Chance walked into the library, his footsteps heavy, his face drawn with exhaustion and grief. The others looked up as he entered—Gerald, Harry, Wilfreda, Miranda, Andre, and Ava. They had been waiting, their questions unspoken but hanging in the air like smoke.Chance didn't sit down. He stood in the center of the room, his hands clasped behind his back, his jaw tight."We need to start the search without my mother," he said. "She needs time. But Christopher doesn't have time."Gerald nodded slowly. "We figured as much. We're ready."Harry stepped forward, the pendant glowing softly against his chest. "I've been having visions. Fragments. I think I know where he is."Chance met his eyes. "Where?""An abandoned church on the outskirts of the city. "The darkness is thick there. I can feel it from here."Wilfreda gathered her ancient texts and rose from her chair. "Then we go. Now."Miranda stood up. "I'm coming with you."Chance shook his head. "You need to stay here. Protect Andre. Co

Janelle's hands shook as she clutched the phone to her ear, Priya's voice a steady anchor in the chaos of her mind. The obsidian shard on her desk seemed to pulse with its own dark heartbeat, casting faint shadows that danced across the walls. Every creak of the building, every whisper of the wind outside, made her flinch."I won't hang up," she whispered. "I promise."Priya stayed on the line, her voice calm and reassuring, even as Janelle could hear the distant sound of an engine starting. "I'm on my way. Just keep talking to me. Tell me what you see."Janelle's eyes darted around the room. "The shard. It's still there. It's... it's pulsing. Like it's alive.""Don't look at it. Look at something else. The window. The door. Anything."Janelle forced her gaze to the window. The night sky was clear, the stars bright, but even they seemed dimmer than usual, as if the darkness had cast a veil over the world."It's so cold," Janelle said. "It wasn't this cold before he came.""Just hold o

Andre opened his mouth to respond, but she held up a hand."Let's start over." Her voice softened. "I'm Simone. I'm studying political science. I want to make a difference in the world." She paused. "And I don't agree with everything my mother stands for."Andre blinked. "What?""My mother and I... we don't see eye to eye on a lot of things." Simone's voice was quiet, almost confessional. "She's always been ambitious, but lately it's different. Like she's being controlled by something. Something she doesn't even know is there."Andre felt a flicker of hope. "You've noticed it too?"Simone's green eyes met his. "I've noticed a lot of things, Andre. I know something is wrong. I just don't know what it is." She paused. "But I think you do."Andre was silent for a long moment. The courtyard seemed to fade away—the laughter, the rustling leaves, the distant hum of the city. It was just him and Simone, standing in the autumn sunlight, the truth hovering between them."I can't tell you every

Simone is also the daughter of Stella Wayne," Andre said, his voice dropping. "The woman who's trying to destroy my mother's career because she dropped her case."Lena's expression sobered slightly. "We know. We also know that she's not her mother."Peter nodded. "And we know you've been through a lot. You deserve something good, Andre. Something that's just yours."Andre looked at his friends—the two people who had been there for him through everything. Peter, with his sharp wit and sharper loyalty. Lena, with her fierce intelligence and even fiercer heart."Thanks, guys," he said quietly. "I don't know what I'd do without you.""You'd probably stare at a girl from across the courtyard for the rest of your life and never talk to her," Peter said dryly.Lena laughed. "He's not wrong."Andre shook his head, but he was smiling. "Okay, okay. You've made your point."Lena leaned forward, her voice soft. "Seriously, Andre. We're happy for you. You deserve to be happy."Andre met her eyes.

Simone turned and walked out of the study, her footsteps echoing through the silent house. She didn't look back. She couldn't bear to see her mother's face—the cold satisfaction, the complete lack of remorse. She had heard everything. The phone call. The instructions. The casual way her mother had ordered violence against someone she cared about.She grabbed her coat from the hall closet, her hands shaking. Her phone was already in her pocket, Andre's name burning in her mind. She needed to see him. She needed to make sure he was okay.The night air hit her face as she stepped outside, cold and sharp. She didn't wait for the driver. She didn't call for a car. She just walked, her feet carrying her toward the one place she knew she would find him.***Andre was sitting on the steps of his apartment building, his face bruised, his ribs aching. He had refused to go to the hospital—he didn't want to explain what had happened, didn't want to draw more attention to himself. His mother had p