[Warning mention of suicide]
Chapter 13: A Familiar Shadow
Emris leaned against the doorframe of the living room, arms crossed, his piercing blue eyes fixed on the flickering TV screen. The face of the teenage girl—Emily Foster—flashed again, followed by an image of the bookstore where her body had been found.
His jaw tightened. Something about this was wrong. Very wrong.
Roya was sitting on the couch, remote in hand, her posture unusually stiff. Her green eyes stayed glued to the TV, her expression unreadable, but the way her fingers drummed against the armrest betrayed her unease.
Emris frowned. He didn't need to be a mind reader to know she was piecing things together.
He, too, had felt it. That unmistakable feeling crawling up his spine, like a shadow stretching too long behind him.
Familiar.
Unwelcome.
His fingers twitched at his side, itching to summon his sword. The air felt heavier now, like it had been tainted by a presence he hadn't felt in years.
"Stop hovering," Roya finally muttered, her voice cutting through the silence.
"Not hovering," Emris shot back. He straightened and took a step closer. "Thinking."
She glanced up at him, eyebrows raised. "That's a dangerous pastime for you."
Normally, he'd throw a sarcastic comment right back, but not this time. He wasn't in the mood for their usual banter. Not when his instincts were screaming at him to prepare for the worst.
He stepped forward and planted himself in front of her, blocking her view of the screen.
"Do you feel it?" he asked, his voice low.
"Feel what?" Roya said, leaning to the side to see around him.
"Don't play dumb, Dream," Emris growled. "You felt it too. That… presence."
Roya frowned, her green eyes narrowing. "Presence?"
"You're not that oblivious," he said, his voice sharper now. "It's him."
Her expression twisted into confusion. "Him? Who the hell is him?"
"Zaiden," Emris said, the name leaving his lips like a curse.
Roya blinked, staring at him as though he'd just sprouted another head. For a moment, she didn't react, her mind clearly processing what he'd just said. Then:
"Wait… Zaiden?"
"Yes," Emris replied, his voice clipped.
"Zaiden. Your best friend. The one who killed you."
"Yes."
"The same Zaiden who went on a murder spree and then pulled the ultimate guilt trip by self exiting?"
"Yes," Emris snapped.
Roya stared at him in silence for a beat, then blinked again. "You've got to be kidding me."
"I wish I was," Emris muttered, running a hand through his silver hair.
She stood abruptly, pacing the room. "Okay. Let's backtrack. First, you come out of my book. Fine. Freaky, but I've adjusted. Now you're telling me Zaiden Kael Morvaine—who I wrote as the main protagonist—is here too?"
"That's what I'm saying."
Roya stopped pacing, turning to face him with wide eyes. "How the hell is this even happening? Is there a hole in the fabric of reality? Is my imagination leaking?"
"Your imagination is damaged," Emris retorted, folding his arms. "You wrote me into existence just to kill me, remember?"
"Don't start," Roya snapped, jabbing a finger at him.
"Not starting, just stating," Emris said, though there was a trace of humor in his voice. "You're the one who keeps creating problems and now acting shocked when they show up in your life."
Roya groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "I'm being haunted by my own fictional characters. This is some next-level existential nightmare."
"You should've written us less complicated," Emris said dryly.
"Excuse me for giving you depth!" she shot back.
Their argument was interrupted by the TV, where the news anchor was rehashing details of the teenager's death. Roya sank onto the couch, grabbing the remote and switching channels aimlessly.
Emris watched her carefully. She looked… shaken. Not her usual aloof self. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but stopped himself. Roya never reacted well to pity, and he wasn't in the mood for another verbal lashing.
Instead, he leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as he stared out the rain-speckled window.
That feeling again. Crawling up his spine, settling in his chest like a weight.
Zaiden.
The name alone stirred up memories Emris had buried long ago. Memories of laughter, shared victories, and a bond he once thought was unbreakable.
Until it wasn't.
Zaiden had been his closest friend, the only person who had truly understood him in the academy. But power had twisted him, corrupted him. The darkness he wielded became a prison he couldn't escape.
Emris's throat tightened at the memory of Zaiden's final moments. The betrayal. The regret. The way he had looked at Emris in the end—not with hatred, but with something worse.
Guilt.
Emris hadn't forgiven him. Not then. Not now.
But the thought of Zaiden being back—alive, here, in this world—it didn't sit right. Zaiden wasn't the kind of person who returned without a reason. And if he had crossed over, it wasn't just for a friendly reunion.
"We're being watched," Emris said suddenly.
Roya glanced up at him, frowning. "What?"
"That feeling. Someone's watching us," Emris murmured, his blue eyes scanning the room. "He's here. Or he's close."
Roya hesitated, her expression faltering. For once, she didn't have a snarky reply.
Outside, the rain fell harder, the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance. Emris straightened, his hand instinctively flexing as though preparing for a fight.
If Zaiden was here, things were about to get worse.
And for the first time in years, Emris felt the heavy weight of uncertainty. Not for himself.
But for the woman who, against all odds, had made him care again.
****
The storm outside was relentless, a steady drumbeat of rain against the window. The television glowed faintly in the corner of the room as Roya flipped through the channels with practiced boredom, her face unreadable. She wasn't scared—she didn't do scared—but the strange weight in the air hadn't gone unnoticed.
Emris, however, was leaning against the window frame, his piercing blue eyes scanning the storm-soaked streets. He wasn't on edge, exactly, but his body hummed with a sense of anticipation. The same kind of anticipation he felt when things were about to get... interesting.
"I think you're overreacting," Roya said finally, setting the remote down with a deliberate clink. Her voice was steady, detached, as if she were discussing the weather instead of whatever creepy, unseen force had been tailing them.
"Am I?" Emris shot back, his tone laced with amusement. He didn't look at her, keeping his gaze fixed outside. "Because I'm definitely not the one who just jumped a little when the lamp flickered."
Roya's green eyes narrowed, her lips twitching. "I didn't jump," she said coolly.
"Sure, Dream. You're as stoic as ever." He finally turned to face her, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. "But tell me, if you're so calm, why do you keep glancing at the door like you're expecting something to waltz in and ruin your oh-so-perfect evening?"
She rolled her eyes, leaning back into the couch as if to punctuate her nonchalance. "It's called being alert, Emris. Maybe try it sometime, instead of standing there pretending you're the protagonist of some tragic saga."
"Oh, I am definitely the protagonist," he replied with a mock bow, "but tragic? Hardly. I mean, look at me—I'm alive and well while your story is unraveling in real time. It's honestly entertaining."
Roya didn't bother responding, choosing instead to grab her coffee and sip it slowly, her face a blank canvas of indifference.
Then came the sound.
A faint tap, tap, tap against the glass.
Emris's smile faltered for a split second, but he recovered quickly, his smirk deepening. "Well, would you look at that. Someone's feeling bold tonight."
Roya arched an eyebrow, her gaze sliding toward the window. There, perched delicately on the sill, was a crow.
Its feathers were slick and black, shining faintly in the dim light of the room. But its eyes—those glowing, crimson eyes—were what caught her attention. They weren't natural. Not even close.
"Cute," Roya said flatly, tilting her head as she studied the bird. "Let me guess: it's here to deliver some ominous message about doom and despair."
Emris chuckled, stepping closer to the window. "Or maybe it's just lost. Should I invite it in? I'm sure it'd love your sparkling personality."
Before she could retort, the crow let out a low, guttural caw, its voice dripping with something that felt... wrong.
Roya's gaze sharpened, but her face remained impassive. "Let me guess. You recognize it, don't you?" She said in mock curiosity, knowing very well who that pet crow was, Why wouldn't she know what she had written.
Emris stiffened just slightly—enough for her to notice. He didn't answer right away, instead leaning forward to tap the glass lightly with his knuckles. The crow didn't flinch.
"What's the matter?" Roya asked, her voice edged with mockery. "Not happy to see an old friend?"
"Oh, I'm thrilled," Emris said, though his usual levity was missing. He straightened, stepping back from the window. "Because if that bird's here, it means he's not far behind."
"Zaiden?"
He turned to her, his blue eyes glittering with a mix of amusement and something darker. "Zaiden," he said simply.
The name hung in the air like a curse. Roya didn't react outwardly, but she took another slow sip of her coffee, processing the information. "The best friend who stabbed you in the back?" she asked, her tone light, almost playful.
"The very one," Emris confirmed, a grin spreading across his face. But it didn't reach his eyes. "And if he's here, Dream, things are about to get very interesting."
Roya glanced back at the crow, which hadn't moved an inch. It was still watching them with those unsettling red eyes, its presence an unspoken threat.
"Well, as long as it's interesting," she said dryly, setting her cup down.
Emris chuckled, his mood lifting just enough for his playful demeanor to return. "That's the spirit. I mean, what's life without a little chaos?"
Roya didn't answer, turning her attention back to the TV. The news channel flickered on, and her gaze caught on the image of a familiar face—the teenage girl from earlier.
The headline read: LOCAL GIRL FOUND DEAD IN BOOKSTORE TRAGEDY.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Roya stared at the screen, her expression blank but her mind racing. Emris's grin disappeared, replaced by a thoughtful frown.
"Well," he said finally, breaking the silence. "Looks like our crow brought more than just nostalgia."
Outside, hidden in the shadows, the crow let out one final cry before taking flight, vanishing into the night. But the feeling of being watched didn't leave—it lingered, settling deep into their bones.