The morning sun bled gold over the rooftops, yet Nyra felt none of its warmth. Sleep had barely touched her; every time she closed her eyes, she saw the silhouette beneath the oak tree — still as a shadow, yet alive in a way that terrified her.
And every time she remembered his words — You can't run from it — her heartbeat stumbled.
Now, as she stood before the mirror brushing her hair, she barely recognized the girl staring back. There was a sharpness in her gaze that hadn't been there before, a subtle gleam that whispered change. The faint silver glow that flickered in her irises last night was gone, but its memory gnawed at her.
She tugged her blazer on and slung her bag over her shoulder. Downstairs, the house was quiet. Too quiet.
Her mother's humming — that strange, low tune she had heard the night before — was gone. The kitchen smelled faintly of herbs and copper, and on the counter sat a half-washed pot from last night's dinner. Nyra paused, running her fingers along the handle. The memory of the stew — too rich, too metallic — surfaced again.
Her mother had left early for work. Or maybe she had gone somewhere else.
Either way, Nyra didn't want to linger. The house felt heavier these days, as though the walls themselves held secrets she wasn't ready to hear.
---
At School – The Questions Begin
The chatter of students echoed down the hallway as Nyra stepped through the double doors. Everything looked the same — the same bulletin board plastered with flyers, the same rows of lockers, the same faint scent of floor polish — and yet, she felt as if she'd stepped into a different world.
Because she was no longer the same.
"Nyra!"
Tessa's bright voice broke through the noise. She jogged toward her, curls bouncing, a hopeful smile on her face that faltered slightly when she got closer. "You look… um, tired. Are you okay?"
Nyra forced a nod. "Didn't sleep much."
"Yeah, no kidding." Tessa fell into step beside her. "After last night? I wouldn't sleep either."
Nyra's stomach twisted. Last night.
The oak tree. The heartbeat. The stranger.
"About that…" Tessa lowered her voice, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. "Who was that guy? And why did it feel like he was… I don't know… watching you?"
"I don't know," Nyra lied smoothly, the words tasting bitter. "Probably just some creep hanging around the park."
Tessa raised a brow. "A creep who disappears into thin air?"
Before Nyra could respond, a soft, measured voice joined them.
"Or a creep who isn't human."
Aisha.
She walked up to them calmly, her navy hijab pinned neatly in place, her expression unreadable but her dark eyes sharp as blades. She studied Nyra's face with the kind of patience that felt more like interrogation.
"What do you mean?" Nyra asked, feigning confusion.
Aisha adjusted her books against her chest. "I mean," she said quietly, "normal men don't make people freeze in place without speaking. And they don't vanish without a sound. And they certainly don't make you look like you've seen a ghost."
Nyra's breath caught. "I—"
"You can lie to Tessa if you want," Aisha continued, her tone gentle but firm, "but don't lie to me. I saw your face. You knew there was something wrong with him."
Tessa blinked between them, clearly lost. "Wait… are you two seriously suggesting he was… like… supernatural or something?"
Aisha didn't answer. She just held Nyra's gaze — steady, patient, relentless.
Nyra swallowed hard. The hallway felt narrower, the air thicker.
"I don't know what he was," she finally said, voice barely above a whisper. "I just… felt something. Like… like he was connected to me."
Aisha's brow furrowed. "Connected how?"
"I don't know!" Nyra snapped, louder than she intended. Heads turned. She quickly lowered her voice. "I just… I felt his heartbeat. Like it was mine."
The words hung between them, heavy and impossible.
Tessa's mouth fell open. "You what?"
Aisha didn't look shocked. If anything, she looked as though she had expected that answer — and that terrified Nyra more than anything.
"Okay," Aisha murmured, glancing around before leaning closer. "Then we need to talk. Not here."
-
Lunchtime – Beneath the Old Oak
It was poetic, in a cruel way, that Aisha had chosen the oak tree — that oak tree — as their meeting spot. Nyra stared up at its gnarled branches, her stomach churning with the memory of the night before.
Tessa was fidgeting nervously, clearly regretting skipping lunch for this. Aisha, on the other hand, sat cross-legged on the grass, calm and unshakable, as though this were just another debate club meeting.
"Start from the beginning," she said.
Nyra hesitated. "What beginning?"
"The beginning," Aisha repeated. "The heartbeat. The dizziness. The blood. Everything you've been hiding."
Nyra's throat tightened. She had spent weeks trying to bury those words — heartbeat, blood, hunger — beneath layers of denial. Saying them aloud would make them real.
But Aisha wasn't going to let it go.
So Nyra told them. Not everything — she left out the stew and the faint glow in her eyes — but enough. The phantom heartbeat. The way blood made her feel sick and alive all at once. The metallic scent that called to her. The stranger's words.
By the time she was done, Tessa looked pale, like she might throw up.
Aisha, however, was thoughtful. Too thoughtful.
"This isn't random," Aisha said at last. "It's connected. All of it."
Tessa stared. "Connected to what? She's not a—" She cut herself off, shaking her head. "That's insane."
"Is it?" Aisha asked softly. "You've read stories. Old myths. There are people who can hear heartbeats that aren't their own. People whose hunger isn't for food."
Nyra's heart stopped. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
Aisha met her eyes. "I'm saying that maybe this isn't a sickness, Nyra. Maybe it's who you are."
---
The Second Encounter
The words haunted Nyra all afternoon. Maybe it's who you are.
She repeated them as she walked home. As she brushed her teeth. As she stared at the ceiling that night.
And when the heartbeat came again — faint, insistent, familiar — she knew it wasn't a dream.
Ba-dum.
Ba-dum.
Ba-dum.
It was calling her.
This time, she didn't fight it.
She slipped out of bed, bare feet whispering against the wooden floor, and followed the pulse out into the cool night. The streets were empty, the moon a thin silver blade overhead. It led her past the park, past the school, down an alley she didn't recognize.
And there — waiting at the end — was him.
The man in the cloak.
"You came," he said, and this time his voice was softer, almost pleased.
Nyra's breath hitched. "Who are you?"
He stepped forward. The shadows parted just enough for moonlight to kiss his face.
He was young — no older than twenty — with sharp, beautiful features that looked carved from marble. His eyes were a deep, unsettling crimson, and when he smiled, Nyra saw the faint glint of fangs.
Fangs.
"I've been waiting a long time to meet you," he said. "We all have."
"We?" Nyra whispered.
"You'll understand soon." He extended a hand, palm open, inviting. "But first… you have to accept what you are."
Nyra's breath came shallow and fast. "And what is that?"
His smile deepened. "Not human."
---
Shadows of the Blood
She stumbled back, shaking her head. "No. No, you're wrong. I am human."
"Are you?" he murmured. "Tell me, human girl — when you smelled blood, did you crave it? When you heard the heartbeat, did you follow it? When you saw me, did you feel the fire in your veins?"
Her mouth opened, but no denial came.
He stepped closer. "You are one of us, Nyra. A Noctari. A child of the blood."
The word wrapped around her like a chain — Noctari. It was foreign, ancient, and terrifyingly familiar.
"Why me?" she breathed.
"Because," he whispered, leaning closer until his breath brushed her ear, "you are the rarest of us all."
---
Nyra bolted.
She didn't remember turning. Didn't remember running. But suddenly she was sprinting through the empty streets, heart slamming, lungs burning, his words echoing in her head.
You are the rarest of us all.
The heartbeat chased her, louder than ever. And for the first time, she couldn't tell if it was hers.