Night fell heavier than usual.
The air outside buzzed with a low, restless energy, like a storm waiting just beyond the horizon.
Jace sat in his room, pretending to do homework, a pencil tapping against his notebook.
The numbers blurred on the page.
His mind kept drifting — back to the cafeteria, to Brian's fear, to the way the light cracked overhead like something inside him had snapped it.
He dropped the pencil and leaned back in his chair.
His hand drifted up to the scar again.
It didn't burn anymore.
It pulsed.
A slow, steady throb, almost like a second heartbeat under his skin.
He shook his head and stood up.
He needed air.
The house creaked around him as he slipped downstairs, quiet as he could.
His dad's voice rumbled low from the study again, the door cracked just wide enough for Jace to catch a glimpse.
Stacks of files. A bulletin board covered in photos and red thread.
A small part of him wanted to push open the door and ask if anything made sense anymore.
He didn't.
He slipped out the front door instead, pulling his hoodie up against the cold.
The street was empty, except for the buzz of distant streetlights and the soft hum of faraway traffic.
He walked aimlessly, hands in his pockets, head down.
It wasn't until he reached the old playground by the creek that he realized where his feet had taken him.
The swings squeaked in the breeze, the rusted slide looming like a skeleton in the dark.
He slowed down.
Something about the place felt wrong tonight.
Not wrong like broken glass or graffiti.
Wrong like... someone else was already here.
His skin prickled.
Jace scanned the shadows, every muscle in his body tight.
At first, he didn't see anything.
Then he did.
A figure stood near the edge of the trees.
Still.
Too still.
It was tall, wrapped in what looked like a long coat, its head tilted at an unnatural angle.
For a second, Jace thought it was just someone messing around.
Until the figure stepped forward and the streetlight hit it.
It wasn't wearing a coat.
It wasn't even wearing anything at all.
Its skin was gray, stretched thin over bones that didn't sit quite right.
Its eyes — if you could call them that — were hollow, pits of darkness that seemed to suck in the light around them.
Jace froze.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
Every instinct screamed at him to run, but his legs wouldn't move.
The thing took another step forward.
Somewhere deep inside him, something shifted.
The same force from the cafeteria.
The same burning pulse from his scar.
It rose inside him like a tide.
The creature stopped.
Its head tilted again, like it was sniffing the air.
And then, without warning, it let out a sound — a low, rattling hiss that set Jace's teeth on edge.
He stumbled back, finally breaking free from the paralysis.
His sneakers scraped against the pavement as he turned and ran, heart punching into his throat.
He didn't look back.
He couldn't.
He sprinted across the street, through backyards, over fences, not caring about the noise he made.
Only when he was three blocks from the playground did he stop, bent over, gasping for air.
Behind him, the night stayed quiet.
Too quiet.
He staggered home, checking over his shoulder every few steps.
Nothing followed.
But that didn't mean he was safe.
When he finally slipped back inside the house, he found his dad waiting in the living room.
Wayne Hale sat on the couch, arms crossed, his face carved from stone.
He didn't say anything at first.
Just watched Jace with those sharp eyes that missed nothing.
"Where were you?"
Jace opened his mouth. Closed it.
Nothing he said would sound right.
"Went for a walk," he mumbled.
His dad's jaw twitched.
"You went for a walk," he repeated.
"At night."
"In this city."
Jace shrugged. "Needed to clear my head."
Wayne stood up slowly, the leather of the couch groaning under him.
For a second, Jace thought he was about to get a lecture.
Instead, his father just looked at him.
Really looked.
"You're hiding something," he said finally.
Jace flinched.
He hated how easily his dad could read him.
"I'm fine," Jace said. Too fast. Too defensive.
Wayne studied him a moment longer, then turned away.
"Fine," he said.
But his voice was low. Doubting.
He headed upstairs without another word.
Jace stayed frozen in the doorway, his heart still racing.
The house felt colder now, emptier somehow.
He forced himself to move, locking the door behind him and creeping back up to his room.
He dropped onto the bed fully clothed, staring at the cracked ceiling.
The image of the creature haunted his mind, burned into the backs of his eyelids.
The way it had just stood there, watching.
The way it seemed to hesitate when Jace's scar flared.
He rolled onto his side, pulling the blanket over his head like he used to when he was a kid.
For the first time in a long time, he was afraid to close his eyes.
Somewhere out there, something was waiting for him.
Watching.
And next time, he knew, it might not hesitate.