LILLY POVđź’¦
I knew I wasn't alone the second the silence changed.
There's a difference between solitude and stillness. Solitude hums. Stillness… it suffocates.
The air in my room had gone completely still.
I turned from my desk slowly, every nerve in my spine lighting up like a warning flare.
There was no one in sight. But the door—once locked—was now cracked open.
I hadn't opened it.
I stood up. "Hello?"
No answer.
---
My breath came shallow as I stepped into the hallway. Nothing. No sound. Just the flicker of the hallway light—damn thing always shorting out—and the soft creak of the floor under my feet.
Then a whisper.
So faint I thought I imagined it.
But it came again.
Behind me.
I turned.
A figure stood at the far end of the hall. Hood up. Face shadowed.
Still. Watching.
---
"Who are you?" I demanded, trying to sound braver than I felt.
They didn't answer.
Just stepped forward.
Once.
Twice.
Then—
A flash of movement.
I bolted.
---
I ran down the narrow corridor, shoes slamming against the tile. I could hear the footsteps behind me—calm, measured, as if they didn't even need to run.
I took a sharp turn into the old laundry room and slammed the door shut, bracing it with a metal cart.
Fumbling with my phone, I tried to call Luca.
No signal.
Figures.
---
The footsteps stopped just outside.
Then a voice.
Male. Calm. But not Luca's.
"Lilly.
I froze.
"No one was supposed to find out who you really are," he said through the door. "Least of all you."
"Who are you?"
"You've been lied to. Used. By everyone. But you're smart, aren't you? You've already started to see it."
I reached slowly for the rusted broom behind the dryer.
"Stay away from me."
---
There was a beat of silence.
Then the door creaked—unlocked from the inside.
Someone had rewired the locks.
---
The man stepped in.
He didn't look like a killer. Or a professor. Or even a threat.
Just... normal. That was the worst part.
He had kind eyes. Steady movements. He raised his hands, showing he wasn't armed.
"I'm not here to hurt you," he said. "I'm here to stop them from doing it first."
"Who?" I asked.
"The ones who turned you into a ghost before you could even claim your name. The university. The Demons. The Vales."
I swallowed hard.
"You know about my father."
"I knew him better than you think," the man said. "And you're not the first one they tried this on."
---
He reached into his coat slowly and pulled out a folded slip of paper.
"I don't expect you to trust me. But I need you to see this."
I took it, hands trembling.
It was a photograph. Grainy. Faded. But the face was unmistakable.
Me.
But younger.
Smiling.
In a lab.
Behind me stood a man with sharp features, dark eyes, and a hand protectively on my shoulder.
My father.
---
The man spoke again.
"You were raised outside the system. But not far enough. They tracked you. Tested you. Fed you failure to keep you low."
"Why?"
"Because your mind holds what your father left behind. And they want it."
I stared at the photo.
"I don't remember this."
"You're not supposed to. They made sure of that."
---
I stepped back, dizzy.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you've got three days until your hearing. If you accept their offer, you become theirs. If you fight it—you'll need help."
He took a breath.
"And you'll need Luca."
I looked up sharply. "Why?"
"Because they're already using him."
The man walked to the door, paused, and looked back.
"When the time comes, don't trust the person in the mirror. They'll try to use even that against you."
He disappeared before I could stop him.
---
A second later, my phone buzzed to life.
Luca DEMON — Incoming Call
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