The words wouldn't leave her head.
Even after the last hum faded into silence and Elena turned off the living room lights, Nyra still heard them — that low, melodic murmur that wasn't English, wasn't anything she'd ever heard before. It rolled and hissed, as if the syllables were alive, pulsing with power.
She sat on the edge of her bed, knees pulled to her chest, heart hammering against her ribs.
What was that?
Why would Mom be chanting something that sounds like a spell?
The sensible part of her brain screamed to let it go. Pretend nothing was wrong. Go to bed. Wake up. Be normal.
But "normal" had been slipping from her grasp for weeks. Maybe months. And tonight, it felt gone for good.
She got up.
Barefoot, she padded down the hall, every creak of the floorboard sounding like a gunshot in the still house. The clock downstairs chimed midnight, each note sending a ripple of adrenaline through her veins.
The living room was dark now, the faint moonlight from the window casting silver streaks across the floor. Elena's tea mug still sat on the table, half-empty, steam long gone. A book lay beside it — closed, thick, bound in cracked leather. Nyra had never seen it before.
She hesitated. Then, moving like a thief, she crossed the room and touched the book's cover.
Cold. Almost unnaturally so.
She flipped it open carefully. The pages were filled with symbols — looping, elegant, utterly alien — but between them were words she could read. Old names. Dates. Bloodlines. And one word that made her breath hitch.
Noctari.
There it was again. Right there in her mother's book.
She flipped faster now, scanning page after page. There were diagrams of constellations. Drawings of pale, sharp-eyed figures surrounded by crescents of silver and crimson. A map with red ink tracing a path across continents — from Eastern Europe, down through North Africa, across the Mediterranean, and finally to the western coast of Africa.
A name appeared again and again beside that map.
House Elenas.
Her fingers trembled as they traced the ink. House Elenas. Elena. Mom…
"Nyra."
The voice almost stopped her heart.
She slammed the book shut and spun around. Elena stood at the doorway, framed by darkness, her expression unreadable. The warm, familiar softness that usually lived in her features was gone — replaced by something colder. Older.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her tone low.
"I…" Nyra's throat closed. "I was thirsty. I came down for water and I—"
"—and decided to go through my things?" Elena's voice didn't rise, but the disappointment in it cut deeper than anger ever could.
Nyra clutched the book to her chest. "You're hiding things from me."
Elena's gaze sharpened. "Excuse me?"
"Don't act like you're not." Nyra's voice shook, but she didn't stop. "You know what's happening to me. The heartbeat. The… hunger. The man under the tree. You know. And you're lying to me."
A long silence stretched between them. Elena's jaw tightened. "You're not ready to know."
"I am ready!" Nyra shouted before she could stop herself. "I have a right to know what's happening to me!"
Her mother's eyes softened for just a moment — then hardened again, like a steel door slamming shut. "Not yet," she said quietly. "Not until it's time."
Nyra felt something in her chest crack. "When will that be? When I lose control and hurt someone? When I'm too far gone to stop?"
Elena didn't answer.
Nyra's fingers curled around the book. "I'm not a child anymore."
"No," Elena said, voice heavy with something like sorrow. "You're not. And that's exactly why I have to protect you from the truth."
Before Nyra could speak again, Elena stepped forward and gently pried the book from her hands. "Go to bed," she said softly. "Please."
"Mom—"
"Now."
It wasn't anger. It wasn't even authority. It was finality. A door being closed and locked from the inside.
Nyra swallowed hard, tears burning her eyes. "You're lying to me," she whispered.
But Elena had already turned away.
-
Sleep didn't come.
Nyra tossed and turned for hours, the phantom heartbeat louder than ever, echoing beneath her skin. Questions burned through her skull like wildfire.
House Elenas.
Noctari.
Drinkers of the life-flow.
Born of the moon's shadow.
And above it all, one thought rose higher than the rest:
Mom is one of them.
The words were terrifying — but they felt true. Too many pieces lined up: the secretiveness, the way Elena always brushed off Nyra's symptoms, the way she'd reacted tonight. And if she was Noctari…
Then so was Nyra.
-
The next morning felt heavier than most. The sunlight was too bright, the air too warm, the silence between Nyra and her mother too loud.
"Good morning," Elena said at breakfast, her voice carefully casual.
Nyra didn't look up from her plate. "Morning."
"Did you sleep well?"
"Fine."
The silence stretched again. Elena sighed quietly but said nothing else. They finished breakfast without another word.
Nyra didn't know if she was angry or heartbroken. Maybe both.
---
School wasn't any easier. Tessa chatted beside her about a movie she'd watched last night, but Nyra barely heard her. All she could think about was the book — the truth — just out of reach.
And Aisha noticed.
"Something's bothering you," she said quietly as they walked down the hall together.
"I'm fine."
"Liar." Aisha's tone was gentle but firm. "Your eyes give you away."
Nyra sighed. "I just… had a fight with my mom."
"About what?"
"About…" She trailed off. How could she even explain? "Secrets."
Aisha studied her for a long moment. "You think she's hiding something?"
"I know she is."
"Then find out." Aisha's voice was calm, matter-of-fact. "If someone's keeping you from the truth, you have two choices: wait for them to hand it to you or take it yourself."
Nyra stopped walking. "What if I don't like what I find?"
"Then at least you'll know," Aisha said simply. "And knowing is better than being in the dark."
The words stuck with her all day.
---
By the time the last bell rang, Nyra had made up her mind.
She wasn't going to wait for answers anymore.
-
The house was empty when she got home. A note on the fridge said her mother had gone grocery shopping. Perfect.
Her hands shook as she crept into the living room and back to the cabinet where the leather-bound book had been. It was gone — but Elena wasn't careless. If she hid one thing, she'd hidden others.
Nyra searched everywhere — behind photo frames, under floorboards, in drawers that hadn't been opened in years. Hours passed, but she found nothing. Until she remembered the one place she'd never been allowed to touch.
The attic.
-
Dust danced in the shafts of sunlight as she pushed the creaky door open. The air was stale, heavy with the scent of wood and age. Boxes lined the walls, some labeled with years she hadn't even been alive for.
She started opening them.
Old photo albums. Clothes. Letters. Nothing unusual.
Then she found a wooden chest at the far end of the attic. It was small, ornate, carved with the same looping symbols she'd seen in her mother's book. The lock was rusted but loose. One firm tug, and it snapped open.
Inside were things that didn't belong in a normal family attic.
A silver dagger etched with runes.
A vial of dark, dried liquid sealed with wax.
A locket containing a photo of a woman who looked almost identical to Elena — but older. Colder. Regal.
And beneath it all, a stack of letters bound with red ribbon.
Her hands trembling, Nyra untied the ribbon and unfolded the top letter.
> My dearest Elena,
If you are reading this, then the cycle has begun again. The bloodline stirs. The child will awaken soon, and with her awakening comes the danger we have long feared. Protect her. Do not let the Order find her. Above all else, do not let her learn the truth before her time. The hunger must ripen before it is revealed — if it is not, she may destroy herself before she understands what she is.
Remember: blood calls to blood. And blood cannot be denied.
Nyra's breath caught. The room swayed around her.
The child. That was her.
The hunger. The thing gnawing inside her every day.
The Order. Who were they? Why were they dangerous?
She flipped to the next letter, desperate for more answers — but the sound of a door slamming downstairs froze her in place.
Her mother was home.
-
Panic surged through her veins. She stuffed the letters back into the chest, slammed the lid shut, and sprinted down the attic stairs. She barely had time to smooth her hair and pretend to be reading on the couch before Elena stepped into the living room with grocery bags in her arms.
"You're home early," Nyra said, forcing casualness into her voice.
"I forgot the list," Elena replied, setting the bags down. Her eyes lingered on Nyra for a second too long, as if she knew. "What did you do today?"
"Homework."
"And nothing else?"
"Nope." The lie was getting easier. Too easy.
Elena smiled faintly, but something in her gaze told Nyra she wasn't fooled. "Good," she said softly. "Keep it that way."
-
That night, Nyra stared at the ceiling again — but this time, she wasn't afraid.
She was determined.
The Noctari. The Order. The bloodline. It was all connected. And her mother was at the heart of it.
She'd tasted enough of the truth to know one thing for sure:
Her life — her entire existence — was a lie.
And she was done living it.