### **Chapter 6: Cracks in the Mask**
The following days passed in a strange haze for Dylan. Valen and Kieran refused to let him out of their sight, tagging along everywhere like mismatched shadows. Claire, naturally, was suspicious. She bombarded him with questions every chance she got, but Dylan had no answers to give her—or at least none that wouldn't make her think he'd lost his mind.
Still, it wasn't all bad. For all their intensity, Valen and Kieran were surprisingly easy to be around—when they weren't fighting each other.
Like now, for example.
"Move," Valen growled, standing in front of the fridge, his arms crossed.
"I was here first," Kieran shot back, leaning casually against the counter.
"You've been standing there for ten minutes, not even looking for anything. Move."
"Maybe I'm thinking about my options," Kieran said, smirking.
Valen's golden eyes narrowed dangerously. "You don't eat. You don't need options."
Dylan, sitting at the table with a bowl of cereal, sighed. "Can you two not?"
"He started it," Kieran said, pointing at Valen like a petulant child.
"You're impossible," Valen muttered, stepping aside with an irritated huff.
Dylan couldn't help but laugh, the sound breaking through the tension. "You two are like an old married couple."
Kieran grinned. "See? He gets it."
Valen shot Dylan a withering look but said nothing, instead focusing on making tea with the precision of a man who could destroy worlds but preferred to brew leaves.
"Okay," Dylan said, finishing his cereal. "Now that we've had our daily dose of bickering, can we talk about the weird glowing eyes guy? You still haven't told me who—or what—he was."
Kieran and Valen exchanged a look, their earlier banter fading instantly.
"His name is Alaric," Valen said finally.
"And he's bad news," Kieran added. "The kind of bad news that usually ends with someone being dead or worse."
Dylan frowned. "What's worse than being dead?"
"You don't want to know," Valen said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Dylan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "So, he's after me because I'm 'special.' Still not clear on what that means, by the way."
"It means," Kieran said, sitting on the edge of the table, "you've got something he wants. Power, maybe. Or something more... unique."
"Great," Dylan muttered. "Love being vague and mysterious."
"We're not trying to be vague," Valen said, his voice unusually gentle. "We're trying to protect you."
"Yeah, but from what?" Dylan shot back. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to be afraid of!"
Valen hesitated, and for a moment, Dylan thought he might finally get a straight answer.
Then the doorbell rang.
All three of them froze.
"Were you expecting anyone?" Valen asked, his golden eyes locking onto Dylan.
"No," Dylan said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Kieran straightened, his usual smirk replaced by a sharp, focused expression. "Stay here."
Before Dylan could protest, Valen and Kieran were already moving, their bodies tense as they approached the door.
---
### **At the Door**
Valen opened the door cautiously, revealing a delivery man holding a small package.
"Delivery for Dylan Carter," the man said, looking bored.
Valen frowned, glancing back at Dylan, who had crept closer to see what was happening. "Are you expecting something?"
Dylan shook his head. "No."
Kieran grabbed the package before Valen could, inspecting it with a suspicious glare. "No return address. That's not sketchy at all."
"Give it to me," Dylan said, stepping forward.
"Absolutely not," Valen said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"It's addressed to me!" Dylan protested.
"And it could be dangerous," Kieran countered, holding the package out of Dylan's reach like a parent keeping candy from a toddler.
Dylan glared at him, but before he could argue further, Valen took the package and carefully opened it. Inside was a small, intricately carved box.
"What is it?" Dylan asked, his curiosity overriding his frustration.
Valen didn't answer immediately. He opened the box slowly, his golden eyes narrowing as he studied the contents.
"It's a key," he said finally, holding up a small, ornate key that glinted in the light.
"A key to what?" Dylan asked, stepping closer.
"That's the question," Kieran said, his voice unusually serious. "And I'm not sure we're going to like the answer."
---
### **Later That Night**
Dylan couldn't stop thinking about the key. It was sitting on the coffee table now, catching the light from the flickering TV. Valen and Kieran were still arguing about what to do with it, their voices low but tense.
Dylan, however, couldn't shake the feeling that the key was important—that it was meant for him.
Without thinking, he reached out and picked it up.
"Dylan, don't—" Valen started, but it was too late.
The moment Dylan's fingers closed around the key, a strange warmth spread through his hand, traveling up his arm and into his chest. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he wasn't in his apartment anymore.
He was standing in a vast, empty space, the air humming with energy. In front of him was a door—tall and imposing, made of dark, weathered wood. The key in his hand pulsed gently, as if urging him forward.
"Dylan."
The voice was faint but unmistakable. It was Valen's, but it sounded far away, like he was calling to Dylan from the other side of a canyon.
"Dylan, let go of the key!"
With a gasp, Dylan dropped the key, stumbling back as his vision cleared. He was back in the apartment, Valen and Kieran staring at him with wide eyes.
"What just happened?" Dylan asked, his voice trembling.
Valen stepped forward, his expression grim. "You connected to it."
"Connected to what?" Dylan demanded.
"To whatever it's meant to unlock," Valen said. "And now, so can they."
"They who?" Dylan asked, dread pooling in his stomach.
Kieran's smirk was long gone, replaced by a rare look of genuine concern. "The people who sent it. They know you're ready."
---