Isla's POV
I threw myself sideways just as the creature's claws slammed into the door where my head had been.
Wood splintered. The door exploded outward, and I tumbled into the hallway with the glowing scroll clutched to my chest. The silver symbols on my skin burned brighter, lighting up the dark basement like a torch.
"Help!" I screamed. "Someone help me!"
But the party music upstairs was too loud. No one could hear me die.
The creature oozed through the doorway, its body folding and unfolding in ways that made my eyes hurt. It moved like smoke and oil mixed together, sometimes solid, sometimes liquid. Those teeth—hundreds of them—clicked and gnashed.
"The Veilweaver must not awaken," it hissed. "You die. Tonight. Here."
I scrambled to my feet and ran.
My shoes slapped against concrete as I sprinted down the hallway. Behind me, the creature made a sound like nails on glass, scraping along the walls and ceiling. It was faster than anything should be.
I risked a glance back. Big mistake.
The thing was on the ceiling now, crawling upside down like a giant spider made of shadows. Its head twisted completely around to look at me, and I saw it had no eyes—just teeth where its face should be.
"You cannot run from what you are," it laughed. "The blood calls to us. We smell your awakening."
My lungs burned. My legs screamed. I'd never been athletic—six months of barely eating and sleeping on a lumpy mattress had left me weak. The creature was going to catch me.
I reached the main archive floor, rows of tall bookshelves stretching into darkness. The emergency lights cast weird shadows everywhere. I ducked between shelves, trying to hide.
Silence.
I pressed my hand over my mouth, forcing my breathing to quiet. Where was it? The scroll in my arms pulsed with silver light, and I realized it was like a beacon. The symbols on my skin glowed too, making me easy to find.
Think, Isla. Think!
A scraping sound above me. I looked up.
The creature hung from the ceiling directly overhead, its mouth opening wider and wider, impossibly wide, ready to drop on me and swallow me whole.
I dove forward. The creature crashed down where I'd been standing, smashing through shelves. Books exploded everywhere. Ancient texts my parents had loved, destroyed.
"Stop running!" the creature roared. "Your death is inevitable! The Veil must not have another Weaver!"
I didn't understand what it was talking about. Veilweaver? What did that mean? All I knew was that touching the scroll had marked me, and now this monster wanted me dead.
I ran past the catalog desk, grabbing scissors from a drawer. A stupid weapon, but better than nothing. The creature charged after me, knocking over entire bookshelves like dominoes.
"You think metal can hurt me?" It laughed. "I am shadow and hunger! I am the darkness between worlds!"
It was right. When I spun around and threw the scissors, they passed straight through its body like it was made of smoke.
I was going to die. After everything—losing my parents, my home, Marcus's betrayal, working in this basement like a ghost—I was going to die without anyone even knowing.
The thought made me angry.
No. Not like this. Not tonight.
The creature lunged. I held up the scroll without thinking, and something incredible happened.
Silver light exploded from the ancient paper, forming a shield. The creature slammed into it and shrieked, its body sizzling where it touched the light.
"Impossible!" it hissed. "You're not trained! You shouldn't be able to—"
I didn't wait to hear more. I ran for the stairs leading up to the main floor. If I could reach the party, reach people, maybe it couldn't attack me in front of witnesses.
But the creature was angry now. It moved faster, cutting me off from the stairs. I was trapped in the back corner of the archives, surrounded by old map collections and storage boxes.
"Clever little Weaver," it purred. "But useless. The scroll protects you, yes. But how long can you hold it? How long before your arms tire? Your magic is infant-weak. You cannot even speak the words of power."
It was right. My arms already shook from holding the scroll up. The silver light flickered.
The creature circled me slowly, enjoying my fear. "They always send me for the new ones. The awakened who don't know what they are. So easy to kill before they learn." Its teeth clicked together. "I've killed twelve Veilweavers. You'll be thirteen. A lucky number."
Twelve others? How many people like me had died alone, afraid, not understanding why?
"Why?" I gasped. "Why do you want to kill me? I didn't do anything!"
"You exist," it said simply. "That's enough. The Veil is weak. If a trained Weaver repairs it, our kind cannot cross over to feed. So we kill you before you learn. Before you become dangerous."
The scroll's light dimmed more. My arms dropped an inch.
The creature smiled—if a face made of teeth could smile. "Any last words?"
I thought of my parents. Of how they died six years ago, and everyone said it was an accident. But what if it wasn't? What if creatures like this had killed them because of what I might become?
The anger gave me strength. I lifted the scroll higher. "Yeah. I have last words."
The creature paused, curious.
"I'm not going to die tonight," I said. "Not for you. Not for anyone."
The scroll blazed with light, so bright the creature recoiled. The symbols on my skin burned hot, and I felt something inside me wake up—something that had been sleeping my entire life.
Power. Raw and wild and mine.
The creature sensed it too. For the first time, it looked afraid.
"No," it whispered. "You're not ready. You can't be ready—"
The air ripped open again. Another tear, but this one was different. This one glowed silver, not black. And through it stepped a man.
Tall. Silver-white hair. Eyes like mercury that glowed in the darkness. He held a sword made of pure moonlight.
He looked at me. Looked at the creature. His face showed nothing—no fear, no anger, no emotion at all.
Then he moved.
I'd never seen anyone move that fast. One second he was standing still. The next, his blade had cut through the creature three times. The shadow monster didn't even have time to scream before it dissolved into black mist.
The man turned to me. His silver eyes widened slightly—the only expression on his otherwise cold face. He touched his chest, like something hurt him.
"Impossible," he whispered, the same word the creature had said.
I stared at him, shaking, still holding the scroll. "Who—who are you?"
Before he could answer, the building shook. Books fell from shelves. The walls cracked. More tears opened in the air—five, six, seven of them. More creatures poured through, all teeth and shadows and hunger.
"There's more than one?" I gasped.
The man's jaw tightened. He moved to stand between me and the creatures, his sword ready.
"Stay behind me," he said, his voice cold as winter. "And whatever you do, don't let go of that scroll."
The creatures attacked all at once, and the mysterious warrior with the silver eyes became a blur of light and death.
But even as he fought, even as he destroyed monster after monster, I saw something that terrified me more than the creatures.
There were too many. And they kept coming.