The morning light crept gently through the thin curtains, painting the walls of Nyra's room in soft gold. But warmth didn't reach her bones. She hadn't slept — not really. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw that hooded figure beneath the oak, his shadow carved against the moonlight, his voice echoing in the hollow space between her ribs.
You can't run from it.
The phantom heartbeat had faded during the night but returned now with the sunrise — faint, like a ghost's whisper, but impossible to ignore. She pressed her palm flat against her chest, searching for steady rhythm, trying to convince herself that the only pulse she felt was her own.
It wasn't.
"Nyra! Breakfast!" Her mother's voice floated up from the kitchen, too bright for the weight sitting in her chest.
"Coming!" she called back automatically, though her body felt heavy as stone.
She dragged herself out of bed and glanced at the mirror. The girl who stared back was a stranger — pale, with bruised circles beneath her eyes and a faint, unnatural shimmer lurking deep within her irises. She blinked and it vanished, leaving her wondering if it had been there at all.
"Get it together," she whispered to herself, combing her fingers through her messy hair before heading downstairs.
---
The scent of fried eggs and toast greeted her at the bottom of the stairs, but instead of comfort, it made her stomach tighten. Her mother, Elena, stood at the counter pouring tea into a pair of mugs, her dark hair swept into a loose bun. She looked calm — too calm — the kind of calm that made Nyra suspicious.
"Good morning," Elena said, her voice as warm as the steam curling from the cup she slid toward Nyra.
"Morning," Nyra mumbled, dropping into her usual seat.
"You're quiet." Elena's tone was light, but her sharp eyes flicked up. "Bad dreams?"
Nyra hesitated, chewing on the inside of her cheek. "Something like that."
It wasn't a lie. It just wasn't the whole truth.
Elena hummed in acknowledgment, sipping her tea without another word. The silence stretched — comfortable once, now suffocating. Nyra stared at her plate, picking at the toast but barely eating. She wanted to ask. She wanted to demand answers. But how did you start a conversation like that? Hey Mom, am I some kind of blood-hungry monster? didn't sound like a great opener.
Instead, she tested the waters. "Mom… did you ever feel like something was wrong with you? Like, inside?"
Elena froze mid-sip. For a fraction of a second — so quick Nyra almost missed it — something flickered across her face. Then she set the mug down and smiled, gentle and practiced. "Everyone feels that way at your age, sweetheart. It's part of growing up."
Nyra's stomach knotted tighter. That wasn't what I meant and you know it.
"Yeah," she said flatly, looking down at her plate. "Maybe."
But Elena's eyes lingered on her, too focused, too searching. "Did something happen?" she asked softly.
"No." The lie was sharp and immediate.
Elena nodded, though her expression didn't ease. "All right. But you know you can always talk to me."
"Sure," Nyra muttered. But in her chest, something cold and certain whispered: She's hiding something.
---
The walk to school felt longer than usual. Her shoes dragged over the pavement, her backpack heavier than it should've been. The morning air was crisp, birds chattering overhead, but none of it reached her. All she could hear was the phantom heartbeat and the echo of the man's words.
When the gates came into view, Aisha was already waiting by the entrance, her hijab a soft cream today, matching the pale blue of her uniform. Tessa leaned against the fence beside her, scrolling through her phone, a frown pinching her brow.
"There you are!" Tessa said, shoving her phone into her pocket as soon as she saw Nyra. "I was about to send a search party."
"Sorry." Nyra forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Rough morning."
Aisha's gaze was more intense — calm but probing. "You didn't answer my messages last night."
"Yeah, I, uh… fell asleep." Another lie. They were piling up now.
Tessa nudged her gently. "You okay? You looked like you saw a ghost yesterday."
Not a ghost, Nyra thought. Something worse.
"I'm fine," she lied again.
But Aisha wasn't convinced. She walked alongside Nyra in silence for a few minutes before speaking again, her voice quiet but firm. "I saw him."
Nyra's steps faltered. "Saw who?"
"The man under the oak," Aisha replied without hesitation. "I only caught a glimpse before he disappeared, but… something about him felt wrong."
Nyra's heart skipped. "You saw him too?"
"Yes." Aisha's brows knit together. "And it wasn't just my imagination. There was… a presence. Like the air changed when he was there."
Tessa looked between them, confused. "Wait — are we seriously talking about some creepy dude now? Shouldn't we be reporting this or something?"
Aisha shook her head. "It's not that simple. Whoever he was… it felt like he was there for her." Her gaze slid to Nyra.
The words sent a chill through Nyra's spine. "I don't know who he was," she said quickly. "And I don't want to know."
But that was a lie too. She did want to know — desperately. Because deep down, she knew that man had answers she didn't.
---
Classes blurred into background noise. Nyra barely registered the lessons, the bell changes, or the chatter around her. All day, one word circled in her head like a hawk over prey: Noctari.
She didn't know why the name pulsed in her mind, but it felt right, like it belonged to the hunger she'd been fighting, to the heartbeat that wasn't hers. Maybe it was a dream she'd forgotten, or maybe the man had whispered it before disappearing. Either way, she couldn't shake it.
When the final bell rang, she didn't go straight home. Instead, she detoured to the school library — a place most students avoided after hours. The space was dim and quiet, the smell of paper and dust heavy in the air.
She sat at one of the old computers, the screen flickering to life beneath her fingers. Her heart pounded as she typed the word into the search bar.
Noctari.
The results were sparse — a handful of obscure references scattered across historical texts, forum posts, and mythological blogs. But one result caught her eye: a centuries-old manuscript scanned into a digital archive.
She clicked.
The text was faded and archaic, the language old-fashioned, but the meaning was clear enough:
> "The Noctari — an ancient bloodline, neither living nor dead. Born of the moon's shadow and the crimson tide. Hunters of the essence, drinkers of the life-flow. Cursed with eternal hunger, blessed with power beyond mortal comprehension."
Her breath hitched. She scrolled further.
> "They walk among humans, concealed by flesh and bone. Some embrace the hunger. Others fight it. But none escape what they are. Blood calls to blood. It always has. It always will."
The screen seemed to blur as her heart hammered. It was like reading a description of herself — the hunger, the heartbeat, the pull toward blood. Every line felt like someone had written her story centuries before she was born.
And then she saw it — a name buried in the footnotes, a historian's note referencing an old European family believed to be descended from the Noctari.
The Elenas.
Nyra's blood turned to ice. Elena. Her mother's name.
-
She slammed the laptop shut, heart racing so hard it hurt. It could be a coincidence. It had to be. But the way her mother dodged her questions, the way she always dismissed Nyra's symptoms… it didn't feel like coincidence.
It felt like a secret.
One she was never supposed to uncover.
---
That night, Nyra paced her room, too restless to sit still. The house was silent except for the soft hum of the refrigerator downstairs and the occasional creak of wood. Her mother was in the living room, humming again — that same strange melody Nyra had heard before. This time, she pressed her ear to the door and listened.
The words were foreign, ancient. They rolled off Elena's tongue like a prayer — or a spell.
Nyra's heart slammed against her ribs. She'd grown up hearing lullabies and bedtime stories from her mother, but never anything like this. This was deliberate. Ritualistic.
What are you hiding from me?