The silence in Soraya's home stretched on like a shadow. Kyra sat in a chair by the hearth, her hands curled around a cooling cup of tea she had no intention of drinking. The truth she'd heard in this house was still unraveling inside her—threads pulling apart everything she thought she knew.
A vampire's blood ran through her veins. A witch's magic stirred in her bones.
And yet, all she could think about were the people who had tucked her into bed when she was small. The ones who taught her to ride a bike, who held her when she cried, who called her "our miracle" on quiet evenings.
James and Miriam Hayes.
Two humans who had no reason to take in a child they found alone at the edge of their town. And yet they did. With hearts full of kindness and no questions asked. Or maybe they had questions—ones they buried in the hope that love would be enough.
Kyra blinked hard, her vision burning.
They had raised her, shielded her, loved her as their own. And now she couldn't even tell them the truth. Couldn't warn them of the storm rising in the shadows.
"I have to go," she said softly, standing up.
Soraya looked up from the worn pages of an ancient book. "Go where?"
"Keal's. I need... I just need to see him."
Soraya studied her face. "Be careful. The veil between your past and present is thinning. And once it tears, it cannot be sewn back."
Kyra gave a faint nod and stepped out into the cold evening, leaving behind the warmth of the house that had turned her world upside down.
---
The drive through the dark forest roads left her with too much time to think. Her fingers tightened around the wheel, her thoughts circling like vultures.
What if Keal didn't want her now that he knew the truth?
What if he was part of the reason her past had been hidden?
What if she was never meant to survive at all?
She pushed the thoughts down and turned into the long gravel path leading to the estate. The trees arched like watching sentinels overhead.
But as her headlights swept across the front of the house, unease prickled her skin.
The gate was wide open.
So was the front door.
She killed the engine and stepped out, heart pounding. "Keal?"
No answer.
"Keal, are you here?"
She climbed the steps and pushed the door fully open. The air inside felt heavy—cold in a way the night couldn't explain.
Everything was still.
Too still.
She moved through the house, room by room. Nothing looked out of place. A candle on the entryway table still burned low. The curtains hadn't been drawn. A jacket hung on the back of a chair. One of his books lay open on the couch.
But there was no sign of him.
Not upstairs.
Not in the kitchen.
Not in his room.
The silence started to pulse in her ears.
And then she saw it—barely noticeable. The edge of the hallway rug was dragged slightly off-center. A line of dust disturbed. And just beyond it, a broken glass shard glinting near the wall. She knelt down slowly, running her fingers along the floor.
Blood.
Barely a smear, but it was there. Dried.
She stood up, stomach twisting.
Something had happened. And he hadn't had time to fight it.
Her pulse thundered in her chest. "Keal?" she called again, louder this time, like maybe this time he'd answer, maybe he was just—
But the house gave her nothing.
Then she reached the study.
The door was open.
On the desk, a single sheet of paper rested under a paperweight. Not a note. Not a letter.
Just a symbol drawn in ink.
Three interlocking crescents enclosed in a jagged circle. Her breath caught. She didn't recognize it, but something inside her reacted to it.
Like a whisper against her bones.
She stepped back slowly, the room spinning.
Keal was gone.
Not vanished. Not run away.
Taken.
And whoever had done it had left a message.