The fog was so thick, it clung to everything like a second skin. Each breath Beverly took was cold and wet, like she was breathing in ice. Her boots sank into the soggy earth, and every step felt like the forest was trying to swallow her whole.Reika led the way, her movements sharp and sure. She moved like she belonged in the woods, never hesitating, even when the shadows seemed to reach for her. Davion followed close behind, his bow ready in his hands, eyes scanning every twisted tree and creeping vine.Caleb walked beside Beverly, his face tight with focus. He kept glancing over at her like he wanted to make sure she was okay. She didn’t say anything, but she was glad for it. She wasn’t sure she was okay, but she didn’t want to admit it.Wilson trailed behind them, his hand pressed against the bandage on his arm. Every now and then, he let out a shaky laugh, like he was trying to convince himself this was all just some bad dream.“Why’s it so quiet?” he muttered at one point. His v

Irene’s legs burned from the sprint, but she couldn’t stop. The image of her mom sleeping peacefully — completely unaware of the danger lurking nearby — haunted her like a shadow. She could still feel the cold weight of that picture, the one that had been sent to her phone just moments ago. How had he gotten in? How had he known where her mom lived? The questions hammered at her head as she ran, every step a desperate beat of a heart racing against time.The streetlights flickered in the distance, casting long shadows that made every corner feel like it could hide something waiting to strike. She didn’t care. Nothing mattered except getting to her mom. The pounding in her chest threatened to crack her ribs, but she didn’t care.“Please be okay,” she whispered under her breath as she rounded another corner. Her phone was still clutched tightly in her hand, the image of her mom still burned into her mind. It wasn’t a coincidence. The message wasn’t just a warning. It was a threat.Her t

IreneIrene didn’t sleep.Not really.She just sat there in the dark, legs pulled up to her chest, hoodie zipped all the way up, phone balanced on her knee like a loaded weapon.Every time the wind rustled through the trees, she flinched.Every time a headlight passed, her pulse jumped.It wasn’t just fear — it was that constant, itchy feeling in her spine like she was being watched. Hunted.She glanced at her mom, asleep in the passenger seat, head tilted against the window. Peaceful. Too peaceful. Irene had checked the locks three times already, but it didn’t matter. Nothing felt safe anymore.Her phone buzzed again.Not a message. Just a glitch. Screen flickering for a second like it was struggling to breathe.“Nope,” she muttered, shoving it into her backpack. “Not dealing with ghost wifi at fucking 3 a.m.”Her thoughts spiraled again — back to Davion. To how he vanished after they got out of the forest. One second he was beside her, and the next he was just… gone. No trail. No wa

The tires screeched as Irene pulled up behind the old factory ruins, heart pounding harder than the bass in her mom’s old club playlists. The backseat was cramped, her mom slumped sideways, snoring like she hadn’t almost been used as blackmail in a supervillain dad plot five hours ago.Irene clenched the steering wheel.“This is insane,” she muttered. “This is literally insane.”Then the door burst open.“Drive!” Davion barked, dragging something—no, someone—into the car.It took her a second to process what she was seeing.Wilson was limping, bruised, but alive. Reika had one arm looped around his shoulder, eyes sharp even though she looked like she’d just walked through hell in Crocs.But it was Davion who really made her stomach drop.Because in his arms?Beverly.Unconscious.Barefoot.Wrapped in someone’s gross ceremonial cloak like she’d just been dragged out of a damn horror movie.Irene’s voice cracked as she shouted, “What the hell happened?!”“No time!” Davion yelled, slammi

The first thing Beverly noticed was the beeping. It was soft, steady — like a weird lullaby for people on the edge of something.Her eyes felt heavy. Her lips were dry. Her throat burned like she’d swallowed nails.She blinked slowly.White ceiling. Blurred lights. Hospital air — cold and sterile, like it didn’t belong to anyone.She tried to move her hand, but it tugged against something. An IV line. Her fingers twitched weakly.Then the pain hit her chest. Not sharp. Not dramatic. Just this weird, dull ache, like her whole body had been hollowed out and stuffed with sand.“Beverly?”The voice came from beside her. Shaky. Familiar.Her mom.Beverly turned her head slightly.Margaret was already leaning forward, gripping her hand, tears running down her cheeks.“Oh my God,” Margaret whispered. “You’re awake. You’re okay. You’re okay.”Beverly’s throat was too raw to talk, so she just blinked once. Slowly. Then again.She remembered…Bits and pieces. The ritual. The cold surface under