The city streets burned gold under the setting sun, every window a shard of fire.
Jace Hale walked with his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets, backpack slung low over one shoulder, head bent against the cold.
The sidewalks buzzed with afterschool life. Students clustered in laughing groups, cars honked at crosswalks, a street vendor shouted about roasted peanuts. Jace hardly noticed. His mind drifted, weighed down by the same heavy feeling that had been building for weeks.
He turned the corner by Sal's Grocery, the shortcut he always took home.
Footsteps echoed behind him, quick and sharp. Jace didn't look back. Not yet.
"Hey, Jace!"
He paused, forcing himself to smile as Kimberly caught up. Her curly hair bounced with every step, her backpack thudding against her side. She flashed him a grin, breathless.
"Thought you were trying to ditch me."
"You're slow," Jace said.
Kimberly narrowed her eyes, pretending to be offended. "Maybe you're just moody."
He shrugged, starting forward again. "Maybe."
They fell into step together, the easy rhythm of years of friendship smoothing over the silence. The kind of silence Jace preferred.
For a while, the only sounds were their footsteps and the distant roar of a bus pulling away.
A normal evening. Normal streets. Normal world.
But something still itched at the back of Jace's mind.
"Did you hear?" Kimberly said, voice low now, almost conspiratorial. "Another body. Same weird stuff as the others."
Jace glanced at her sideways. "Downtown?"
She nodded. "Two blocks from the station. They're saying... drained. Like, no blood."
He said nothing. His fingers tightened in his pockets.
"Your dad's working the case, right?"
"Yeah." Jace's voice came out flat. He didn't want to talk about his dad. Or the case. Or the fact that Detective Wayne Hale had been coming home later and later, his face set harder every night, like something inside him was cracking.
Kimberly nudged him with her elbow. "You okay? You've been... weird."
"I'm fine."
He wasn't. But what was he supposed to say? That sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night thinking he heard whispers at his window? That he kept seeing flashes of movement in alleys where nothing should have been?
He shook the thoughts away.
They crossed onto Marrow Lane, the shops thinning out, houses hunched low behind black iron fences. The world here felt heavier, shadows stretching longer.
Kimberly slowed, glancing around. "I hate this street. Always feels like someone's watching you."
"Paranoid," Jace muttered, though he felt it too.
A cat darted across the road, knocking over a trash can. Jace flinched before he could stop himself. Kimberly noticed.
"See?" she said, half-joking but half-not. "Told you."
They walked faster. No need to say it out loud.
When they finally reached his block, Jace let out a slow breath. The Hale house stood at the end of the street, lights off except for a thin glow leaking through the study window. His father would be there, hunched over a mess of papers and photos, chasing the monster no one else even believed was real.
"Later," Jace said.
Kimberly hesitated. "You sure you're good?"
"Go home, Kim."
She gave him a look but turned away, pulling her jacket tighter against the chill.
Jace climbed the steps to the porch, keys jangling in his pocket. Before he unlocked the door, he glanced back down the street.
Empty.
Yet the skin between his shoulder blades prickled, as if something had just ducked out of sight.
Inside, the house smelled like cold coffee and old paper. He dropped his bag by the door and headed for the stairs, not bothering to call out.
Halfway up, he paused. A sound floated from the study.
A low hum, almost like a voice... chanting.
He swallowed, forcing himself to move.
His father was exactly where he expected, hunched over the desk, face gaunt in the dim light. Wayne Hale didn't look up when Jace entered.
"Another one?" Jace asked. His voice felt too loud.
His father's jaw tightened. He tapped a photo on the table without speaking.
Jace leaned closer. A woman, slumped in an alley, her face drained of color.
Something inside him twisted.
"This isn't right," his father said finally, voice hoarse. "This isn't... human."
Jace didn't answer. His eyes fixed on the dark wound on the woman's neck, barely visible in the photograph. It looked more like a burn than a bite. Like something had seared straight through her soul.
Without thinking, Jace touched his own neck.
Still there.
The faint scar, hidden by his collar.
The one he never told anyone about.
He stepped back. "I'm gonna crash."
Wayne grunted, already lost in his notes again.
Upstairs, Jace threw himself onto his bed, staring at the cracked ceiling. His chest felt tight, his heartbeat too loud in his ears.
He had survived something he shouldn't have. Something that should have killed him, or turned him into whatever was out there in the dark.
But he hadn't died.
He hadn't turned.
And whatever was inside him now...
It was waking up.