Sunlight filtered weakly through the half-closed curtains, spilling across the floor like liquid gold. Aria sat at the edge of her bed, still in her nightshirt, staring at nothing. The mirror across the room reflected her blank face, the faint mark on her wrist now pale but still there — like a whisper she couldn't erase.
The house was quiet except for the faint clatter of pans in the kitchen. Her mother was awake.
Aria took a deep breath and stepped out of her room. The smell of toast and coffee drifted through the hallway, wrapping her in a fragile sense of normalcy.
Her mom turned, smiling when she saw her. "Morning, sweetheart. You're up early."
"Yeah," Aria murmured, sliding into the chair. Her voice was steady, but her eyes kept drifting toward the window, to the forest line far beyond the street.
Her mom set a plate in front of her, then frowned. "You look pale. Didn't sleep?"
Aria shook her head. "Just… couldn't."
Her mother studied her for a moment — the way her shoulders hunched, the shadows beneath her eyes. Then she came around the table and sat beside her. "Aria, what's wrong? You've been quiet since last night."
Aria forced a weak smile. "Nothing, Mom. I think I'm just tired. Maybe I'll skip college today."
Her mom tilted her head, concern softening her expression. "You sure? You never skip."
"I'll be fine," Aria said quickly. "Lily and Mira might come over. You don't have to worry."
Her mother hesitated, then brushed her daughter's hair behind her ear. "All right. But promise me you'll rest. You've been working too hard."
"I promise," Aria whispered.
Her mother smiled faintly and kissed her forehead. "I'll be late at the hospital tonight. Text me if you need anything."
Aria nodded, trying to hide the flicker of guilt twisting in her chest. She can't know. She'll just worry.
When her mom left the room, Aria exhaled slowly. The toast on her plate had gone cold, untouched.
At the Edge of the Woods
Miles away, sunlight broke through the mist of pine trees surrounding a secluded cabin. Damien stood by the large window, the same restless tension in his stance that had haunted him since last night. His sharp features were half hidden in shadow, eyes glowing faintly gold when the light hit them.
Behind him, Viktor leaned against a wooden pillar, sipping coffee. His gray-green eyes studied Damien like a scientist watching a dangerous experiment.
"You've been pacing since dawn," Viktor said. "That's never a good sign."
Damien didn't respond. He kept staring through the glass, as if he could see something — or someone — beyond the trees.
Finally, Viktor spoke again, careful but blunt. "So. What happened last night?"
Damien turned. "I found her."
Viktor frowned. "Her? Who—"
"The human girl," Damien interrupted. "I was hunting the hunters. She was there. Wrong place, wrong time."
"And you killed her?" Viktor asked, though the answer was obvious from the look in Damien's eyes.
"No," Damien said quietly. "I couldn't."
Viktor blinked. "Couldn't? You've never—"
"I heard her, Viktor," Damien said, stepping closer. "Not her voice. Her thoughts. Her fear. I can still hear it — feel it. Right now."
Viktor straightened, all humor gone. "That's not possible."
Damien's jaw tightened. "When my claws grazed her skin, something happened. The link didn't fade when I left. It followed me."
Viktor swore under his breath. "You think she's….your mate?"
"No," Damien said sharply. "She's human. That's impossible."
"Then explain this connection."
Damien ran a hand through his hair, frustration flashing in his eyes. "I can't. But I'm going to find out."
Viktor crossed his arms. "And how exactly do you plan to do that?"
A slow smile crept across Damien's face — dark and dangerous. "She's not alone. Her mother works at the central hospital. If the bond is real, maybe it runs in her bloodline."
Viktor stiffened. "Damien—"
"I need answers," Damien said flatly, already reaching for his keys. "And I think I know where to start."
He brushed past Viktor, grabbing his jacket from the chair.
Viktor sighed, muttering, "You're walking straight into chaos again."
Damien didn't look back. "Chaos is where I belong."
Back at Home
The front door clicked shut behind Aria's mother as she left for work. The silence that followed was almost too loud.
Aria stood by the window, watching her mother's car disappear down the street. She whispered under her breath, "Be safe, Mom," before turning back inside.
Her phone buzzed on the table.
Lily: We're on our way. Get out of those pajamas, zombie.
Mira: Bringing chips and energy drinks. Don't start a movie without us.
For the first time that morning, Aria smiled. Maybe her friends could pull her out of the fog in her head.
By late morning, the sound of laughter filled the living room. Lily sprawled across the couch with a pillow under her legs while Mira rummaged through the kitchen, declaring herself the "snack queen." They joked about professors, classmates, and the absurd drama that came with college life.
For a few hours, Aria let herself forget. She laughed. She even sang along when Lily played music too loud. It felt normal — almost peaceful.
But sometimes, when her laughter faded, her eyes would drift to the window. The world outside felt too still. Too quiet. Her mark, hidden beneath her sleeve, throbbed faintly. Once, she thought she heard a whisper — her name — so soft it could've been her imagination.
"You okay?" Mira asked, noticing her sudden silence.
"Yeah," Aria said quickly, forcing a smile. "Just thinking."
"About what?" Lily teased. "Don't tell me it's that guy from psychology again."
Aria laughed, shaking her head. "No, nothing like that."
Still, she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched — like invisible eyes were tracing every move she made.
By evening, the light outside dimmed to gold and rose. The mark on her wrist burned again, just for a second. She pressed her fingers over it and whispered, "What are you?"
The hospital parking lot was almost empty, bathed in the dull orange of the setting sun.
A sleek black car stood near the far end, its door slightly ajar. Damien leaned against it, sleeves rolled up, his expression unreadable. The wind tousled his dark hair, carrying the faint scent of smoke and rain.
Across the lot, Aria's mother's car gleamed under a flickering streetlamp.
Damien moved closer, slow, deliberate. He stopped in front of her car, resting one hand on the hood. His fingers tapped lightly — one, two, three — a rhythm only he knew. The metal was still warm from the day.
He tilted his head, listening to something only he could hear — a heartbeat far away, pulsing faintly beneath his own.
Then a slow smirk curved his lips.
The hunter had found his trail.
And the night was only beginning.