The cave was damp and airless, a hollowed-out tomb beneath Blackstone's forgotten edges. Water dripped from the ceiling in lazy intervals, echoing against the jagged stone. But the sound was drowned by something else—the faint, metallic creak of chains.
Bodies hung from the cavern wall, their throats torn, skin pale and waxy. Most of them were girls, no older than high school. Their lifeless eyes stared into nothing, hair plastered to their faces, mouths slack as if frozen mid-scream. The stench of death clung to the cave, thick enough to choke.
From the shadows, the pale man emerged. The same pale-faced "delivery guy." His footsteps were unhurried, his posture casual, almost regal. He stopped in the middle of the cavern, eyes glowing faintly red in the dark.
"You're getting sloppy."
The voice came from deeper in the cave. A woman stepped forward, her shoes clicking against the stone floor. She was tall, striking, with raven-dark hair that spilled across her shoulders. Her lips were bloodstained, but her expression was annoyed, not sated.
"Sloppy?" The man's lips curled into a smirk. "These are clean kills." He gestured lazily toward the dangling corpses. "Art, even."
"Art?" She hissed, folding her arms. "It's obsession. You've been circling that girl. The new one. You should stop"
Her voice sharpened. "Do you want Damien Cross to slit your throat himself? Because that's exactly what you're asking for."
The man's smirk didn't fade. He paced toward her, his pale skin seeming even more spectral under the flickering torchlight. "Damien Cross doesn't scare me."
"Idiot." Her voice trembled with restrained anger. "He's not just another hunter. He's a hybrid. He doesn't stop when he hunts. You think you can keep circling that girl without him noticing? He'll find out. And when he does, this—" she gestured around them, to the bodies strung like grisly trophies "—all of this burns."
The pale man tilted his head. "Let him hunt. Let him try."
"You're insane."
"No." His smile widened into something inhuman. "There's something different about her. I saw it. I felt it. That scent… the warmth under her skin. I want it. I want her." His voice cracked with hunger. "I won't stop until I taste her. Until I drink her dry."
The woman stepped closer, her glare sharp enough to cut stone. "Then you'll get yourself killed. And when you do, don't say I didn't warn you."
The pale man only chuckled, low and hollowHe turned his gaze toward the cave's entrance, as if looking through the miles of earth and stone, toward the town above.
"June Calloway…" he whispered, almost lovingly. "Soon."
***********************
The clock on the wall ticked past nine. Blackstone's streets outside had grown quiet, only the occasional car rumbling down the road. The Smith house sat tucked on the corner, warm yellow light spilling from its kitchen window.
Grace was in front of the stove, a wooden spoon in her hand as steam rolled up from the pot. She'd insisted on making dinner—pasta and meatballs with too much sauce, but at least it was edible.
June, meanwhile, wasn't in the kitchen. She was circling the house like a sentry.
Click. She locked the front door. She tugged it once, twice, to be sure. Then she moved to the side windows, sliding them down firmly and snapping the latches.
Grace peeked over her shoulder, brow furrowed. "Uh… June? What are you doing?"
"Making sure we don't get murdered in our sleep," June muttered, moving to the back door. Click. The bolt slid into place.
Grace blinked, then snorted. "Murdered? People don't even lock their bikes here, let alone their doors."
"That's stupid," June shot back. She crossed the living room, her hair swinging as she leaned over to secure the last window. "I'm not taking chances. You don't know what kind of creeps could be out there."
Grace laughed so hard she almost dropped the spoon. "Oh my God, you're actually paranoid. You look like a mom on caffeine, stalking around and checking locks like the boogeyman's after you."
June gave her a flat look. "Grace, there is a boogeyman out there. Or didn't you see him? The pizza guy with the serial-killer face?"
Grace waved it off. "He was just a delivery guy, and you freaked yourself out. Relax. This town is weird, yeah, but it's not dangerous. Trust me, I've lived here my whole life."
June returned to the kitchen, crossing her arms. "Well, excuse me for caring about survival."
"Paranoid," Grace teased, nudging her with the spoon. A drop of sauce splattered onto June's jacket.
"Ugh, Grace!" June groaned, swiping at it.
Grace just giggled. "You'll live. Sit. Dinner's almost done. And stop treating our house like a fortress, or my mom will think you've lost your mind when she comes back."
But June sat down reluctantly, her eyes still flicking toward the windows. Something about this town felt off. It wasn't just paranoia—she knew what she'd seen that night. Golden eyes. Inhuman speed. And now that pale man's face…
Her stomach twisted.
Grace, oblivious, kept stirring.
And then—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound echoed through the small living room.
Grace barely looked up from the pot. "June, can you get the door?"
June froze in her chair. "Me? Why me?"
"Because you're the one paranoid about locking every single thing. You wanted safety, now go check your safety." Grace smirked without turning from the stove.
June glared, but her heart was already thudding. With each step toward the door, her mind spiraled. Please don't be him. Please don't be that creepy, pale pizza man. If it's him, I'm slamming this door so fast he won't even blink. Then I'm diving under my blanket and never coming out.
She placed her hand on the lock, hesitating. Slowly, she pulled it open.
And there, leaning casually against the frame, was the last person she expected.
Damien freaking Cross!
He wasn't pale and creepy. He was infuriatingly good-looking. Smirking like the universe had set this moment up for him.
"Hey," he said smoothly, as if showing up at her aunt's house unannounced was the most normal thing in the world. "How are you doing?"
June just blinked. "What the hell… Are you stalking me?"
His smirk widened, "Maybe yes. You never know."
Her jaw dropped. "Stalking is a crime against humanity! You could literally be put in prison for that."
Damien tilted his head, pretending to think about it. "Yeah, but this is Blackstone. Not really a crime here."
June huffed, half turning as if to shake him off. "What do you want?"
"Can I come in?" he asked, like it was the simplest thing in the world.
"No." Her voice was sharp, final.
He leaned against the doorframe further, amusement dancing in his eyes.
June turned and shouted toward the kitchen. "Grace!"
Grace came rushing, wiping her hands on a towel. And when she saw who it was, her eyes practically popped out of her head.
"Damien—Damien Cross!" she squealed, nearly tripping over herself. "What are you doing here?!"
Damien lifted a brow, glancing between the cousins. "Why the full name? Damien's fine. Or do you yell everyone's surname in excitement?"
Grace flushed bright red, while June just folded her arms, unimpressed.
Grace's cheeks were flushed bright pink, like she'd just walked out of a rom-com scene. Damien Cross. In their doorway. In her house.
She clutched the towel in her hands. "Wait—wait—you're here? Like, here? You've never been here before."
Damien's gaze slid back to her, his smirk carved with ease. "I thought I'd make an exception."
June rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't fall out.
Grace swallowed hard, voice tumbling. "But, um… what are you doing here?"
"Simple," Damien replied, as though it required no explanation. "I just wanted to welcome the new girl properly. You know… be cordial. Be nice."
"Cordial and… nice?" Grace repeated, like she was testing the words.
"Yeah." He nodded, dead serious, though amusement flickered in his eyes. "I figured—new year, new habits. Different character traits, right? People change. Thought I'd try this one on."
June snorted. "Oh, please."
But Damien wasn't even fazed. Instead, he tilted his head, casually asking again, "So. Can I come in now?"
"Yes!" Grace burst, almost tripping forward with eagerness.
"No." June's voice cut sharp, flat, and final.
Both answers collided in the air.
Damien chuckled low, clearly entertained. "Conflicting opinions. Interesting." His eyes lingered on June. "Maybe we should vote?"
"No need for a vote," June snapped. "The answer's already no."
She stepped forward and slammed the door shut right in his face.
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