Marcus looked pathetic.The boy who had once strutted through school like a pit bull at Sanchez’s heel now lay in a hospital bed, his arms suspended in plaster casts. His jaw was swollen, his face battered, but what unnerved Adam most was the way Marcus stared at the ceiling—broken in more ways than bone.Adam slipped into the room quietly. No one noticed him. Sanchez hadn’t even bothered to show up; he was too busy keeping up appearances, pretending this hadn’t cracked his throne.Adam stood at the foot of the bed. “Who did it?”Marcus’s eyes flickered. For a moment, fear flashed there—real, raw fear. Then he shook his head. “I… I don’t know.”Adam stepped closer. “Marcus. Listen carefully. I planned this.” His voice dropped, low and venomous. “Every detail of what happened to you—it was supposed to come from me. But it didn’t. Someone else beat me to it. Who?”Marcus trembled, his lips pale. “It was dark. Fast. I didn’t… I didn’t see. Just… a shadow.”Adam leaned closer until his

He trailed her through the dusky streets after school, blending into shadows like they were part of him. Lilith walked with casual ease, humming faintly to herself, no fear in her stride.Adam expected her to lead him somewhere sinister—an abandoned church, a graveyard, a nest of secrets.Instead, she turned down a modest street, stopping at a pale-blue house with peeling paint. The window glowed warm, golden. Inside, Adam saw her tie on an apron, laugh as she brushed flour across her cheek, and help an older man knead dough in a small bakery.Her laughter was light. Human.Adam clenched his jaw, unsettled. This was too normal. A hunter didn’t knead bread with her father.It’s a mask, Malick spat. Poison dressed as sweetness. Don’t be fooled.But Adam couldn’t look away. The light spilling out of the bakery window felt foreign, almost invasive. Normalcy was alien to him now, and the image of Lilith, radiant in that life, only deepened the riddle.Could she really be responsible for th