It is early morning when Rayne Foster realizes she is not alone in this bed. Her small frame is pressed against lean muscle, her fingers curled around his side. Strong arms pull her closer. Sleepily, she nuzzles her nose into the warmth of his neck, before suddenly, she remembers where she is.

Mr. Matthews' dorm room.

Rayne whips away from his body with force, but a hand catches the small in her lower back, pulling her hips firmly back to him. Trembling, she looks up to meet his eyes, and without warning, time itself . . . seems to slow down.

Sunlight bathes the walls, turning the room into a sanctuary of gold. Tiny, glimmering specks of light float lazily around them. Warmth rushes Rayne's cheeks, and even hotter tears instantly wash over them, her lips quivering over the breath before a sob.

"L-Lucas?" she breathes. She lifts a hand to his face, her fingers trembling as they touch his skin, and he nods softly, turning to plant a kiss on the inside of her palm.

In his presence, this unfamiliar room has been transformed. The bed, the sofa, the curtains—they all have a nearly translucent quality about them, gleaming faintly as if made of silk spun with light.

She sniffles, burying her face in his chest. "Oh, Lucas, I had the worst dream."

"I'm here, baby," he assures her, and his embrace is like a weighted blanket, keeping her from unraveling. She's missed this so much, their nights cuddled together in the darkness of that little shack. Only now does she realize that the most horrifying nights of her life had carried with them a beauty that she will treasure forever, a sort of timeless sweetness she had never known before and isn't sure she will ever know again.

Lucas's fingers caress her neck, tilting her head back, and he kisses her. Rayne's lips are still beneath his. The feel of it is strange, like kissing wet stones, so she pulls back, eyeing the sleek, rosy fullness of his mouth. Missing the taste.

Something is horribly wrong.

"This . . . is a dream," she realizes.

His hand cups her face. "It is."

Her breath hitches. "You're not . . . real?"

"I am," he says softly, running his thumb through the stream of her tears. "I am very, very real."

Her eyes snap up, her hand falling over his, desperate to hold onto him, pressing his fingers closer to her face, as though she could imprint the weight of him onto her forever. "What is this, honey? A-are you—?" She stops herself before she can say it.

Dead?

The word turns to ash in her throat.

He shakes his head gently. "No, I'm just . . . not awake right now."

"Lucas," she begins, and suddenly, she isn't sure how the sentence should end. Her eyes water again, though the tears never fully breach, and regret stings her face, her nose hot. There is a need within her. Her heart had been ripped completely open last night. When she saw his blood on the school grounds, everything—absolutely everything—she never had the courage to say finally rained over her, like shrapnel discharging from an inevitable explosive. In that moment, she realized the death of avoidance would have pained her far less than vulnerability ever could have. She feels the wound of it still, fresh and raw, and knows this may be her only chance. "Lucas, I . . . I love you. I'm so sorry I didn't say it before, but . . . I really do."

"I know," he whispers, those full lips curving into the softest smile she'd ever known. Though she senses something, relief perhaps, melting those honey eyes. "I love you, too, baby."

She shakes her head, feeling the panic swell. "Please, don't leave, Lucas. I can't do this without you." His ensuing smile confuses her, her heart tight in her chest. "Why is that funny?"

"It's not funny. Not at all. I've just . . . had this conversation already." He presses a kiss into her forehead. "You're both so stubborn. I have to be at death's door for either of you to admit how much you need me." Before she can ask him who he's referring to, Lucas assures her, "No matter what happens, Rayne, I'm with you. You will never be alone. I promise."

Her mind rushes, all of the troubles of the night rushing to the surface. "Mr. Matthews said it's not the shadow people. It's a, a, a demon. And it's trying to open a portal." When she looks at him again, really looks at him, she sees the guilt in his frown. "You knew? That's what you wouldn't tell me? Did you find that in your little book?"

He ignores the bite in her tone, regret bleeding from his lips. "I am so sorry. I should have told you, but I wanted to protect you. I didn't mean to—"

"Everyone knew?" she asks, frustrated.

"No," he says quickly. "It was only a theory. When I thought about Hillary, and Olivia, and how they were the ones who . . ." He sighs. "It made me think of possession—that something else had to be forcing their hands, but I just . . . I didn't want it to be true. And I had to look into it." He stroked her cheek, pushing her curls back. "I promise, I didn't know anything. Not for sure. Not until I was staring right into its eyes . . ."

"Did it . . . force you to jump?"

He shakes his head. "It was Tony."

"The janitor?" Rayne suddenly remembers his eyes. The demon's emerald had swirled in them once before.

"He threw me off that building, but . . . he didn't have the strength of a man anymore. He was . . ." The light dims dramatically, as if a tuft of clouds have suddenly shifted over the sun beyond the window. Lucas looks through his peripherals, then meets her eye, more serious now. "Rayne, there's something else."

"What else could there possibly be?"

"The shadow people," he says gravely. "They're the students. The ones who died."

"The students? You mean . . . all this time—?"

"Hillary . . . Olivia . . ." he trails off, his voice breaking. "They're out there. Right now. They're trapped."

"Lucas," she says slowly, not quite sure how to say this. Scrolling through her memories now, Rayne recalls a tenderness in one of them, particularly toward Lucas—almost as if one of the shadows had been reaching out to touch him. "Lucas, there was a shadow that would—"

"I know," he says, lowering his eyes. "I think it was . . . Olivia."

"I'm so sorry, Lucas." Rayne strokes his face this time, brushing her fingers through his hair. "I'll find her," she promises. "I'll find Olivia. And Hillary, too. I'll hold their hands, and we'll finally know what happened to them. I'll find out everything."

"Lost souls," he whispers, quoting the book, voice breaking. "What if all the horror we felt, looking into their eyes, was just . . . their own fears? Their own pain. Whatever horrors they've had to face, being trapped between worlds."

"Maybe they know something that can help us," Rayne suggests.

Even now, Lucas seems conflicted, but determination tightens his expression. "Rayne, it's happening. Soon. Days, maybe less. If that thing opens a portal—"

"It'll be Hell on earth," she finishes under her breath.

"The next few days won't be easy," he begins, shaking his head, "but you're going to have to face this thing head-on, do you understand me? Don't you dare give up. Don't give in."

"Why? Why me?"

Before he can answer, the darkness of their room flashes with the echoes of emerald lightning, blasting the horizon just beyond the curtains. His grip tightens around her.

"Why do we always think we have more time?" he asks, eyes fixed on the window. Suddenly, he pulls her in for another kiss, and this time, Rayne melts into it. If it were up to her, this kiss would last forever. But too soon, Lucas has to pull away. "Find Cole. You hear me?" His fingers tighten in her hair. Swiftly, he pulls her close to his chest, burying his face in her neck as he squeezes her firmly. "Do not let that thing get inside you anymore, Rayne. It's trying to break you. Don't let it. You can't let it win."

"What do you mean, Lucas? I don't understand."

"You need to wake up now," he says, his voice sharpening. He pulls back, eyes wide. "Wake up."

◢✥◣

In the morning, Rayne Foster's eyes snapped open, stretching as she raised her head from the pillow. After a nearly endless series of false awakenings and disorienting blackouts, she was both relieved and unnerved to know exactly where she was for once. Her teacher, Dorian Matthews, stood before the mirror in black slacks, rolling the cuffs of his burgundy dress shirt. His reflection caught sight of her, stirring awake behind him. Without turning, he offered a tight smile and a strained nod, but his eyes remained fixed on the reflection, never turning to face her directly.

Rayne studied him moving about the room, a stiffness in his shoulders as he avoided her gaze. None of the past twenty-four hours felt real anymore, her mind swimming with too many revelations to really categorize them appropriately. She wasn't sure what to say but felt the need to say . . . something.

She settled with: "You're quiet this morning."

He sighed. "Just . . . boundaries, you know?" His voice was taut, and he still wouldn't look at her. "It's been a rough night . . ." His movements became more agitated as he stepped into the open bathroom and began brushing his teeth.

Funny. The words 'rough night' didn't quite capture the gravity of the evening that had transpired. Not in her opinion, anyway. Hesitantly, she announced, "I . . . I had a dream about Lucas," and part of her wondered if it had been more than a dream. If it had really been him.

She had felt his presence so vividly—his warmth, his voice. It hadn't been like any other dream, which typically faded into a haze upon waking. This one clung to her, the details sharp and too clear to dismiss. Was it possible that Lucas had found some way to reach her? She had heard of strange things like this happening in moments of life and death—souls reaching out when the body was too weak to—but it seemed too fantastical. And honestly, she couldn't bear the thought of him being that close to death anyway.

Dorian spat out his toothpaste, his voice flat and gruff. "That's good."

"How is he?" she asked softly. "Have you heard anything?"

"The surgery went well."

Rayne narrowed her eyes. "What aren't you telling me?"

Dorian wiped his face with a towel, sighed, and made his way to the sofa. Unable to avoid her gaze any longer, he met it gingerly. "Rayne. Lucas is . . . in a coma. They're not sure if he'll ever wake up."

It seemed as though he thought this news might break her. Instead, the dream—or whatever it had been—lent her some semblance of strength. Hope, even.

She nodded, her voice steadier than she expected. "He will."

Now that she could finally get a clear look at him, Rayne saw how drained he appeared, shadows clinging beneath his eyes, as if the weight of the night carved lines into his face.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," she said, half-joking, trying to lighten the heavy silence between them.

Dorian rubbed his temples. "Rayne," he began, voice tense and frayed, "how much of last night do you remember?"

A chill curled down her spine. "Just flashes," she admitted, her voice unsteady. "I blacked out. I was sedated. Everything's a blur . . . I think the whole thing just really messed with my head or something." She stopped, searching his expression. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Dorian's face was ashen, his gaze locked onto hers with a helpless sort of intensity. "Rayne, I don't think that's all it was."

"What do you mean?" Her heart stumbled. "You're starting to scare me."

"It had you, Rayne," he whispered. "The demon—it possessed you again last night."

"Last night?" she repeated, panicked. Her blood ran cold, his words slamming against her trembling frame like ice water. Dream-Lucas had just warned her not to let that thing back in—but somehow, it already had? Worse, she didn't even know that it had happened? Perhaps that was why she had experienced so many blackouts during the night. "And I—I didn't feel it?"

Dorian's face twisted with anguish. "It spoke to me . . . with your voice." His broad shoulders shook, breaking the stillness between them. "You were gone, Rayne. Something else was in your place. And all I could do was watch."

Rayne's mind spun, fragments of foggy memories and dread mingling, a storm raging beneath her skin. Her hands began to tremble. "Well, wh-what did it want?"

Dorian's eyes became distant. "It said Emma's still here. In Pennsylvania. Still trying to fight. And that her plans won't work. That—" He swallowed hard, trying to steady himself. "It said that my brother worked for him. And now . . ." he trailed off, sharp eyes meeting hers with scrutiny. "Rayne, I need you to think back to last night. Do you remember who called you 'sweetheart'?"

She blinked. "Yeah. You did. It was awkward."

"I never said those words."

"Sure, you did. You—" Rayne stopped herself, remembering the momentary flicker of a scar, a dimple. "Was it . . . ?"

Dorian's voice dropped, finishing her question. "Did my brother call you 'sweetheart'?"

"That can't be right," Rayne muttered to herself. "Why would he? Daniel is so—"

"Scary? In your dreams?" Dorian's tone was clipped, his jaw tightening, though his eyes softened as they held hers. "I don't think he's trying to scare you. I think that's the demon, twisting things, trying to keep Daniel away from you. But I can feel it . . . all around me. I can't explain it, but I just know it. All my brother wants is to see you again."

"Again?" Rayne shook her head. "Wait, is that why you've been taking care of me?"

"I think so," he admitted, a flicker of guilt sweeping his eyes. "Everything makes sense now. From the very beginning, Daniel was the one who—"

"No, nothing makes sense!" Rayne cut him off. "Why? Why me? Why does Daniel want to see me? I don't even know him."

Dorian sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I wish I knew, Rayne. But I won't let this thing get any closer to you. Not if I can help it."

"How?"

"Honestly, I don't know. It got to you once, even with me in the same room. I don't—" He buried his head in his hands, exhaling a slow, tense breath as he regained control, his gaze settling back on her with the faintest glimmer of gentleness. "I'm just as lost as you are, Rayne. But I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Just . . . please, let me help you. Don't shut me out anymore."

Rayne shook her head, standing. "No, I have to find my friends."

"Rayne—"

"We're the ones with targets on our backs! I have to protect them," she declared, storming toward the door. Before she could open it all the way, Dorian's hand slammed against it, forcing it shut with a sharp thud.

Rayne stood still, confusion paralyzing her.

His body loomed over her. It was clear to her now just how deeply exhaustion had clawed into his face—those dark circles, the faint stubble across his cheeks. He stared down at her. "Rayne, what exactly is the plan here? You can't even protect yourself."

Rayne looked him up and down. "Yeah, well . . . Neither can you, apparently."

The retort struck deep. Dorian inhaled sharply and turned away, shame haunting his cheeks and tightening his jaw. He closed his eyes. "Rayne, please don't do this. If you just—"

Her eyes narrowed. "Dorian, if you don't let me leave, I will scream."

"Fine, then scream," he said, and the challenge seemed to have caught them both off guard. His neck muscles tensed, yet his gaze softened, an odd vulnerability clashing with the tension simmering in his posture.

Rayne gave him a dark smile. "You think I won't?"

Finally, he exhaled slowly, the tension easing just enough as he stepped back from the door. "I don't want to make you do anything you don't want to," he muttered, the edge in his voice giving way to quiet frustration. "Leviathan's done enough of that already."

Rayne held his gaze a moment longer, defiance flickering with something softer—an inkling of understanding she couldn't quite grasp. It was as if beneath their strained words, there was a thread binding them, something woven from the bond he shared with his brother, and, impossibly, with her as well.

But she couldn't linger any longer.

And so, without another word, she brushed past him, her footsteps receding down the hallway as the weight of the last night trailed her into the dawning day.

◢✥◣

Rayne darted through the campus, her breath catching as she rushed down the stairs, doing her best to avoid any patrolling security guards. Rayne couldn't shake the unsettling feelings that churned inside of her. All she wanted was to find someone—anyone—she could trust. When she finally spotted Spencer standing in the girls' dormitory hallway, relief washed over her. She barely had time to catch her breath before Spencer rushed up to her too, throwing his arms around her in a tight hug.

"Rayne, I've been looking for you everywhere!" His voice was breathless, filled with relief. He pulled back slightly, his flushed, freckled cheeks heavy with concern as he scanned her face. "Are you okay? I was so worried about you."

She sighed, last night still heavy on her heart. "I'm . . . dealing with it. What's going on?"

Without answering directly, Spencer grabbed her hand, his grip strangely firm. "Everyone's in the study room, Rayne. Pierce and Cole—they've teamed up. And Bianca knows things, too. Stuff none of us even had a clue about. It's like we've only been seeing pieces, but now—now, we're seeing the whole picture, and Rayne, it's . . . it's bad."

She barely processed his words before he tugged her into motion, his hand squeezing hers as if trying to reassure her she wasn't alone in this chaos. They hurried through the winding paths of the campus, the air cool on her flushed skin. Spencer's voice tumbled out beside her, his urgency contagious. "They've been sharing everything, putting all of the pieces together. Whatever's coming . . . We're all in this together now, okay?"

Rayne nodded, her heart pounding for reasons she couldn't fully name.

Fear? Anticipation? Perhaps it was all the same anymore.

By the time they reached the far corner of the Maria J. Westwood library, the quiet hum of campus life had faded, leaving only the hollow echoes of her racing thoughts. The secluded study room, usually a haven of focused, quiet work, felt different now—more like a war room, brimming with tension. The air was thick with a sense of compounded loss: first Hillary, and now, Lucas.

Around the large wooden table sat their small group, all in school uniforms except for Cole. Only Pierce and Spencer appeared calm enough to sit; Pierce leaned back, hands clasped behind his head, while Spencer had taken the seat next to him.

Near the window, David stood quietly, his gaze fixed on something distant. By the door, Bianca hugged herself tightly, her fingers digging into her sleeves. Jackie, beside her, exuded a restrained fury, her eyes hard and focused, but her hand moved gently along Bianca's arm in a silent show of support.

Rayne's gaze drifted to Cole, standing in the corner, arms crossed over his chest. His face was bruised, a scab forming on his split lip, and a blood-stained bandage looped around his knuckles. He avoided her gaze, his green eyes flickering in her direction only briefly before sliding away, as though she wasn't worth a second glance. His dark hair fell messily over his forehead, as if constantly running his fingers through it, and his clothes—a gray hoodie and black jeans—seemed like an afterthought. It was like he didn't have the energy for much of anything today.

Summoning a deep breath, Rayne steeled herself and walked over to him.

"Cole," she began softly, though she could already feel the words snagging in her throat. How could she even begin to unravel such a tangled knot of apologies? She was sorry for not trusting him, for keeping him in the dark, for hiding Lucas, for all of the secrets that had pushed them all toward the edge.

And last night—Cole's willingness to search for Lucas, to be struck by a taser for Lucas, despite everything that had transpired between them—left her feeling both humbled and ashamed.

Now, standing face-to-face, all those tangled feelings—the guilt, the regret, the gratitude—they lodged in her throat, too heavy to fully express. She searched his eyes, hoping he could sense what she couldn't say, the unspoken layers between them.

All she could manage was: "I'm so sorry, Cole. For everything."

"I wish you'd told me."

"Would you have believed me?"

He exhaled, a bitter smile ghosting his lips. "Would I have believed the girl who can read minds? When she says there's something hunting us?" His elbow nudged her lightly, a flicker of his old self shining through. "Without hesitation." But then the moment was gone, his voice falling into something more serious. "But I was talking about Lucas."

Rayne turned away. "I really didn't know, Cole. Until that night, we weren't even together. We didn't—"

"Yeah, I'm not buying it." The sweetness left him, any semblance of a smile quickly fading away. "He held you every night. Kept you safe." Those green eyes bore into her suddenly. "Maybe if it had been me, then things would have been—"

"Please, don't," she said quickly, raising her hand to silence him. "I really don't want this back and forth with you, Cole. The truth is, I miss him. And I'm in so much pain. So, please." Rayne looked up. "Don't make this harder. Not now."

Cole stared at her, his shoulders tense, before he let out a sigh and pulled her into a rough embrace. Rayne stiffened at first, her body taut and uncertain in his arms. Then, an almost ethereal vision of Lucas, bloodied on the front steps, clouded her mind—his dress shirt spilled open, Cole's hands trembling over his bruised chest, his tears falling over the purple plumes that whirled like painterly brush strokes.

It was a horrifying image, one she didn't quite understand. Had Cole—?

"Don't you dare fucking die on me," his voice rang out her mind, and Rayne could feel Cole's sorrow blooming in her own chest now, a dark ache that fanned out through her ribs. It bled into her own grief, fusing together until she couldn't tell where hers ended and his began.

"I miss him, too," whispered Cole, and finally, Rayne held him back, knowing it was true. And he needed this hug just as much as she did.

At the touch, a deeper understanding of Cole's feelings washed over her. She saw just how much he had revered Lucas, his mind coloring him like an elegant portrait, nestled in a lavish frame somewhere in the midst of his otherwise cluttered mind.

You're both so stubborn, Lucas had told her in that dream.

Had he been referring to her and Cole? Why did it take Lucas nearly dying for either of them to admit how much they cared about him?

The truth struck her suddenly: everyone Lucas had ever loved was forced, somehow, for some reason, to keep it hidden. Diluted. And in that moment, she knew with a fierce clarity that she needed Lucas to wake up—not just for her, but for himself. She wanted to love him out loud for all the world to see, to shower him with the public affection he so deserved. Lucas had given her so much, and now, it was her turn. Her turn to be the light that illuminated his life, instead of hiding in the shadows of doubt and hesitation.

Cole pulled back slightly, meeting her gaze. "Look, I know our history is . . ." he trailed off. "Well, anyway, Lucas asked me to look after you. And that's exactly what I'm going to do."

Part of her wanted to remind him that she didn't need looking after. After all, it seemed like everyone else kept falling apart all around her. Perhaps, if they all knew what was good for them, they'd stay as far away from her as possible. But instead, she let him have this moment. She nodded, offering a small smile.

Pierce leaned forward suddenly, asking the question everyone was thinking: "So what does this thing want?"

"Well, from what we can tell," Bianca began, exhaling, "it has two main objectives: killing us and—"

"Capturing people like Rayne," Cole finished.

Rayne nearly shivered at the words, though some part of it struck a chord of recognition. "Me?"

Jackie's voice was sharp. "Just what does that mean, Cole?"

Cole placed both hands on the mahogany, bracing himself, and faced Bianca. "B, you said this thing is after me." His voice lowered. "But Lucas . . . He told me it's after Rayne." 

A cold knot formed in Rayne's stomach. "When did Lucas tell you this?"

Pierce answered for him. "Cole was the one who found him. After the fall."

Rayne watched him closely, realizing the vision she had seen might have been the moment he found Lucas.

Perhaps as if realizing this as well, Cole kept his eyes on the table. "Alright, it seems like we've all accepted some level of insane here, so you might as well hear the rest." He finally lifted his gaze, sweeping the room with a measured look. "My sister, Lainey . . . She's been visiting me. In my dreams. A few times now."

Everyone was stunned, silent.

Pierce shot a look toward David, seeming to notice that he was the only one not surprised. He shook his head. "So when Spence tells you he sees shadows, you go running. But when Cole says his sister's a dream walker, you have no problem believing him?"

"It's not like that," David spat.

Before Pierce could press further, Spencer placed a hand on his arm, quieting him with a gentle touch that caused David's neck to tense up. "He had his reasons," Spencer whispered to Pierce. "Thanks for having my back though."

Jackie scoffed. "Can we get back on track here?"

"Yeah, I mean, what exactly are you talking about, Cole?" asked Bianca.

"My sister has a gift. Psychography, she called it." He exhaled, gathering his thoughts. "She draws things—images that reveal information about the past, the present, and even the future." He paused, gauging their reactions as the absurdity of it all sank in. "And she's not the only one. There's someone else, a friend of hers. He's a soul traveler. He can project his soul into other dimensions, and he's gotten significantly better at it now that he's dead."

"Now that he's dead?" Jackie echoed with disbelief. "Okay, well. Cole is clearly on one. Can we get back to reality please?"

Cole threw his hands up in exasperation.

"Jackie, this is our reality now," Pierce reminded her softly. "A demon, the apocalypse, shadow people. Whatever this is—it's happening. We should hear him out."

"Yes, please keep going," Spencer insisted, eyes locked onto Cole, more focused than anyone else in the room. "You were about to tell us what Rayne is, weren't you?"

The question seemed to have surprised David, Bianca, and Jackie, who all eyed her in such a way—Rayne was instantly transported to her first day of school. The stares. The loneliness. The isolating sense of dissimilarity. Ostracization.

Cole nodded. "Rayne is clairtangent." Again, his eyes swept the room, seeking some sort of reaction, perhaps validation. "Some of you might know this already, but Rayne can sense information, psychically, through touch."

Everyone simply stared, some processing a little more quickly than others. Like Spence, who whispered, "So cool," as an excited blush dulled his freckles.

"Well, what does this thing want with people like Rayne? People with gifts like that?" Pierce queried, ready to convert the information into something useful.

"There's more to . . ." Cole trailed off, trying to find the words. "Last night, Lainey's friend told me there's more to their powers than meets the eye. Under the right conditions, they can transform into something greater. Something . . . far more powerful. Dangerous, even." He gritted his teeth. "And that thing . . ." Heated eyes leveled to meet theirs. "It's building an army."