the sound of the fountain's water trickling between them. "Maybe if you weren't so obsessed with control—so damn focused on Rayne—then we all could've fought this thing together."

Cole flinched, the last wave of adrenaline finally subsiding, leaving nothing but raw, unrelenting pain. The taser burn flared up again, his body remembering the trauma he'd forced it to ignore. "So everyone knew about Rayne and Luke except me, huh?"

"No." Pierce shook his head. "I didn't know. But I get why they hid it,"—his eyes raked over him—"why they fought their feelings for so long."

"You think that's what this is? That I'm just some monster getting in the way of their love? Lucas is on a stretcher right now, Pierce! He could die, and I didn't even know he was in danger because you—"

"Because, what? Because I let him make his own choices? He came to you! He needed you to trust him, Cole! For once! But you just had to be in control. Had to be the one pulling all the strings. Again."

Behind them, the medics wheeled Rayne onto her own stretcher, the shadows swallowing her form as she was taken toward the infirmary. Her body was limp, sedated to keep from spiraling any further. Cole's eyes strained at the sight of her—lost, shattered, broken in ways he couldn't touch or mend. Even worse, her grief wasn't for him. She was mourning Lucas. The jealousy gnawed at him, bitter and unwelcome, even as another ache coiled around his heart . . .

Lucas could die tonight.

And in that moment, Cole faced a haunting truth: he was on the brink of losing them both, teetering on the edge of a darkness that threatened to consume him whole.

He ran a bloodied hand through his hair, streaking dark strands with crimson. His knuckles throbbed in time with his heart, the primal dread in his core only growing stronger. Pierce's gaze fell over the stains splattered across Cole's dress shirt—Lucas's blood.

"Regardless of everything, Cole, I'm glad it was you who found him," Pierce said, his voice dropping to a somber whisper. Their eyes locked, dimmed by unspoken regret. "And I hope you were good to him . . . in case those moments were his last."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, a sob rising in Cole's chest, but he choked it back, forcing his fists to clench tighter, trembling with the effort to keep himself together. His vision swam, the exhaustion, pain, and fear threatening to overwhelm him. Pierce's words faded into the background, drowned out by the ringing in Cole's ears as his mind drifted, spiraling back to the moment when everything had gone to hell.

The moment he had found Luke's body.

It had come after he'd sent Rayne toward the soccer field, after he tackled one of the guards to the ground. Then, without warning, a jolt of electricity shot through him as the second guard tasered him. A violent inferno erupted within, every nerve firing in agony, muscles convulsing as he lay pinned. The guard beneath him thrashed too, their bodies caught in a brutal dance of shared electricity. But through that blinding pain, one thought burned fiercely in his mind: Find Lucas.

And then, still writhing, Cole heard it. The scream—ripped from someone's throat, raw and anguished—followed by the unmistakable thud of a body hitting the ground. Cole had felt that crash reverberate through him, a bone-deep resonance that ignited something primal within.

Adrenaline surged, a fiery current that cut through the haze of suffering, driving him to break free. Ignoring the ache in his muscles, he wrenched himself from the ground, every ounce of strength channeled into his next move. He could still feel the satisfying crack as his fist connected with the second guard's jaw, sending the man crumpling to the ground next to his fallen comrade, who still twitched from the taser's aftershock. But that blow did little to ease the knot of terror tightening around his heart. All that mattered now was the source of that scream. Deep down, he already knew the answer.

"Lucas!" Cole yelled, breathless as he fled the scene.

His body was running on instinct, every muscle straining as though the scream itself was dragging him forward. Rounding the corner, skidding on loose gravel, Cole's eyes locked onto something in the distance. A bush lay crushed, as though something—or someone—had crashed into it. His heart pounded as he followed a trail of smeared blood, splattered across displaced gravel, a jagged red path leading toward the front of the school.

"Lucas . . ." The name barely escaped his lips.

Cole's stomach churned, and for a second, it felt as though the ground had fallen away beneath him. Heat rushed his neck, nails digging into the palms of clenched fists, every fiber of his being fighting to hold back the wave of rising panic.

Just ahead, Lucas was sprawled facedown on the front steps of the school. Bloodied and broken, his golden hair matted with scarlet, an ethereal glow fell over his skin. Even in ruin, he looked infuriatingly graceful, like something out of tragic painting. His back rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, each one pulling him further from life.

"No, no, no." Cole rushed toward him, falling recklessly to his knees, hands shaking as he flipped him over. "Lucas! Answer me, man!"

Blood stained the steps like dark wine on marble. Cole's pulse spiked at the sight of his friend lying there so still. Something was terribly wrong with his breathing, his body expanding in an uneven rhythm. In a frenzy, Cole ripped open Lucas's dress shirt, revealing a dark webbing of black and purple bruises pooling like storm clouds beneath the skin of his ribcage. One side of his chest barely lifted, while the other stuttered upward, and there was a sound—faint but unmistakable—like wet paper, tearing inside his lungs. It rattled with every exhale, a sickening, gurgling sound that clawed at Cole's insides, confirming that something deep within Lucas had shattered, and no matter how much Cole willed it, he couldn't put him back together!

"Lucas!" He cupped his friend's blanching face, brushing back blood-matted curls, his touch gentle despite the storm raging inside him. A clammy chill had already begun to settle into Luke's skin. "Lucas, what happened? Who did this to you?"

Lucas's lips parted, but only a faint rasp escaped, drowning in pain. "I . . . I—"

"No, don't talk. Just . . . hold on." But Cole's own voice trembled with a desperation he couldn't hide. His best friend—the brother he'd never had—was slipping away, and there was nothing he could do!

Lucas whispered, "Sor . . . ry."

"Sorry?" Cole's throat tightened, a raw anger bubbling beneath his words. "You don't get to say that to me. You should've told me! You should've—"

"You—"

"I was an asshole, I know!" Cole's voice cracked as he gripped Lucas's collar, pulling him closer as if by force alone he could keep him tethered to life. "But you still should've told me! I would've— Fuck! Lucas, hold on." Cole looked around frantically. "Somebody, help!"

"Cole . . . breathe," Lucas told him, and the irony was absolutely maddening as he coughed, blood splattering his lips. "We've . . . faced worse. Just—" His fading gaze trailed upward, a fragile attempt at reassurance, the stars above reflecting in his eyes. Exposed in the moonlight, his chest resembled a marble statue—cracked, yet still holding a somber grace. But his breaths were growing fainter, the bruises blooming like poison, spreading their tendrils deeper into his body. "Just don't . . . leave me . . . alone." A tear slipped down his cheek. "P-please?"

"What?" Cole's outrage burned hotter, especially when he understood with heartbreaking clarity that Lucas was telling him that he didn't want to die . . . alone. "You think I'm letting you die today?" Rage flared his chest, white-hot and savage. "You're my fucking brother, Lucas. I would die for you—don't you get that yet? You don't get to leave me! No matter what shit comes between us . . ." His words cut off as he slammed his fist into the stairs beneath them, hot tears finally streaming down his face as he shook his head wildly. "Dammit! I have to get Doctor Campbell, okay? I have to get you help."

Luke's eyes quivered with exhaustion, but he forced himself to speak. "I don't think . . . we can stop it."

"Yes, we can. You're gonna be okay."

"No, I mean—" Lucas struggled for breath, and then, his lips moved again, ruby pebbles splashing onto his chin as he whispered, "Cole." He grabbed Cole's hand. Met his eyes. "Demon."

"Demon?" The word echoed, unreal, like a nightmare creeping into reality.

Memories crashed in: Bianca's voice, shaken but certain. "It was like every nerve in my body was wired to someone else." She had described it like being trapped, a passenger in her own skin. Now, staring at Lucas, barely clinging to life, the pieces were finally clicking into place. This wasn't just an injury. This was exactly what Bianca had warned him about. The body snatcher—the thing that was drawn to chaos and anger. It had been watching, waiting for Cole to slip, for that perfect moment of weakness.

And now it's here.

Cole gripped Lucas's hand back, feeling the warmth from it drain too quickly. "Demon," he whispered, the word heavy with a sudden, terrible understanding.

"It's after Rayne." Lucas winced. "Promise . . . me. Don't . . . leave her."

Her name sparked a new fire in Cole, fury and fear crashing together like two wild flames. He'd been so fixated on Rayne, so wrapped up in his own feelings, that he hadn't seen the danger right in front of them. The thought clawed at his insides: Had Lucas kept him in the dark to protect him, or was it because he didn't trust him anymore?

"You knew? You fucking knew, and you didn't tell me?" Cole's eyes were wild. "You knew, and you didn't give me a chance to fight with you? You dumbass! I let you win one fucking fight, and you let it go straight to your head!"

Lucas blinked weakly, the light in his eyes flickering like a dying flame. His lips twitched into something that almost looked like a smile, his voice barely a breath. "Bullshit."

And he wasn't wrong. They both knew who won that fight fair and square.

"Fuck you. I'm not doing this without you, Luke."

"Yes . . . you are." His voice grew weaker, his grip around Cole's hand softening. "You need . . . to be strong."

"No." Tears of frustration streamed down Cole's face as he held Luke's hand tighter. "Don't you dare fucking die on me, asshole. I swear, if you do, I will never forgive you." His voice fell, softer, more desperate. "I'll kill you myself when this is all over. You hear me?"

Lucas's fingers squeezed once, barely a ghost of the strength he used to have, and then they slackened, his chest heaving with a wet, ragged gasp. His eyes fluttered shut, his body trembling in Cole's arms.

"No, no, no." Cole's eyes widened. "Not like this. I need you, Luke. Rayne needs you."

And just like that, Cole froze. What else could he do? He couldn't just leave him here, alone and dying in the cold grip of night. But he had no choice, no time to hesitate. As he looked down at Lucas's pale face, the way the moonlight kissed patches of crimson, a memory surfaced—freshman year, the two of them laughing under the summer sun, back before their friendship had been marred by blood and violence. The warmth between them had vanished long ago, but now, as if by some cruel twist of fate, Cole realized just how desperately he needed it back. He needed his best friend back.

"I'm gonna save you, you stubborn bastard," he groaned, pressing his forehead against him, clinging to the faintest hint of warmth still left. "Just hold on."

With a final, reluctant glance, Cole stumbled to his feet, his legs unsteady from the shock but fueled by sheer determination. He bolted toward the infirmary, each step pounding with the urgency of a promise. And all the while, Lucas's final words echoed in his mind—a haunting refrain he couldn't afford to ignore: a demon was after Rayne.

Now, as the sounds of the courtyard returned—shouts in the distance, the chatter of medics, the relentless trickle of the fountain—the memory shattered around him, drawing him back to the present moment. Cole's heart thundered, each beat a reminder of the pain that still lingered, both in body and soul.

"Cole?" Pierce's voice broke through the haze, steady and grounding. "You with me?"

Cole blinked, his eyes still locked onto the smears of Luke's blood on his shirt. He forced his gaze back to Pierce. "Yeah," he breathed, fists unclenching. Cole drew in a shaky breath, swallowing the bile of regret that rose in his throat. "Yeah, I'm here."

Pierce stepped closer, the distance between them narrowing as their mutual frustration morphed into something more productive—a glint of determination. "We need to stop fighting each other. If we're going to get through this, we have to work together. For Rayne. For Lucas." Pierce took in a ragged breath. "For Hillary."