The next morning, the weight of the letter still hangs heavily over me. Every time I close my eyes, I see those words again: Ryan and his brother killed my parents. The truth feels suffocating, like a stone sinking deeper into my chest.
The Court, the treason, the pendants—they're all pieces of a puzzle I can't seem to put together. I glance down at the pendant hanging from my neck, its intricate design glinting in the morning light. It's humming softly, a faint vibration that I feel against my skin. Not warm like it gets around Justin, but alive, aware. It thrums with a strange urgency whenever I think about the Court or Ryan.
I stand in front of the mirror, running my fingers over its surface. It's trying to tell me something—I'm certain of it. But what?
I reach for my coat, planning to step outside and clear my head. But before I can reach the door, there's a knock. My pulse quickens, and I hesitate. When I open it, Natalia is standing there.
Her posture is sharp, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She doesn't say anything at first, just watches me. Her gaze is unrelenting, and for a moment, I feel like she's stripping away every wall I've put up.
"You're still chasing answers," she says finally, her voice quiet but edged with something biting.
I raise an eyebrow, caught off guard by the sudden statement. "What are you talking about?" I ask, my voice more defensive than I intend.
She steps inside without waiting for an invitation, her eyes flicking toward the pendants around my neck. The humming grows louder, a steady thrum that makes my skin prickle.
"I'm frustrated," she says suddenly, breaking the tense silence. "I've asked my parents about this—about you—and they won't tell me anything." Her voice is tight, trembling with barely restrained anger. "They've been keeping secrets, and I'm sick of it."
"What does this have to do with me?" I ask cautiously, unsure if she's here for answers or something else entirely.
"I don't know." She shakes her head, exasperated. "But I know you're part of it. Every time I ask about you, they shut me down. They act like I don't need to know." Her gaze hardens. "But I do."
The words hang in the air between us, heavy with unspoken meaning. For a moment, I feel drawn to her, like there's something unspoken tying us together. But there's also something off, something that makes me wary.
"You remind me of someone," she says quietly, almost to herself. The vulnerability in her voice catches me off guard, but before I can ask what she means, her expression hardens again, and the moment is gone.
"Natalia, I—" I start, but she cuts me off with a wave of her hand.
"It doesn't matter," she says, her voice sharp again. "You probably don't know anything either." She hesitates, her eyes flicking back to the pendant for a fraction of a second before she turns on her heel and walks away.
********
After lunch, I decide to step outside for some fresh air. The cold air bites at my skin as I walk, my thoughts tangled in everything Natalia said earlier. Her words keep replaying in my mind: You remind me of someone. You're part of this. What did she mean?
As I pass Justin's house, I hear raised voices and stop in my tracks. Natalia's voice carries through the crisp air, sharp and filled with frustration.
"I need to know why I'm being kept away from her!" she yells, her tone cutting through the stillness.
I freeze, ducking behind a tree just out of sight. My heart pounds as I hear her voice rise again.
"You don't get to hide things from me anymore!" Natalia says, her voice trembling with anger.
Her father responds, his voice low and firm, but I can't make out his exact words. It's the tone that catches my attention—sharp, defensive, and dismissive.
"Why is she involved in all of this? What's so dangerous?" Natalia presses, her voice cracking slightly. "You told me I could help!"
Her parents' responses are quiet, muted, and evasive. I can barely make out snippets: "Not yet," her father says at one point. Her mother chimes in softly, but I can't catch the words.
"I don't understand," Natalia says, her voice rising again. "Why can't I know what's going on anymore? Why can't I be part of this too?"
The frustration in her voice is palpable, and for a moment, I almost feel sorry for her. She sounds as lost as I feel, caught in the middle of something she doesn't understand.
The argument starts to fade into quieter murmurs, but just as Natalia storms out of the room, I hear her mother whisper something that makes my blood run cold.
"Do you want her involved with him?" she says urgently. "The Court will come for her. We can't risk it. We could lose both of them."
The mention of the Court sends a chill down my spine. My hands clench at my sides as the pieces in my mind begin to click together: Ryan, the pendants, the Court. They're all connected. But how?
The pendant around my neck grows warmer, and a low hum vibrates through the air, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. It feels almost alive, responding to the tension around me.
Natalia storms past me, not even noticing me hidden behind the tree. She mutters something under her breath—"I'll figure it out on my own"—and disappears down the road.
I watch her go, my mind racing. The confrontation didn't answer anything—it only gave me more questions. What does Natalia know? What are her parents hiding? And why does the Court care about me?
I start walking again, my thoughts swirling. The pendant's warmth is almost unbearable now, as though it's urging me to act, to figure it all out. But I can't shake the feeling that I'm not ready.
The confrontation with Natalia didn't answer anything—it only gave me more to question. And the more I think about Justin, the more I begin to doubt everything. Does he know more than he's letting on? What's his role in all of this?
I still don't know if I can trust him, or anyone, really. The Court is out there, watching. The pendants are a key to something, but what? What will they unlock? The pendants hum again, an almost frantic rhythm, as if trying to warn me of something—or maybe pull me toward something.
Their reaction to Natalia was different. With Justin, it was heat, a smoldering presence that tugged at me. But with Natalia, they vibrated, almost like a heartbeat, sharp and restless.
The thought unsettles me, but I try to shake it off. My mind is too cluttered to make sense of it all.
When I reach the edge of town, I stop by a small clearing overlooking the woods. This place used to be my retreat when I needed to think. The air is crisp and cold, and for a moment, the stillness feels like a reprieve.
I sit on a fallen log, clutching the pendants in my hand. Their surface is cool now, the hum fading into a faint pulse. I run my fingers over their intricate design, hoping for some kind of revelation, but nothing comes.
Natalia's words echo in my mind: "You remind me of someone." What did she mean by that? And why did her mother mention losing both of us?
I close my eyes, trying to focus, but my thoughts keep spiraling back to Justin. He said he'd be there when I was ready, but I don't know if I ever will be. The way he looks at me—like he knows something I don't—makes me want to trust him. But how can I, knowing his family is tied to Ryan?
I shake my head, trying to banish the doubts. Right now, I need to focus on the facts.
*******
The sun is setting as I make my way back home, the pendants humming softly against my chest. The sound is inaudible to anyone else, but I feel it vibrating through my ribs, an insistent thrum that seems to echo with each step. With every footfall closer to the house, the sensation sharpens, like they're trying to tell me something I don't want to hear.
I pause at the front gate, my breath curling in the cold evening air. The house looms ahead, but it looks different somehow—darker, though the porch light casts its usual glow. Shadows cling to the windows, stretching farther than they should. I glance over my shoulder, scanning the empty street. There's no one there, but the silence is oppressive, unnatural, like the world is holding its breath.
My fingers tighten around the pendants, their hum now almost frantic. A chill slips down my spine as I turn back to the door, fumbling with the key. My hands are trembling, making it harder than it should be.
When I step inside, the house greets me with a coldness that feels wrong. It's not just the chill of the evening—it's the kind of cold that seeps into your bones, into your mind. The shadows inside seem to reach farther, thicker, as though the house itself is suffocating under some unseen weight.
I shrug off my coat, draping it over the back of a chair, but the small act does nothing to ground me. The air feels heavy, almost electric, and my skin prickles with unease. My eyes dart to the windows, where the last streaks of daylight filter through the curtains, casting jagged, restless patterns across the walls.
I find myself heading to the study without thinking, shutting the door behind me like it might keep something out. The room feels the same as ever, yet everything about it feels different tonight.
I sit at the desk, pulling the letter from my pocket. My hands tremble as I unfold it, the paper catching on the edges of my fingers. The words blur momentarily before coming into sharp focus:
Ryan and his brother killed my parents.
The phrase stabs through me, over and over, like a blade that refuses to be pulled out. I grip the pendants tightly in my palm, their cool surface growing warm again, as if responding to the flood of emotions rising in my chest.
Why do they react to certain people—Justin, Natalia, the court—but not others? What are they trying to tell me?
I press the pendants to my forehead, squeezing my eyes shut as I try to block out the storm raging in my mind.
Then, I hear it.
A sound.
It's faint, barely audible over the oppressive silence of the house.
I freeze, holding my breath, my ears straining to catch it again. It's not the wind. It's not the groan of the house settling.
It's footsteps.
Soft, deliberate, moving outside the study window.
My heart slams against my ribs. The sound is slow, measured, circling the house like a predator stalking its prey.
The pendants grow hot in my hand, their hum intensifying into sharp, uneven vibrations that seem to mirror the erratic pounding of my heart.
I stand, moving as quietly as I can, though every creak of the floor feels deafening. My legs feel weak, like they might give out beneath me at any second. I inch toward the door, one step at a time, each movement a battle against the primal fear threatening to consume me.
The footsteps grow louder, heavier, until they stop just outside the study window. I can't bring myself to look.
The pendants burn against my palm now, the heat almost unbearable. My instincts scream at me to run, to hide, but I'm frozen in place, paralyzed by the certainty that whoever is out there isn't here by chance.
And then, the footsteps stop.
The silence that follows is deafening.
I press my back against the wall, my breaths shallow and uneven. The house feels alive now, watching, waiting, as though the walls themselves are holding their breath. My pulse thunders in my ears as I strain to hear anything—anything at all.
The quiet stretches on, thick and suffocating. And then, a faint scraping sound cuts through it, sharp and deliberate.
Metal dragging against glass.
My stomach twists painfully as I glance toward the window. The curtains are drawn, but I swear I see a shadow move on the other side, brief and fleeting.
I can't take it anymore.
I push off the wall, forcing myself to move toward the front door. My footsteps are as quiet as I can make them, but the sound of my breathing feels like it could give me away.
The pendants' hum grows erratic, almost panicked, as if they are warning me to turn back.
When I reach the door, I hesitate, my hand hovering over the knob. The air is heavy, oppressive, and every instinct I have is screaming at me to stay inside, to lock the door and wait it out.
But something compels me forward—a pull I can't explain.
I twist the knob slowly, the metal cold beneath my fingertips. I pull the door open just a crack.
The street is empty.
The stillness of the night feels wrong, charged with an energy that makes my skin crawl. I step onto the porch, the cold air biting at my face as I scan the shadows.
Then, I see it.
A scrap of paper, caught at the edge of the steps.
I bend down, hesitating before picking it up. The paper feels strange in my hand—rough, damp, and colder than it should be.
The words are scrawled hastily in dark ink:
"She's alive. They have her. Find the other pendants. The vampires will take her to the Court."
My blood runs cold.
The note feels like a trap, but it's impossible to ignore. Someone knows about Cassie. Someone else knows about the pendants. And someone knows I'm looking for her.
The pendants around my neck vibrate, their warmth pulsing like a heartbeat, as if urging me to act. My thoughts race as I clutch the note tightly, my eyes scanning the street for any sign of movement.
But there's nothing.
I step back inside, locking the door behind me, but the tension doesn't leave. My heart pounds as I reread the note, the words burning into my mind.
Cassie's alive. They have her. The vampires. And soon the Court.
The connection between the pendants, the Court, and now the vampires feels like it's closing in, but the answers are still just out of reach.
Why would the vampires take her? Who left the note? And how much longer do I have before it's too late?