Sunlight clawed through Adam's blinds, slashing his room into jagged ribbons of gold and gloom. He moaned, arms slobbing like a noodle against the nightstand, fingers brushing his phone. 9:00 AM. His chest jolted, a stiff kick that hurled him forward. School at 7:30. His mom, Lena, should've been pounding on his door, her voice cutting like a blade through sleep. Sophie and Maya, his little sisters, should've been down the hall, their giggles bright as broken glass. But the house was dead quiet. No clink of cereal bowls. No thump of footsteps. Just a silence so heavy it felt like sinking.
Adam kicked the blanket off, fabric rustling like a faint sigh, and swung his legs over the bed. His bare feet hit the hardwood, cold as a slap. Maybe they'd bailed, let him sleep for once? Fat chance. Lena ran their home like a drill sergeant—cereal at 6:45, out by 7:15. School wasn't optional. A sour knot twisted in his gut, sharp and wrong. He rubbed his eyes, hard enough to spark stars, and shuffled to the bathroom, the quiet sticking to him like damp wool.
"Mom?" His voice sounded little the whimper of a child, smothered by the quiet. Nothing. He threw water on his face, the cold stinging, and glared in the mirror. He looked like crap—pale, brown hair disheveled, hazel eyes spiking with something he didn't want to identify. Fear, probably. "Dad? Sophie? Maya?" Each name sank into the void, unanswered.
The hallway stretched too long, floorboards creaking under his socks. His parents' door hung half-open. He nudged it, peering in. The bed was a wreck—sheets knotted, pillows spilled—but empty. His stomach lurched. He crossed to his sisters' room, where their nightlight cast a sickly pink haze. Their beds were neat, pillows fluffed, but Sophie's stuffed rabbit and Maya's teacups lay scattered on the rug, dropped mid-play. His breath snagged, tight and sharp. Something was off. Way off.
"Guys, He ran downstairs, stairs creaking, and slid into the kitchen. The counter was empty—no mugs, no bowls, no trace of their morning chaos. His heart pounded, as loud as a drum. Where the hell were they?
His foot slipped, and he slammed hard, elbow knocking tile. "Damn it!" Pain blazed, hot, but his curse was cut off as his hand pressed into something warm, slippery. He pulled it back, looking at the dark red smear on his palm. Blood. Thick. Fresh. His chest constricted, and he breath a ragged gasp as his eyes darted to the living room.
The world shattered.
His father, Daniel, lying on the carpet, lab coat soaked red with his hospital stay. Glasses crooked, one lens shattered like a spiderweb, mouth caught in silent shriek. Lena ten feet away stood against the counter, arms relaxed, eyes on nothing, blank as stone. And there, against the couch, Sophie and Maya clung to each other, small and still, Sophie's blonde curls matted red, Maya's tiny hands around her sister's sleeve.
A yell tore from Adam's throat, raw, tearing his voice. Tears burned, obliterating everything as he crawled on, hands shaking like leaves. "Mom?" His cry broke, barely heard. He reached out to touch her arm—cold, so cold—and jerked back, gagging on a sob. "Mom, please!" He clung to his father, shaking him, but the body was heavy, wrong. "Dad, get up!" His sisters were last, so light as he dragged them close, burying his face in their hair, crying. "Sophie… Maya…"
Why? The question clawed his skull. Who did this? His family—loud, stubborn, his—was gone. And then a worse thought cut deeper: Why am I still here? If someone came for them, why leave him? His head spun, bile burning his throat as he clutched his sisters, their blood seeping into his shirt.
A CRASH split the silence. The front door exploded inward, splinters flying as boots stormed in, heavy and fast. "Freeze! Hands up!" Flashlights blinded him, beams slicing the dim room, rifles locked on his chest.
"Wait!" Adam's voice was a croak, hands jerking up, slick with blood. "I didn't—I found them! Help!" Tears streaked his face, but the officers' eyes were hard, flicking to the bodies, his hands. A sick truth hit—they thought he was the killer.
"Down!" one barked, closing in, gun steady.
"No, listen—" A BANG cut him off. The pain in his chest flared, burning and hot, stealing his breath. Blood seeped across his shirt, warm and wet. His legs folded out from under him, the room spinning as he collapsed, shouts fading to a muffled hum. Darkness enveloped him
A gasp. Jagged, thin. Adam's eyes flew open, vision blurring in light and shadow. His body was all wrong—rigid, like old rope, a dull ache of pain in his chest. He attempted to sit, and pain lanced, holding him fast to a rough mat. Where was he?
Mud walls rose around him, crude, patched with straw, the air thick with earth and smoke. A single oil lamp flickered, casting warped shadows across a table cluttered with herb jars, their scent sharp as pine. This wasn't home—no bright kitchen, no messy couch. Panic clawed his throat. is fingers pressed into the mat, seeking something concrete.
The door creaked and an old, bird-thin woman, with silver hair pinned back tight into a hard knot, hobbled in. Her eyes—hard as glass and green—set on him as if she might see right through to his skeleton. She dropped a clay water bowl on the floor beside him, in silence, her presence like iron.
"Where am I?" Adam's voice scraped out, dry as ash.
She tilted her head, sizing him up. "Far from where you bled, boy. You've been gone a long while."
"What's that mean?" His pulse spiked, a drum in his ears.
"Coma. Eight years."
The words hit like a fist. Eight years? No way. He'd just been home, shouting for his mom, seeing… His family. The blood, the gunshot. His nails bit his palms, stinging. Eight years, stolen. "How?"
"They shot you. Left you for dead." Her tone was flat, like she'd buried worse. "But the Veil had other ideas."
"The Veil?" His frown deepened, head pounding.
She sat silently. The door creaked once more, and a man entered—tall, as broad as a barn, a scar cutting across his cheek like a snapped lightning bolt. His dark eyes fixed on Adam, steady but cautious, the leather of his coat creaking softly as he leaned against the wall.
"Victor," he growled, voice as coarse as gravel. "And you're Adam. You're trouble."
Adam's breathing stopped. "How do you know my name?
Victor's lip trembled, not really a smile. "We know a lot. Like how you didn't die when you should have. Why's the question?".
Adam's mind churned. "You saying you saved me? From the cops?"
"Not cops." Victor's eyes darkened, like storm clouds. "The Veil doesn't let go easily."
That word again. "What's the damn Veil?"
The old woman's eyes flashed, sharp as broken glass. "The Veil's chaos, boy. A storm that tore the world apart while you slept. Cities fell, skies bled, folks lost their minds—or turned into something worse." She gripped a jar of herbs, knuckles white, voice dropping to a hiss. "And there's a bastard out there who thinks he's its master."
Adam's chest tightened, the ache from his old wound pulsing like a second heartbeat. "Master? What the hell does that mean?" His voice cracked, fraying under the weight of it all—his family's blood, eight years gone, and now this Veil, slithering through reality like a snake.
A Few days later.....
Adam was sleeping when the old lady came in
panicked
Take it", she whispered sharply, thrusting the device into Adam's hand with surprising urgency. "Don't trust anyone. Run—run as far as you can. That man will burn a city to find you. He can trace your scent, your shadow… anything."
End of Chapter 1