PROLOGUE
The sky had that kind of silver-tinted black you only see when a storm has passed but the moon still insists on shining. It was one of those Friday nights that didn’t feel like anything special—just laughter, music, and the comfort of old friends gathered in a warm living room, stringing together chords and half-written lyrics for the school foundation day.
Aerin sat cross-legged on the carpet, a guitar resting on her thigh, fingers lazily strumming. Her head tilted toward the soft hum of voices around her, but her mind was elsewhere—half in the melody, half in the heaviness she’d been feeling all week. Something strange had been blooming in her chest lately. Not anxiety. Not dread. Something… colder. Wilder. Like the pull of a tide no one else noticed.
“I swear, if we don’t finish this song tonight, we’ll end up doing a cringey dance routine,” joked Jules, their bassist, flicking her pencil against the page.
“Ugh, no,” Aerin laughed. “I’d rather set myself on fire.”
Everyone chuckled. The vibe was relaxed, safe, and messy the way friend groups are—pizza boxes stacked in the kitchen, soda cans half-empty, lyrics scribbled on napkins. But something changed when she heard footsteps descending the staircase behind her.
Slow. Unhurried. Almost too quiet.
A girl walked into the room, brushing a curtain of dark hair over one shoulder. She wasn’t part of the group—not from school. Aerin recognized her only vaguely from previous hangouts. Jian, her friend’s sister. She looked like she belonged in an entirely different world: elegant, unreadable, and somehow always just out of focus, like a song you can’t remember the lyrics to.
Their eyes met.
Jian offered a polite nod, but didn’t say anything. Just drifted toward the kitchen as if she moved on a different current of time than the rest of them.
Aerin’s breath hitched—not from nerves exactly, but instinct. A deep, unfamiliar ache uncoiled in her chest, sharp and magnetic. Her fingers slipped off the frets of her guitar, and she blinked as if waking up.
What the hell was that?
The night wore on, and so did the laughter. But the storm outside returned. Soft at first, then louder, a steady thrum of rain tapping on the windows like a warning. It was nearing midnight when someone suggested drinks. No one argued. It was just that kind of night—the kind that needed something stronger than soda.
Aerin wandered into the kitchen to help, thinking it would clear her head.
Instead, she found Jian there alone, rinsing a glass under cold water. The air between them felt charged, but neither of them spoke at first. The kitchen lights flickered once, then steadied again.
“Hey,” Aerin said, her voice quieter than she meant it to be.
Jian turned, a subtle smirk on her lips. “Hey.”
It should have been awkward. It wasn’t. Aerin watched the way Jian leaned against the counter, her expression unreadable but… knowing. The silence between them felt deliberate, like it had been waiting.
“You’re different,” Jian said suddenly.
Aerin blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You don’t realize it yet, but something inside you is… shifting.”
Aerin felt the blood drain from her face. “Okay… that’s kind of creepy.”
“I don’t mean to scare you.” Jian stepped closer, her eyes sharp but not unkind. “I’ve seen the signs before. Your aura is waking up. It always happens before your first change.”
“Change?”
Jian tilted her head. “You haven’t felt it yet? The dreams? The static in your chest? The way animals stare at you?”
Aerin’s lips parted but no sound came out. Because she had felt it. All of it.
“What are you talking about?” she whispered.
“I can’t tell you everything yet,” Jian said. “But you need to know this—what’s inside you isn’t normal. And it’s not safe for it to stay hidden much longer.”
The thunder outside cracked hard enough to shake the windowpanes. Aerin startled, but Jian didn’t flinch. Her eyes never left Aerin’s.
Then a third voice entered the room.
“You’re pushing too fast again, Jian.” It was a boy’s voice—Sam, her brother. He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, a protective frown on his face. “She’s not ready.”
“She doesn’t have time,” Jian said, her tone sharp. “The others will sense her soon. You know how they hunt newborns.”
“Newborns?” Aerin echoed, her voice almost breaking.
Jian turned back to her, softer now. “You’re not dying, Aerin. But you’re not staying human, either.”
For a long, heavy moment, the rain was the only sound in the house. Everyone else—drunk, laughing, unaware—was in the other room. But Aerin felt like she had already crossed some invisible line. Like everything before this night had just been the prelude to something bigger. Something dangerous. Something... hers.
She stepped back, chest rising and falling. “What are you?”
Jian didn’t answer. Instead, she reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from Aerin’s face.
“I’m someone who’s been waiting for you,” she said. “And so have they.”
—End of Prologue—
