Chapter One
The rain is violent tonight.
Not gentle. Not soft. Not the kind that whispers against windows and lulls people to sleep.
This rain attacks.
It hammers the asphalt like the sky has decided the earth deserves punishment. Sheets of water crashing down again and again and again as if someone up there is tipping an endless bucket.
It hardly ever rains here.
But when it does—
it pours like the world is trying to wash something away.
Everyone with common sense is inside tonight. Safe. Dry. Warm. Probably complaining about the storm while sipping something hot and pretending the world isn't quietly falling apart outside their windows.
But I've never claimed to be in my right mind.
So here I am.
Walking.
Alone.
At night.
In a storm that feels like it wants to drown the entire city.
The rain soaks through my jacket, through my shirt, through everything until my clothes cling to my skin like they're trying to fuse with me. My hair sticks to my face. Water drips from my lashes.
I keep walking anyway.
Because if I stayed home I'd be thinking.
And thinking is worse.
Thinking means staring at the ceiling and wishing I was somewhere else.
Wishing I didn't live in this town.
Wishing—
my parents were still alive.
That's why I'm here.
That's why I'm walking through a storm like a lunatic who's begging to get herself killed.
I need to feel close to them.
Even if it's only for a few minutes.
Even if it hurts.
Especially if it hurts.
My shoes splash through shallow rivers forming along the curb. Streetlights stretch long golden fingers across the pavement, their glow fractured by the rain. I stay close to those pockets of light, stepping from one to the next like they're tiny islands in an ocean of darkness.
Because darkness here isn't just darkness.
It watches.
I swear it does.
It crouches between buildings and beneath awnings and in the hollow spaces where the light doesn't quite reach. Waiting. Observing. Patient.
Like it's hoping I'll trip.
Or fall.
Or stop paying attention for just one second.
Then it could swallow me whole.
The thought sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the cold.
I lower my head.
Walk faster.
Turn a corner.
Then another.
And finally—
there it is.
The Mayfield Museum of Natural Beauty and Botanical Garden.
Even in the storm it looks elegant. Tall glass walls. Curving metal structures. A place where nature and art were supposed to meet in perfect harmony. Plants growing beside sculptures. Flowers blooming under skylights.
A sanctuary for beauty.
People used to say it was one of the prettiest places in the city.
Maybe it still is.
I wouldn't know.
All I see when I look at it is a grave.
I slip around the back of the building where the lights don't reach as easily. Rainwater runs down the walls in silver streams. My boots sink slightly into the soft earth behind the museum.
And then I see it.
Still there.
Right where I left it.
A thick plastic cross shoved into the ground.
Cheap. White. Slightly crooked.
A few rocks stacked carefully at the base so the wind won't knock it over.
My memorial.
My pathetic little monument to two people who deserved better than this place.
I kneel beside it, the mud soaking through my jeans instantly.
I don't care.
This cross is the only thing anchoring me to this city.
The only reason I haven't packed a bag and vanished somewhere far away where no one knows my name and no one talks about the system that runs this town like it's something noble instead of something rotten.
My mom and dad are here.
And because of the twisted system that got them killed—
they'll never leave.
So I won't either.
The rain pounds harder, drumming against the plastic cross, against the earth, against my shoulders.
For a moment all I can hear is the storm.
And my breathing.
And my heart.
I remember that day so vividly.
Every sound.
Every smell.
Every second.
I wish I didn't.
No.
I can't think about it.
I refuse to think about it.
But memory doesn't ask permission.
And some days—
some days it feels like that moment is happening all over again.
Tears sting my eyes.
I try to shove the memory away. Slam the door on it. Lock it. Bolt it. Bury it somewhere deep where it can't claw its way out.
But the door won't close.
It never closes.
Images slip through the cracks.
Blood on polished floors.
Glass exploding into glittering knives.
People screaming like their lungs are being ripped out.
Chaos.
Violence.
The sound of something breaking that was never meant to break.
My breath catches.
My vision blurs.
The rain mixes with my tears until I can't tell which one is falling from the sky and which one is falling from me. My chest tightens like invisible hands are squeezing my lungs.
Grief settles over me like a heavy blanket.
Thick.
Smothering.
I can't breathe.
I can't breathe.
I can't—
A sound.
Somewhere in the dark.
My head snaps up.
The rain suddenly feels colder.
Sharper.
Like needles against my skin.
I've stayed too long.
I wipe my face quickly, dragging my sleeve across my eyes, trying to swallow the sounds that keep clawing up my throat. Crying out here is dangerous. Everyone knows that.
Sound travels.
Especially at night.
Especially in the rain.
Especially to things that are hungry.
My heart begins pounding hard enough to hurt.
I'm going to die here.
A few yards from the place where my parents died.
The thought lands in my stomach like a stone.
Move.
I need to move.
Every nerve in my body screams at me to run, but running is worse. Running turns you into prey. Running excites them.
They like the chase.
So I stand slowly.
Too slowly.
Like sudden movements might shatter whatever fragile illusion of safety I'm clinging to.
Then I start walking.
Back the way I came.
The rain keeps falling.
The streetlights ahead stretch across the pavement in long glowing lines. I follow them like a path of breadcrumbs through the dark.
One light.
Then the next.
Then the next.
But something follows me.
At first it's just a sound.
A low moan drifting through the rain.
Then a growl.
Then something wetter.
Something hungrier.
The darkness begins to move.
I keep walking.
I try to keep my pace steady but my legs betray me, carrying me faster and faster as adrenaline floods my veins. My heartbeat pounds in my ears so loudly I'm terrified it will give me away.
The noises stay just outside the light.
Just beyond where I can clearly see.
Something shifts in my peripheral vision.
A shape.
A shadow slipping between shadows.
Gone before I can turn my head.
Then—
again.
My stomach drops.
I'm being hunted.
My arms wrap around my chest instinctively, like I can somehow shield the parts of me that feel the most fragile. The rain runs down my neck, under my collar, along my spine.
Cold.
Too cold.
Up ahead, one of the streetlights flickers.
On.
Off.
On.
Off.
I stop.
My entire body goes rigid.
No.
No, no, no.
In the brief flashes of light the darkness ahead of me disappears and reappears like something phasing in and out of existence.
A glitch in reality.
A ghost.
The flicker continues.
Light.
Dark.
Light.
And in those tiny moments of illumination—
something moves.
A shape that doesn't belong.
I swallow hard.
Standing still out here is worse than moving.
Standing still makes you a target.
So I walk.
Toward it.
The flickering figure grows closer with every step, blinking in and out of sight like it can't decide whether it wants to exist.
Or haunt me.
It calls to me.
Pulls me forward.
Closer.
Closer.
Closer.
Until—
I walk straight through it and step into the next beam of steady light.
Nothing touches me.
Nothing grabs me.
Nothing tears me apart.
My lungs expand in a shaky breath.
Then another.
Maybe I imagined it.
Maybe my mind is playing tricks on me again.
Maybe—
Something slams into me.
The world tilts violently.
My back hits the pavement hard enough to knock the air from my lungs. Pain explodes through my ribs as something heavy pins me to the ground.
Something is on top of me.
Claws.
Teeth.
Hands that don't feel like hands.
My clothes tear with a horrible ripping sound. Cold air hits exposed skin and then—
pain.
Sharp.
Hot.
Wet.
Blood spills into the rain, the two mixing together until I can't tell where one ends and the other begins.
I scream.
The sound rips from my throat raw and desperate.
No one answers.
No one comes.
The thing above me snarls as it bites again.
My fists slam uselessly against its body. I kick, thrash, claw at anything I can reach but it's like trying to fight a collapsing building.
Too strong.
Too fast.
Too hungry.
My vision blurs.
The streetlight above me stretches into long streaks of gold.
The darkness I feared earlier begins creeping back, closing in around the edges of my sight.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Like it's finally claiming what it was waiting for.
My lungs struggle for air.
Each breath feels thinner than the last.
Is this it?
Is this how it ends?
Just another body in the rain.
One last desperate inhale—
before everything fades to black.
