Chapter 1
Alex
“Is she dead?” someone asks.
“Do dead people breathe?” another voice fires back.
“I don’t know. Let me kill you real quick so we can find out.”
My sluggish brain recognizes the last voice as my cousin Blake. I roll onto my side, skull throbbing, and spot his twin sister Olivia glaring at him like she’s two seconds away from stabbing him. “Can I kill the both of you?” I groan, trying to sit up. My throat is sandpaper. My head feels full of broken glass.
“How are you feeling?” Liv asks, pressing a cool hand to my forehead.
“Like I got hit by a truck.”
I squint at my surroundings. Asphalt. Yellow lines. Blake’s jeep.
A parking lot. Great.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“In the faculty lot,” Liv says.
“Why are we here?”
“You tell us. We found you here.” She shrugs and holds up a bottle. I recognize the whiskey Sara and I were drinking. It’s nearly empty.
“Where’s Sar?”
“Probably passed out somewhere. Like you.” Blake’s look is pure judgment, and I roll my eyes.
“You two dragged me to a sorority party and abandoned me. What did you think was going to happen?”
“Not this, obviously. You’re more responsible than the both of us combined.” Liv gestures between herself and Blake.
“Well clearly you thought wrong,” I mutter, trying — and failing — to stand.
I’ve never been this drunk before. Alcohol doesn’t hit me like this. Were there drugs in that bottle?
“Come on, alcoholic. I’ve got you.”
Blake slings me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing, and the sudden movement nearly sends my stomach up his spine.
Each step he takes brings me closer to disaster. When I can’t take it anymore, I shout, “Stop!”
He halts — and that’s all it takes.
One brutal retch later, Blake’s back is wearing my bile. I’m honestly shocked he hasn’t thrown me off yet.
“Alex,” he says, voice suddenly deadly serious, “did you just throw up on me?”
Before I can answer, Liv’s high‑pitched giggle slices through my skull. “O. M. G. She did! This is gold.”
A bright flash goes off. Both Blake and I groan.
“Did you seriously just take a picture?” Blake asks, finally lowering me to the ground like I’m hazardous waste.
“Are you kidding? This is hall‑of‑fame material. I’m framing it and passing it down the generations.”
“And which generations are those? Because Seb is going to kill the both of you.” Me too, probably.
At the mention of my older brother, the twins exchange a look — then give me matching, unsettling smiles. The kind that means they’re plotting something terrible.
“Why does Sebastian have to kill us?” Liv asks.
“What reason does he have?” Blake adds.
“Does he know where we are right now?”
“Does he know what you did?”
“Who’s going to tell him?”
“You?” Blake points at Liv.
“Not me.” Liv shakes her head so fast her curls bounce.
Then they turn to me, expressions shifting into identical, predatory grins as they take one perfectly synchronized step forward.
A chill crawls down my spine. They should’ve auditioned to be the twins from The Shining. They’d get the part without even trying.
“Alright, I get it,” I mutter. “What Seb doesn’t know won’t kill us.”
“Good child,” they say in perfect unison, each giving me a patronizing pat on the head.
“Do you guys have to be so creepy?” I shudder as soon as their hands leave me. “Honestly, I’m just glad I don’t have a twin. I’d lose my mind.”
Blake and Liv freeze for half a second, then turn to each other with slow, knowing smirks.
Suspicious much?
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” they say together, stepping back in perfect sync.
“It’s a twin thing.”
I roll my eyes and start toward Blake’s jeep. Barely a second later, a blood‑curdling scream rips through the night, stopping my heart cold.
“What the fuck was that?” Liv snaps.
Another scream follows — higher, sharper — and all three of us whip our heads toward the tree line.
“Why’d that sound like Sara?” Blake mutters, already tense.
“Oh shit, you don’t think she’s in trouble?” Liv’s voice jumps.
“Let’s find out,” Blake says. “But first—” He grimaces, looking down at himself. “Ugh, I smell like a brewery exploded inside a landfill.
He shrugs out of his black bomber jacket — the one he wore over a fitted white long sleeve now sporting a spectacular splash of my vomit across the back. He holds the jacket away from himself like it’s radioactive.
“Burn it,” Liv advises.
“Oh, I plan to.”
He drops it on the asphalt, wipes his hands on his jeans, and then—
Another scream.
This one is unmistakably Sara.
Blake and Liv exchange a look, their expressions snapping from chaotic to deadly serious in an instant.
“Stay here,” Blake orders.
They sprint toward the trees.
And just like that, I’m alone.
Or so I think.
I smell him before I see him — cheap cologne, weed, and something sour underneath.
“Now what’s a pretty little thing like you doing all the way out here?” he drawls.
“Ew. Cliché much?” I mutter.
I turn to find Blake’s friend Elliot swaggering toward me, one hand shoved in his jacket pocket, the other holding a lit joint. His eyes are glassy and unfocused, and he’s wearing that lazy smirk he always gets when he thinks he’s being charming.
He blows out a slow stream of smoke, his eyes dragging over me in a way that makes my skin crawl. “Didn’t think I’d find you all alone. Lucky me.”
I take a step back.
“Go away, Elliot.”
He laughs — low, amused, like I’ve said something adorable. “Relax, Lex. I’m just being friendly.”
He steps closer. Too close.
“You look… out of it,” he murmurs. “You shouldn’t be wandering around like this. Someone could take advantage.”
The implication hangs heavy in the air.
Anxiety crawls through my stomach.
“Back. Off.”
Elliot only tilts his head, studying me like he’s calculating exactly how far he can push this.
“Come on,” he says softly. “Don’t be like that. You were all over the place at the party. Thought maybe you needed… help.”
His smile widens — slow, oily, predatory.
A flash of memory hits me: Elliot handing the whiskey bottle to Sara, telling us to “loosen up,” that smug grin plastered on his face.
My stomach drops.
“Rohypnol? Really?” I take another step back, pulse spiking.
He doesn’t even blink. “Wouldn’t be a party without it, right?”
Of course he doesn’t deny it. He probably assumes I won’t remember this conversation in the morning.
Time for him to learn he drugged the wrong girl.
I take one more step back, and my heel catches on something. I stumble and hit the ground hard.
Elliot laughs. “Look at that. You can’t even walk straight. Man, Jordan missed out.”
He crouches in front of me, leaning in until his face fills my vision.
“How about we stop wasting time and get down to business.”
I stare into those wicked brown eyes. If he weren’t such a creep, he might actually be devilishly handsome.
Too bad for him.
“Yes,” I say softly. “Let’s.”
I swing with everything I have. The whiskey bottle cracks against the side of his head, and he goes down with a startled cry.
I scramble to my feet, heart pounding, eyes locked on him as he groans and pushes himself upright.
“Can’t walk straight?” I spit. “I’ll show you who can’t walk straight.”
His dazed confusion sharpens into anger, jaw tightening as the realization hits him.
“You stumbled on purpose,” he growls.
No more oily charm.
No more fake concern.
Just pure, ugly rage.
“Yes. Right into the whiskey bottle. It’s an obvious weapon. Are you slow? It wasn’t exactly subtle.”
That gets to him — I can see it. But I’m not afraid. Having an overprotective brother means you’re never defenseless.
Of course, I’m not exactly in peak condition right now, so this is about to get… sloppy.
Elliot lunges.
I dodge — barely — stumbling sideways as his hand swipes past my shoulder. My balance is shot, vision swimming, but adrenaline shoves me upright again.
“Come here,” he snarls.
“No thanks,” I manage, breathless.
He grabs for me again. I twist away, but my foot skids on the gravel and I almost go down. He laughs — a harsh, ugly sound — and reaches for me a third time.
I don’t think. I just react.
I shove him.
He wasn’t expecting that. He staggers back, arms pinwheeling, nearly losing his footing. For a second, I think he’ll fall — but he catches himself and looks up at me with murder in his eyes.
“Oh, you’re dead,” he spits.
He charges.
I turn and run.
My legs are wet noodles, my head spins, but instinct takes over. I sprint toward the trees. Anywhere that isn’t here. Anywhere that puts distance between us.
Branches whip at my arms as I crash into the forest, breath ragged. Behind me, Elliot barrels after me, cursing, crashing through the underbrush like a drunken bear.
“Get back here!” he shouts.
Not happening.
I stumble over a root, catch myself on a tree trunk, and push forward. The darkness swallows me whole, the sounds of the party fading until it’s just my heartbeat, my uneven breaths, and Elliot’s footsteps pounding after me.
He’s close. Too close.
I force myself deeper into the trees.
And then — suddenly — the forest goes quiet.
Elliot’s footsteps stop.
I freeze.
Turn.
He’s gone.
I’ve noticed this before — but here, in the middle of the woods, it hits harder.
No moon. No stars. The forest is pitch‑black.
But I can see.
Why?
“Artemis,” a voice whispers, so faint I’m not sure I imagined it.
I spin, trying to figure out which direction to go.
The twins should be in here somewhere, along with Sara and who knows who else, but the silence is suffocating.
Where are they?
“Artemis…”
There it is again.
It sounded like it came from the east, so that’s where I head.
A short distance later, I stumble onto a marked path.
Now… left or right?
A twig snaps somewhere to the northeast.
Left it is.
It may be reckless to follow the sounds, but two things can happen — I find the twins, or I find danger. Either way, someone in here is getting me out of this forest. I need water. Soon.
It doesn’t take long before I reach a spot where someone clearly crashed through the underbrush to join the path, and a few steps later, a trail of dark stains appears on the ground.
I should turn back, but there’s a scent in the air that pulls me forward.
Clean. Sharp.
Vetiver, with a faint metallic edge beneath it.
A shadow looms ahead, resolving into the shape of a person as I move closer.
“You know, usually, when a normal person sees a stranger aiming a gun at them in the middle of the night, their first instinct would be to stop moving.”
“But I’m not normal though, am I?” I answer out loud to the voice that sometimes invades my head. Strangely, it sounded like it came from behind me this time.
Mocking laughter drifts on the breeze, and when it fades, all that’s left is the laboured breathing of the towering figure a few meters away.
Entranced by the blood that stains the ground near his feet, I draw closer.
When I’m right in front of him, the gun lowers — as I knew it would. This isn’t our first encounter. For days now, he’s appeared at random, always masked, always hooded, always vanishing before I can get close.
Tonight, though, both mask and hood are gone. Even in the pitch‑black forest, I see his features clearly — sharper than I should. I know it’s him because of the black, knee‑length jacket he wears and the distinctive ring on his right index finger.
“Is he dead?” I gesture toward the man lying behind him.
Of course he is, malyshka. He barely has a face and his body is full of bullet holes, the voice from before chides, in my mind this time.
I still don’t understand why my conscience occasionally decides to be a man with a slight Russian accent, but I’ve learned to roll with it.
“Shut up, Vlad, I wasn’t sure,” I retort.
Yes, I named my male conscience Vlad. It seemed fitting for some reason.
I move to the body and stoop to check for a pulse. There's nothing.
I stand and turn, letting out a small scream upon seeing the mystery stalker I nicknamed ‘Ezio’ right behind me.
With the way he dresses, moves, and disappears, he reminds me of an Assassin’s Creed character.
“Damnit, Ezio, you really need to stop sneaking up on me like that,” I mutter.
He tilts his head downward, brows furrowing, and I find myself staring into eyes so green they practically radiate poison. His face is ethereal — almost unreal — and although he has the looks to rival an angel, I know he could kill me without a second thought.
“Who are you?” I whisper.
As usual, there’s no answer.
I reach out, because I’ve never been this close to him before, and I’m startled when my hand meets solid muscle. “So you are real,” I breathe. I’ve always wondered if he was a figment of my imagination, since no one else has ever seen him.
He stays still for a few seconds, eyes locked on mine — until they suddenly flick to something behind me.
Before I can turn, a sharp pain hits the side of my neck, and everything goes hazy.
Someone catches me as I collapse, and my blurry vision dissolves into darkness. The last thing I register is a familiar voice saying:
“Fucking hell, Killian. She’d better forget this or else—”
