𝒮ℴ𝓊𝓁 𝒯𝒾ℯ𝓈

"𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓯𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓲𝓼 𝓽𝓸 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓷𝓸 𝓯𝓵𝓪𝔀𝓼, 𝓭𝓮𝓯𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓼, 𝓸𝓻 𝓯𝓵𝓪𝔀𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓼. 𝓐 𝓼𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓷 𝓭𝓲𝓼𝓹𝓵𝓪𝔂 𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓯𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓫𝔂 𝓰𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪 𝓯𝓪𝓵𝓼𝓮 𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓾𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓸𝓯 𝓳𝓸𝔂, 𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓹𝓮𝓪𝓬𝓮. 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓪𝓰𝓪𝓲𝓷...𝓦𝓱𝓸 𝓭𝓸𝓮𝓼𝓷'𝓽 𝓼𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓮 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓹𝓲𝓬𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮𝓼"

Another home. Another set of walls that weren't mine. I was tired of moving—tired of pretending to belong for six months at a time just to pack up again. Out of three hundred kids at Saint Andrew's, maybe twenty got adopted each year. The rest of us just waited for our turn that never came.

I lay submerged in the tub, the water still except for the faint pulse of my heartbeat echoing in my ears. The longer I stayed, the colder it got. The silence was heavy—peaceful, even—until someone started pounding on the door.

A blurred silhouette moved behind the frosted glass window of the mahogany door.

"Nyx," a woman's voice called. "Come on, we've got to get on the road or we'll miss our flight."

I rose to the surface, water sliding down my arms as I stood. Grabbing a towel, I wrapped it tight around me and crossed the slick tile. My hair dripped a small trail to the door. When I unlocked it and pulled it open, Tonii—olive-toned, brunette, always too cheerful—was waiting with that same patient smile.

I walked past her without a word.

My clothes were already laid out across the bed—black jeans, black shirt. Guess that was the theme for the day. New home, new disaster, I thought. I pulled them on, sat down, and dug my cracked iPhone out of my bag. A photo of my mother flashed across the screen. I stared just long enough for the ache to start, then shoved it away and focused on packing instead.

"You excited to meet your new family?" Tonii asked, sitting beside me.

"You ever think maybe I don't want another family?" I muttered. "Maybe I like the plantation vibes here."

"You know you can't stay here—"

"I've been here for more than half my life," I cut her off. "What's one more year?"

She sighed. "I know you're tired of this, but I think this family might be perfect for you."

I rolled my eyes at that word—perfect. Personally, perfection was bullshit. It didn't exist.

I zipped up my bag. Tonii gave me another of her practiced smiles. I just slung the strap over my shoulder and looked around the room one last time. The place gave off Massa's Big House vibes—too white, too polished, too empty. I shuddered and followed Tonii out.

The moment I stepped into the hallway, silence spread like a disease. Every kid in the corridor stopped what they were doing and stared.

Whispers moved through the air, sharp and deliberate. Some were just noise, others venom. The younger ones looked at me like I was some kind of ghost that refused to leave. Maybe I was.

Tonii kept walking, pretending not to hear the comments. I did the same—until someone stuck out a foot. My boot caught it, and I hit the floor hard. My bag skidded across the tile, stopping near a pair of pale legs.

"Well, look who it is," a familiar voice sneered. The blonde leaned down just enough for her words to slice under her breath. "Let's hope you're not somebody's punching bag this time."

Laughter erupted around us—cruel, practiced. I stood slowly, blood hot under my skin. She was taller, older, confident in her safety behind the rules.

My fist connected with her nose before I could think twice.

The laughter stopped. The only sound left was a sharp gasp—and then the slow drip of blood hitting tile.

She clutched her face, crimson spilling between her fingers. My knuckles ached, but it was a good kind of pain.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and kept walking.

"She broke my nose!" she screamed behind me.

I laughed—quiet, breathless—and raised both middle fingers over my head as I pushed through the front doors.

Tonii's car waited by the curb. I leaned against the hood, letting the cold air bite at my damp hair. Never thought I'd be leaving Saint Andrew's again. Let's see how long this one lasts.

The ride to the airport was thick with silence. Tonii's hands gripped the steering wheel tighter than usual. She didn't say it, but I could feel her irritation radiating off her.

"You know that could've gone a lot worse," she finally muttered.

I stared out the window. "Could've gone a lot better too."

She sighed. "Just... try this time, Nyx. Please."

I didn't answer.

When she dropped me at the terminal, she managed a soft smile. I returned it with a nod, then stepped through the sliding doors into the noise and chaos of the airport.

TSA lines were endless. I shifted from foot to foot, boredom crawling up my spine. A man ahead of me kept sighing every few seconds, which made me want to trip him next.

To entertain myself, I tapped his right shoulder. When he turned that way, I stepped left into his blind spot. He frowned, confused. I did it again with the next three people in line, each one falling for it. Small amusements. People really were that easy.

I dropped my shoes, phone, and necklace into a plastic bin, pushed my bag onto the belt, and waited for it to disappear into the scanner.

Behind me, a mother cursed at her toddler. Her voice was sharp enough to draw blood. The kid cried louder, and something in me twisted.

A flash of silver caught my eye—a police badge. A K9 officer was moving down the line, the dog's claws clicking on tile.

Shit.

Instinct took over. I stomped hard on the mother's foot. She yelped and launched into a string of louder curses. Perfect distraction.

While everyone's eyes turned to her, I slipped past the scanner, grabbed my stuff, and vanished into the crowd.

The little boy laughed through his tears as I passed. I winked at him.

Boarding was easy after that. I found my seat by the window and shoved my bag into the overhead bin. The seat beside me filled with the scent of vanilla and the sound of someone sitting down.

I glanced sideways. The boy looked about my age—caramel skin, hazel eyes, tattoos climbing his arms like stories. He caught me looking.

"I like the way you move," he said with a grin. "Saw you in the TSA line. You thought you were low?"

Heat crept up my neck. I turned to the window, pretending not to hear.

"Where'd you learn that?" he pressed. Then, sniffing slightly, he smirked. "Ah. That's why you did it."

"Where'd you learn how to mind other people's business?" I muttered.

He laughed. "Hostile much? I'm Ra. See? Not a stranger now."

"Nyx."

His voice was smooth, like he was trying to hypnotize me. I hated that it worked. We talked a little more, the plane taking off beneath us. Somewhere between his laugh and the hum of the engines, my eyes grew heavy, and the world slipped away.

The boy and I would carry on our conversation as the plane took off. When he spoke it was soothing to my ears as if he was trying to put me in a trance. I would yawn almost 30 minutes into the flight indicating that it was time for me to take a nap.

Darkness. Footsteps.

I was running down a narrow corridor that bent and twisted on itself. Every turn looked the same—gray walls, flickering lights, shadows stretching too long. The footsteps behind me grew louder, closer. My lungs burned, my heart ached, but I couldn't stop.

The hallway forked left. I took it—and froze. I'd been here before. Same door at the end, same yellow bulb swinging from the ceiling. I was just here.

Still, I ran. The closer I got to the door, the heavier my legs felt, like I was wading through water. When I finally reached it, I grabbed the handle, twisting, yanking, begging it to open.

"Come on, come on..." I whispered.

It finally gave way. I slammed the door behind me, locked it, and dropped to the floor, shaking. The room was small and empty except for a bed. I crawled underneath it, clutching my knees, hand pressed over my mouth. The pounding started almost immediately—fists slamming against the other side of the door.

"Come, little rabbit," a voice crooned. Deep. Male.

"I'm sorry I scared you."

"Go away!" I sobbed. "Leave me alone!"

The voice dropped its sweetness. "LET ME IN!"

The door rattled under the weight of his body as he threw himself against it again and again. My tears blurred everything.

"Wake up, wake up, wake up..." I whispered, but nothing changed. The sound of splintering wood echoed through the room.

Then silence.

I held my breath, counting heartbeats. One. Two. Three.

When I finally dared to move my hand from my mouth, a tear slid down my cheek—just as something grabbed my ankle and dragged me out.

I screamed.

My eyes flew open. The sound still ripped from my throat as the world snapped back into focus—the hum of engines, the murmur of passengers, the flight attendant's soft voice over the intercom. My chest heaved as I pressed a palm to the window. Clouds drifted below us. We were descending.

Just a dream. Just a dream.

I unclenched my fists, forcing the tension out of my body, and stayed quiet until we landed.

The seatbelt light dinged off. Passengers stood, crowding the aisle. I rose on my toes, reaching for my bag in the overhead bin, but it was too high. I tried again—same result.

Then a pair of arms reached past me, steady and sure, taking the bag down with ease. I turned, cheeks already warm. It was Ra.

"Thank you," I said, clutching the strap.

"No problem, señorita," he said with a teasing grin. "Final destination?"

"You're full of questions, huh?" I shot back, half amused. "But if you must know... never thought I'd end up a city girl."

He laughed, the sound low and easy.

We walked off the plane together, conversation light, until the terminal swallowed us in noise. I scanned the crowd automatically, eyes searching for the name Tonii had texted me earlier. Tatiana Monroe.

I didn't need the sign. The first thing that hit me was a pair of arms wrapping around my waist from nowhere. I gasped and looked down.

A little girl, maybe ten, clung to me like she'd been waiting her whole life. Light brown skin, curly auburn hair, bright jade eyes, and a smile that looked too pure for this world. I froze.

"You must be Pheonyx," said a voice nearby.

I looked up. A woman stood there—mid-thirties, sepia brown skin, hazel eyes, coils of light brown hair falling to her back. Next to her stood three others: a man, tall and broad-shouldered with bronze skin and tight curls; a teenage girl with dyed pink hair bound in a ponytail; and the small one still attached to my waist.

"I'm Tatiana," the woman continued. "This is my fiancé, Andre. My oldest, Shantii. And this little one—Naomi."

Shantii and Andre offered polite smiles. I gave a small upward nod. The youngest finally released me when Tatiana gently pulled her back.

"Nice to meet you," I said quietly.

We moved together through the terminal and down into the subway. The city hit me like a punch—too loud, too alive. Wind rushed through the tunnel as the train screeched to a stop.

"Stand clear of the closing doors, please!" the announcer barked as we stepped on.

The ride blurred together: the J train, then the L, then a bus—the Q35—until we reached their stop. Twenty minutes later we stood before a two-family barrel-front brick house with ivy climbing the side. Naomi pushed open the gate with a practiced hand.

Inside was another world entirely. Marble floors that caught your reflection, chandeliers hanging like constellations, walls painted in warm tones that almost convinced me the house was kind. Almost.

Everyone scattered—bags, chatter, footsteps fading upstairs. I wandered alone until I found a door with my name on it. Curious, I turned the handle. A staircase led down.

The basement was enormous—bigger than any room I'd ever had. A new bed, fresh sheets, a full closet, even a private bathroom. For a moment, I let myself breathe. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

I unpacked my things, filling the silence with the scrape of hangers and the soft sound of paper as I pinned drawings and photos to the walls. The space began to look like mine.

Then, faintly, a hum drifted through the vent above the bed.

I frowned. Climbed onto the mattress. Pressed my ear to the metal grate.

Voices. A man's low rumble. A woman's careful, deliberate tone.

"She seems quiet," the woman said. "You think she's going to be a problem?"

"Doesn't matter," the man replied. "As long as she follows the rules. They always do once they realize where they are."

A pause. Then her voice again—hesitant. "The agency said this one's been to several homes already. That might make her harder to handle."

He laughed, short and cruel. "Or easier. Kids like that stop expecting things. Makes them grateful for what they're given."

"You mean whatever we let them have?"

"Same shit, different words."

A chair scraped against the floor. Glass clinked.

"What about the inspection next week?" she asked.

"Relax. They see what we show them. They always do." His tone sharpened. "Why all the damn questions anyway?"

Silence. Then, softly—

"She'll learn the routine soon enough," he said. "They all do."

The hum faded. My heart didn't.

The house settled around me in slow, uneven breaths. Every wall seemed to exhale, every pipe hummed with its own secret. After the noise of travel, the silence felt almost cruel.

I sat on the edge of the bed, bare feet brushing the cool floor, eyes tracing the pattern of shadows cast by the single lamp. The room looked new, but it smelled old—paint, detergent, a faint trace of dust that caught in my throat. Beneath it all, something sweet and unfamiliar, maybe Tatiana's perfume lingering in the air from when she'd set things up.

Upstairs came a muted rhythm: a door closing, a voice, then water running. The sounds folded into one another until they became a kind of heartbeat above me. I tried to pretend it was comforting. It wasn't.

The vent near the ceiling rattled, releasing a soft current of air. For a moment, it reminded me of breathing. I turned on my side and stared at it until my eyes began to sting. You're fine, I told myself. It's just the vent.

The clock on the nightstand blinked 11:37. I rolled over and pulled the blanket up to my chin. Lavender and bleach. Whoever thought that was a soothing mix had never tried to sleep inside it.

The house kept shifting—small groans, tiny clicks, the whisper of something settling. I named each sound the way Tonii once told me to name my thoughts when I couldn't calm down. Refrigerator. Pipes. Wind.

Then another noise cut through: a slow, uneven tick. Too deliberate to belong to anything mechanical. I turned my head toward the closet. The door was cracked open, just enough to show a sliver of dark.

I stared at that gap until the rest of the room blurred. The air felt heavier, denser, as if the darkness inside the closet was spilling out to fill the space.

It's just wood expanding, I thought. Old houses do that.

Still, I couldn't look away.

Finally, I got up. The floor was colder than I expected. Every step toward the closet sounded too loud. I reached out and pushed the door wider. It moved without resistance, hinges whispering in protest.

Clothes. Boxes. My suitcase. That was all.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. The sound came out as a shaky laugh. "See? Nothing." My voice didn't sound like mine.

I turned back toward the bed—

and froze.

The air behind me shifted, a faint draw and release, like someone breathing through their nose. I told myself it was the vent again, but this was closer. Warmer. The hairs on the back of my neck rose one by one.

"Stop it," I whispered to the room, but my voice trembled.

Then the smell reached me.

Cigarettes. Leather.

The scent punched straight through the years, dragging up a memory I'd buried too deep. A flash of light through smoke. The scrape of a belt buckle. The sound of a door locking.

My chest tightened. I turned too fast, heart slamming, ready to see him standing there.

No one.

The room was empty. The scent was gone as if it had never been.

I stood there for a long time, shaking, until the hum of the vent steadied again. When I finally crawled back into bed, the sheets were damp where my palms had pressed into them.

I left the light on.

Sleep came in pieces, thin and sharp, full of doors that wouldn't open and voices that almost sounded like mine