The world rushed past me in a blur as the car plummeted, the roar of the wind deafening. My heart pounded wildly in my chest, each beat echoing the only thought in my mind: This is it. It's over.
But then, abruptly, the sensation of freefall stopped.
I gasped, gripping the steering wheel as the car hung suspended in the air. I wasn't falling anymore, but I wasn't safe either. My breath came in shallow bursts as I tried to make sense of what was happening.
Slowly, impossibly, the car began to descend, as if an invisible hand was cradling it. The descent was gentle, deliberate, and when the car finally touched the ground, the impact was so soft it felt like landing on a cushion.
I sat there, frozen, my fingers digging into the leather of the wheel. The silence was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the engine.
What just happened?
A sharp knock on the driver's side window jolted me out of my stupor. I turned my head, my stomach sinking. Standing just outside was a woman I recognized instantly, though I'd only ever seen her face plastered across news reports and wanted posters.
Amara Veilshade.
She was infamous, a demon, a villain, a ghost that law enforcement had been chasing for years. Her name was spoken in hushed whispers, a warning of power unchecked and danger incarnate. Seeing her in person was like being doused in ice water.
Amara was striking, in the way a coiled viper is beautiful just before it strikes. Her skin was a rich, molten red, smooth and gleaming like polished obsidian.
Her tall, statuesque frame was draped in a long black coat, its edges trailing along the ground as if it were alive.
Midnight-black hair cascaded over her shoulders in wild waves, framing sharp, elegant features and eyes that burned like liquid gold.
Tiny horns curved upward from her forehead, subtle yet unmistakably dangerous. When she smiled if you could call it that it was predatory, a glint of sharp white teeth against her crimson lips.
I scrambled to unlock the door, fumbling with the handle as she watched me with an almost amused expression. As I stepped out, my legs felt like jelly, barely holding me upright.
"I—" I started, my voice weak and shaky.
"Shut up."
The words were sharp, cutting through the air with the authority of a blade. Amara's tone was calm, almost casual, but it carried a weight that silenced me immediately.
She took a step closer, her golden eyes locking onto mine. I couldn't move. My body refused to obey, frozen under her gaze.
I was afraid. No—terrified.
"You're radiating hate," she said, her voice low and smooth. It sent a shiver down my spine. "I could feel it from miles away. And I must say, it's intoxicating."
I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. The weight of her presence was overwhelming, pressing down on me like a physical force. Every instinct screamed at me to run, but my feet stayed rooted to the ground.
She moved closer, her steps deliberate and measured, the faint rustle of her coat the only sound in the stillness. When she stopped just a breath away, I felt the heat radiating from her, a warmth that bordered on suffocating.
"Fear," she said, tilting her head as she studied me. "You wear it well, but there's something else underneath it. Something stronger." Her gaze flicked to my arm, where the faint hum of my magic pulsed against my skin.
"You have beautiful magic," she murmured. "Raw, untamed. But you don't use it, do you? You're afraid of it."
Her words cut deep, exposing truths I'd buried beneath years of training and rejection. My chest tightened, and I clenched my fists, willing myself to say something, anything—but still, nothing came.
Amara's smile widened, though it was far from comforting. "I could help you, you know," she said, her voice dripping with temptation. "I could show you how to use that power. How to embrace it. But you're not ready to hear that, are you?"
I shook my head, though the motion was barely perceptible.
She chuckled softly, a sound that was both musical and unnerving. "Typical. Still clinging to those silly dreams of being a hero, aren't you?" She stepped back, her eyes never leaving mine. "Let me tell you something about heroes, Seraphina Dreadthorn."
The way she said my name sent a chill through me, as if she had plucked it from my very soul. How does she even know my name? Is that a demon thing?
"Being a hero is overrated," she said, her tone laced with disdain. "It's boring. Predictable. You spend your life following someone else's rules, chasing someone else's dreams. And for what? To earn the approval of people who don't care about you? To prove yourself to a system that would rather see you fail?"
Her words stung, each one a dagger aimed at the heart of my insecurities.
"And tell me," she continued, her voice softening to something almost sympathetic, "who is the real villain when you look at how they've treated you? Rejected you? Humiliated you? Is it me, the one who stands outside their hypocritical little system, or is it them?"
I stared at her, my mind a whirlwind of confusion and anger and pain. Her words twisted inside me, a dark echo of the doubts I'd carried for years. Was she right? Could she be right?
"I can see it in your eyes," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You've thought about it, haven't you? Walking away from it all. Letting go of their expectations and finding your own path."
I bit my lip, refusing to answer.
Amara smiled again, this time with something almost resembling kindness. "It's okay. I don't need an answer now." She reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out a small card, holding it between two perfectly manicured fingers.
"When you've thought about it enough," she said, handing it to me, "contact me."
I hesitated, then took the card, the smooth black surface cool against my fingers. There was no name, no address, just a single number etched in crimson ink.
Amara stepped back, the shadows around her seeming to deepen. "We'll speak again soon, Seraphina," she said, her voice carrying the weight of a promise. "I have a feeling your story is just beginning."
And with that, she turned and walked away, disappearing into the darkness as if she had never been there.
I stood there for a long moment, staring at the card in my hand. My heart was still racing, my mind still reeling from everything she had said. Slowly, I tucked the card into my pocket and looked up at the sky, the stars twinkling faintly above.
I didn't know what my next step would be. But for the first time in years, the idea of staying on the path I'd fought so hard to follow felt… wrong.
And that terrified me more than anything.