Chapter 1
The night was a jagged landscape of ice and iron.
Rain didn't fall—it attacked.
It slammed against my windshield in relentless sheets, thick enough to blur the world into streaks of gray and white. Every few seconds, lightning cracked the sky open, exposing flashes of chaos—towering cedar trees bending under violent wind, their limbs thrashing like something alive beneath a charcoal sky.
The air felt wrong.
Heavy.
Charged.
Like the world already knew something terrible was happening—and I was just late to it.
My 2023 Corvette—a scream of cherry-red metal—felt like a coffin.
The tires skimmed across the flooded asphalt, slipping just enough to make my heart jump into my throat. The engine roared under me as I pushed harder, faster, the sound loud and desperate, vibrating through my chest like it was trying to match the panic building inside me.
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel until my hands ached.
My mother's voice looped in my head.
Again.
And again.
Twenty minutes ago.
Normally, her voice carried this easy warmth—light, teasing, steady. The kind of voice that made everything feel grounded, no matter how chaotic my life got.
But tonight?
It had been different.
Tight.
Brittle.
Like something was sitting just beneath the surface, ready to break.
She hadn't said the words.
But she didn't need to.
Something was wrong.
The weekly family dinner—the one thing in my life that never changed—felt like it was slipping through my fingers. That dinner wasn't just routine. It was my reset. My anchor. The one place where everything made sense.
And now?
It felt like I was about to lose it.
A siren cut through the storm.
Sharp.
Too close.
A fire truck tore past me in the opposite lane, red lights slicing through the rain. Then another.
Then another.
My stomach dropped so hard it hurt.
No.
No, no, no—
I slammed my foot on the gas.
The Corvette surged forward, tires fighting for grip as I pushed it faster, faster—until the world outside blurred into motion and fear.
By the time I turned onto my street, I already knew.
The sky ahead glowed.
Orange.
Wrong.
Alive.
My hands tightened on the wheel.
Please don't be mine.
Please don't be—
I turned into the driveway too fast, gravel spraying as the car fishtailed before jerking to a stop.
And then I saw it.
My home—
was on fire.
Not just burning.
Being devoured.
Flames climbed the walls with a hunger that didn't feel natural, curling and twisting upward like they were reaching for something. Smoke poured into the sky in thick, choking waves, swallowing everything above it.
The porch.
The windows.
The kitchen.
God—
the kitchen.
Where Mom baked. Where Dad hovered behind her just to steal bites and make her laugh.
All of it—
disappearing.
"...No."
The word barely made it out.
I didn't remember opening the door.
I was already running.
Mud soaked through my boots as I sprinted forward, the heat hitting me before I even reached the steps. Firefighters moved around me, shouting, dragging hoses, fighting something that clearly didn't want to be controlled.
"Miss! You can't go in there!"
I shoved past him.
Nothing mattered.
Nothing but them.
The second I crossed the threshold, the world changed.
Smoke swallowed me whole.
It burned instantly, scraping down my throat and clawing into my lungs. My eyes watered so fast I could barely see, everything warping into a blur of orange and black.
The heat was suffocating.
Like the air had turned solid.
"Mom!" My voice came out raw, tearing through my throat. "Dad!"
No answer.
Only the roar of the fire.
I pushed forward anyway, coughing, ducking as something cracked and crashed somewhere behind me. The house groaned—deep and strained, like it was seconds away from collapsing in on itself.
I should've been here.
The thought hit hard enough to make me stumble.
I should've left earlier.
I should've skipped the party.
I should've come home.
If I had—
would they be outside right now?
Alive?
Then I saw her.
Through the shifting smoke—
my mom.
Collapsed on the kitchen floor.
Everything inside me went still.
"No... no, no—"
I moved without thinking, slipping on warped flooring as I lunged toward her, my hand reaching—
"Mom—"
A pulse of green light flared from her neck.
Bright.
Sharp.
Wrong.
It cut through the smoke for a split second—unnatural against the orange glow of the fire.
I froze.
What the hell—
A deep groan sounded above me.
Too loud.
Too close.
And then—
CRACK.
The support beam came down fast and hard, slamming between us with a force that shook the entire house.
"No!"
I hit the beam with everything I had.
My fists slammed against the charred wood.
Again.
Again.
"She's right there!" I screamed, my voice breaking apart. "She's right there!"
Through the sparks and smoke, I could still see part of her dress.
So close.
Too close.
I clawed at the wood, ignoring the heat biting into my skin, tearing at it until it burned.
The house felt alive.
Like it was choosing this.
Like it was keeping us apart on purpose.
Arms wrapped around me from behind.
Strong.
Unmovable.
"Let me go!" I thrashed violently. "She's right there! My mom is right fucking there!"
"The roof is caving in!" the firefighter shouted, dragging me backward.
"No! Go get her! Do your goddamn job! My dad is still in here—help them!"
He didn't stop.
Didn't hesitate.
Just pulled me away.
I fought him the entire way, clawing, screaming, my nails dragging across his gear, leaving streaks of blood behind.
"You're just going to let them burn?!"
We hit the doorway—
and then the house gave way behind us.
The sound was deafening.
Final.
"Mooommm!"
Mud hit my knees hard as my body gave out.
Everything inside me collapsed with the house.
They were gone.
Hands grabbed me.
Voices blurred together.
"Stay with me—hey, stay with me!"
I barely felt them lifting me, strapping me down, moving me fast.
The ambulance doors slammed shut, sealing me inside.
Bright lights flooded my vision.
Cold air hit my skin.
The sharp, sterile smell burned my nose.
I was shaking so hard I couldn't control it.
My chest felt tight, every breath shallow and wrong.
"Go back!" I choked out. "Go get them!"
No one answered.
"Vitals are high," one medic said quickly. "Pulse one-forty. Breathing rapid—possible smoke inhalation."
Cold hands moved over my arms.
"Second-degree burns—forearm and hands—"
"I said go back!" I tried to sit up, panic surging all over again. "They're still in there—!"
"Hey—look at me," another voice cut in, steady but firm. "We've got crews still working the scene. Right now, I need you to breathe."
I couldn't.
Everything hurt.
Everything felt wrong.
A sharp sting hit my arm.
"What—"
"Something to help you calm down."
Ativan.
I didn't need calm.
I needed to go back.
But my body betrayed me anyway.
The panic dulled.
Slowed.
Not gone.
Just... quieter.
And in that quiet—
came the guilt.
If I couldn't save them...
I should've died with them.
The hospital came in flashes.
Fluorescent lights.
Voices overlapping.
The squeak of wheels against tile.
Everything felt distant, like I was underwater, watching it happen instead of living it.
They rolled me through double doors, shouting things I couldn't fully process.
"Smoke inhalation—get her on oxygen."
"Let's check airway—she's still talking, that's good."
"BP's high—keep monitoring."
Hands moved over me again—efficient, practiced, detached. Someone slid an oxygen mask over my face. Cool air rushed in, but it didn't feel like enough.
Nothing felt like enough.
"Go... get..." My voice barely worked. "My parents..."
No one answered that.
They never did.
They transferred me onto a hospital bed, the surface stiff and cold beneath me. The room smelled too clean—sharp, sterile, like nothing bad was allowed to exist there.
But it already had.
I stared at the ceiling, my vision swimming as everything slowly came back into focus. Machines beeped somewhere to my left, steady and indifferent, like this was just another night for them.
Just another patient.
Just another loss.
Time blurred.
Minutes.
Maybe longer.
I didn't know.
Every time the door opened, my heart jumped—hope rising so fast it hurt.
Maybe they made it.
Maybe they were in another room.
Maybe—
Nothing.
No familiar voices.
No footsteps I recognized.
Just strangers.
Finally, the door opened again.
A doctor stepped inside.
He wasn't rushing.
That was the first thing I noticed.
Everyone else had been moving fast, urgent, focused.
But him?
Slow.
Measured.
And that—
that was worse.
He pulled a stool closer to the bed and sat down, his posture careful, controlled. His eyes met mine, and something in his expression made my stomach drop.
I knew that look.
I just didn't want to.
"Is there any word?" I demanded, my voice rough. "Are they here? Are they okay?"
He inhaled slowly, like he was choosing his words before he spoke them.
"The ambulance that transported them arrived shortly after you," he said.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
"They're here?" I pushed, hope clawing its way up my throat. "Can I see them?"
A pause.
Too long.
"I'm very sorry," he said quietly. "Your parents were D.O.A."
The words didn't land.
They just... hung there.
Meaningless.
D.O.A.
It sounded like a code.
Like something technical.
Like something that didn't apply to real people.
To my parents.
"No," I said, shaking my head. "That's not—no. You didn't check right. Go check again."
"We did everything we could."
"I don't believe you." My voice cracked, breaking apart. "Take me to them."
I tried to sit up, but my body didn't cooperate. My arms felt heavy, my legs worse—like they weren't even mine anymore.
"You're not cleared to walk," he said gently but firmly. "You have significant burns and smoke exposure. We need to keep you stable."
"I don't care," I snapped, anger cutting through the grief. "Take me to them."
"You can see them," he said. "But you'll need to use a wheelchair."
I rolled my eyes, frustration flaring. "I don't need a damn wheelchair."
He didn't react.
Just held my gaze.
"You can either work with us," he said calmly, "or you can stay here."
I clenched my jaw.
The choice wasn't really a choice.
"...Fine," I muttered. "Bring it."
It took two nurses to get me into the chair.
My body protested every movement—burning, aching, weak—but I forced myself through it. They wrapped a thin hospital blanket around my legs, tucking it in like that would somehow make this feel normal.
Nothing about this was normal.
The orderly stepped behind me, unlocking the brakes.
The soft click echoed louder than it should have.
We moved.
The hallway stretched long and too bright, the fluorescent lights humming faintly overhead. Doors passed by in a blur—rooms filled with lives that were still intact.
People who still had something waiting for them.
We reached the elevator.
The ride down felt longer than it should have.
Colder.
By the time the doors opened, I could feel it in my chest—that heavy, sinking weight that told me exactly where we were.
And then I saw the sign.
MORGUE / PATHOLOGY
My stomach twisted violently.
For a second, I couldn't breathe.
This was real.
This wasn't a mistake.
This wasn't something I could fix.
But I didn't stop.
I couldn't.
I'm a Nightshade.
We don't run.
The hallway was quieter down here.
Still.
The air felt different—colder, heavier, carrying the faint hum of industrial refrigeration units that lined the walls.
Voices echoed faintly ahead.
"...the injuries don't fully match typical fire patterns," someone was saying.
"We should run a full—"
They stopped when they saw me.
Two men stood under the harsh lighting.
One was clearly a doctor.
The other—
stood out.
Long black coat, badge clipped at his waist, shoes still damp from the rain.
Detective.
He stepped forward first.
"I'm Detective Jones," he said, holding out a card. "I'm assigned to your case. We're looking into all possible factors surrounding the fire."
I stared at the card but didn't take it.
My brain felt too full.
Or maybe too empty.
"I need your consent for a full autopsy," he continued, his tone softer now. "Standard procedure in cases like this."
Standard.
Nothing about this felt standard.
I couldn't speak.
Couldn't form words.
So I just nodded.
It felt heavy.
Final.
Another man stepped forward.
Older.
Quieter.
"I'm the mortician," he said gently. "There was something recovered from your mother. I thought you'd want it."
He handed me a small, sealed bag.
Inside—
was her necklace.
The gold amulet.
I stared at it.
It was... perfect.
No melting.
No warping.
No damage.
That didn't make sense.
Not after what I had just seen.
Not after what I had felt.
I reached for it slowly, my burned fingers trembling as I took it from the bag and placed it in my lap.
It wasn't warm.
It wasn't cold.
But there was something—
something there.
A faint, steady pulse.
Like a heartbeat.
I frowned slightly, my thumb brushing over the surface through the plastic.
That wasn't possible.
"Are you ready?" the mortician asked quietly.
No.
But I nodded anyway.
He opened the doors.
And there they were.
Two bodies.
Zipped into black bags.
Still.
Silent.
Gone.
My chest tightened so fast it felt like I couldn't breathe.
This morning—
they had been alive.
Laughing.
Talking about something at the apothecary.
Dad smiling just because Mom was.
Always like that.
Always.
I swallowed hard, forcing the tears back.
At least they had each other.
Even at the end.
That thought was the only thing keeping me from completely falling apart.
I turned away, my grip tightening around the necklace.
Something wasn't right.
The fire.
The green light.
This—
none of it added up.
I looked back at the mortician, forcing my voice to steady.
"My hand is fucked," I said bluntly. "Can I e-sign?"
He blinked once, then nodded. "Yes. We can handle everything upstairs. They've already upgraded your room."
Of course they have, I thought bitterly.
Doesn't matter.
None of it matters.
The orderly turned the chair, guiding me back toward the elevator.
As we moved, I stared down at the amulet in my lap.
The pulsing was stronger now.
Steady.
Intentional.
Alive.
My fingers curled around it.
Something was wrong with this necklace.
And I was going to find out exactly what.
