(Quinn's perspective)
Five years. Five years of hell isn't something you can just sum up, you know? But I guess it all really started at the pier.
I was prepared to start my new life. I was irrational and temperamental, and I thought everyone would be better without me. As I contemplated how I would start my life, the water helped my anxiety, that steady rhythm of waves against wood. That night, though, it felt off. The air was heavy, almost suffocating. I told myself it was just my imagination.
And then he showed up.
At first, I didn't see him clearly—just this figure emerging from the shadows, the edges of him rippling like smoke. When he stepped into the light, his face… God, I still see it when I close my eyes. Pale, sharp features, and eyes like black holes.
"I've been waiting for you," he said, his voice like gravel grinding in my ears.
I tried to run. Of course I did. But the pier stretched on forever, like some sick, twisted nightmare. No matter how fast I moved, the end stayed out of reach. And when I looked back, he wasn't running—he didn't need to. The shadows obeyed him, swirling and twisting, blocking every escape. He dragged me into the forest and there was no escape. I tried to use the powers from last time but nothing happened, of course.
Then Luca was there.
I didn't even hear him coming; he just appeared, his eyes wild and furious. "Let her go!" he roared, shifting partially—his claws and teeth bared, his voice more wolf than man. For a second, I thought I was saved.
But the Echo didn't even flinch. He just smiled this slow, cruel smile that made my stomach twist. Then he raised his hand, and the shadows wrapped tighter around me.
Luca fought like hell. I'll never forget how he ran like the wind trying to reach me. He got so close—close enough that I could feel his heat, hear him shouting my name.
But the black cloud was already seeping into me, cold and suffocating. I knew. I knew I wouldn't make it.
And that's when I looked at him. Really looked at him. I wanted to scream, to beg him to keep trying, to tell him everything I'd kept bottled up inside. But I couldn't. My voice was gone, stolen by whatever the hell Cale was doing to me.
So I mouthed it. Three little words I never thought I'd say. I do love you.
His eyes widened, his face twisting with something between rage and heartbreak. And then I was gone.
The first thing I remember after that was the smell. Damp wood, mildew, something metallic that I couldn't quite place. When I opened my eyes, I was lying on a thin mattress in the corner of what looked like an old mill. The air was cold, biting against my skin, and everything felt wrong.
I sat up, my head pounding, and tried to take in my surroundings. The room was massive, with high, crumbling walls and broken machinery scattered everywhere. The windows were small and high up, their glass covered in grime so thick it barely let any light in.
In front of me, on the floor, was a tray. A piece of bread, some kind of stew in a chipped bowl, and a bottle of water. My stomach growled, but I ignored it.
First things first: find a way out.
I ran to the nearest door, yanking at the handle. Locked. Of course. I tried another door. Same thing. The windows? Barred. I even tried climbing up to one of them, but the rusted metal dug into my hands, and I slipped, landing hard on the floor.
I screamed then. Not words, just a raw, guttural sound that echoed off the walls.
Time blurred after that. I had no way of knowing how long I was there, but it felt like weeks. Maybe more.
Every time I woke up, there was food. Always the same tray, always waiting for me in the same spot. I never saw who brought it, never heard them come or go.
I tried not to eat it at first. What if it was poisoned? What if it was a trap? But hunger won out eventually. The stew tasted bland, the bread stale, but it kept me alive.
The loneliness was the worst part. I'd walk around the mill just to keep myself sane, tracing the same paths over and over. There wasn't much to see—just old machinery, rusted pipes, and cobwebs in every corner. I found a broken mirror once and stared at my reflection for what felt like hours. I barely recognized myself. My hair was tangled, my eyes hollow.
Sometimes I cried. I hated myself for it, but I couldn't stop. I'd sit on the mattress, hugging my knees, and let the tears come until there was nothing left.
Other times, I got angry. I'd throw things—whatever I could find. A piece of wood, an old wrench. Once, I hurled the tray across the room, watching the food splatter against the wall. It didn't make me feel better.
At night, I'd lie awake, staring at the ceiling. I thought about Luca. About my parents. Did they think I was dead? Did they miss me?
Then, one night, everything changed.
I was pacing again, my footsteps echoing in the empty space, when I felt it. A shift in the air. The kind of heavy, oppressive feeling that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
I froze, my heart pounding.
And then I saw him.
The Echo stepped out of the shadows like he owned the place, his pale face lit by the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the dirty windows.
"Miss me?" he asked, his lips curling into that same cruel smile.