The night was too quiet.
Nyra's breathing was uneven as her eyes locked on the silhouette standing beneath the old oak tree. Its presence was wrong — not just a passerby, not a trick of the shadows. Whoever it was had been waiting.
The phantom heartbeat thundered louder in her ears, every beat syncing with the figure's stillness.
Ba-dum.
Ba-dum.
The silhouette tilted its head slowly, unnervingly deliberate, as if acknowledging her. Moonlight caught on the edge of its form, revealing the faint outline of a man cloaked in black, his features hidden beneath the hood that cast his face into darkness.
Nyra's mouth went dry. Her instincts screamed run, but her feet refused to move. It wasn't fear alone that held her in place — it was recognition. Not of the man himself, but of what he radiated.
The same pulse that lived inside her. The same unearthly thrum she had tried to deny.
"You…" The word slipped from her lips, half-breathed, half-spoken.
The man chuckled, low and smooth, like velvet dragged across steel. It echoed unnaturally in the quiet park. "So, you can hear it too."
Nyra froze. His voice wasn't just sound; it resonated in her chest, vibrating through her bones.
She forced her tongue to move. "Who are you?"
The figure didn't answer. Instead, he stepped forward, his boots soundless against the grass. Each step made the phantom heartbeat intensify, like it belonged to him — or worse, to both of them.
Nyra stumbled backward. Her legs finally obeyed, but only enough to widen the space between them. Her eyes darted toward the streetlamps, toward escape routes, yet her gaze snapped back to him as though invisible strings tethered her to his shadow.
"Don't be afraid," he said. "You've felt it, haven't you? The hunger. The fire that claws at your veins. You can't run from it."
Her chest tightened. His words sliced through her denial like a blade. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
A rustle behind her broke the moment.
"Nyra!"
It was Tessa's voice, strained and worried, followed closely by the soft but firm call of Aisha. They had followed her.
The figure stopped in his tracks, his hood shifting ever so slightly toward the sound. Nyra's pulse spiked. She wanted to scream at her friends to run, to get far away, but her throat was locked.
The man sighed, almost regretfully. "Another time, then."
Before she could blink, his body dissolved into the shadows of the oak, the heartbeat fading with him until only her own ragged breaths remained.
Nyra staggered, clutching the bench for support.
Tessa rushed forward, curls bouncing, her face pale with alarm. "Nyra! What happened? Who was that? We saw— we thought—"
Aisha caught Nyra's arm, steadying her. Her dark eyes searched Nyra's face, full of quiet intensity. "He was no ordinary stranger." It wasn't a question.
Nyra's lips trembled. She wanted to tell them everything, to pour out the truth that had been clawing at her chest for weeks. But fear rooted her tongue. If she spoke it aloud, if she admitted what she was becoming, there would be no taking it back.
Instead, she shook her head violently. "I… I don't know. I just… I need to go home."
Tessa and Aisha exchanged a glance — one filled with questions, with fear, with a loyalty neither of them fully understood yet.
---
Later that night, when Nyra lay in her bed staring at the ceiling, the phantom heartbeat returned, faint but steady. She pressed her hands against her ears, desperate to block it out, but the sound came from within her.
And beneath it all, she remembered his words:
"You can't run from it."