Abigail stood by the tall glass window of the Zedrack residence, her hands folded neatly behind her back as the evening sun melted into the city skyline. From the outside, she looked like nothing more than a devoted nanny—calm, composed, and unremarkable.
But her eyes were fixed on the reflection in the glass.
Not on herself.
On the faint shadow that flickered behind Anny's image.
Anita Zedrack lay sprawled across the couch, her school bag tossed carelessly to the floor as she scrolled through her phone, laughter slipping from her lips as she typed. Kiara had left earlier, promising to call later that night. Everything was normal. Too normal.
Abigail's fingers twitched.
She felt it again.
A pressure—subtle but unmistakable—brushing against her senses like a cold breath down her spine.
Ezerus…
She turned away from the window slowly, schooling her expression before Anny could notice anything strange.
"Dinner will be ready soon, Miss Anita," Abigail said softly.
Anny hummed in response, barely looking up. "Thanks, Abby."
That name echoed strangely in Abigail's ears.
Abby.
It was a name she had accepted in this realm. A convenient one.
Not her first.
Not her real one.
She moved toward the kitchen, each step measured. As soon as she was alone, the warmth of the house seemed to drain away. The lights flickered once—just once—before steadying again.
Abigail paused.
The aura grew stronger.
Not violent. Not aggressive.
Watching.
Her reflection in the polished kitchen counter shifted, just for a second. The calm brown eyes she wore in the mortal realm darkened into something deeper, older. Symbols flickered faintly beneath her skin before vanishing as quickly as they appeared.
"So soon…" she murmured.
Duckan had warned her.
When you feel it, he had said, his voice echoing from the shadows of her memory, do not act. Watch. Report. Nothing more.
She closed her eyes briefly.
A long time ago—before this house, before this city, before Anny—she had stood somewhere else entirely. Somewhere drenched in black stone and silver light. She remembered kneeling. She remembered blood on her hands that did not belong to her.
She remembered Duckan's voice calling her back from the edge of something irreversible.
Abigail exhaled and opened her eyes.
The aura pulsed again—this time closer.
Her gaze snapped instinctively toward the living room.
Anny laughed again, unaware, her silver pendant catching the light as it slid from beneath her shirt. Abigail's eyes lingered on it longer than they should have.
So it's her… she thought.
The silence thickened.
Far away—beyond the mortal realm, beyond time folded in shadows—a presence stirred.
Abigail turned her head slightly, as though listening to a voice no one else could hear.
"Duckan," she whispered under her breath, her voice steady despite the unease curling in her chest. "I feel it."
The air around her trembled faintly, answering without words.
She straightened her posture, the perfect nanny once more, and walked back toward the living room just as Anny looked up at her.
"Abby?" Anny asked. "Is something wrong?"
Abigail smiled.
A warm smile. A practiced one.
"No, my dear," she replied gently. "Everything is just as it should be."
But as she turned away, her shadow lingered a moment longer than it should have—stretching unnaturally across the floor, bending toward Anny like it was reaching for her.
And somewhere in the unseen dark, something ancient smiled back.