The sun had dipped just below the horizon, casting a molten gold haze over the parking lot as Maggie and I stepped out of the mall. Laughter echoed faintly from behind us, but it felt far away. I could barely hear it over the buzzing in my ears.
I couldn't shake the feeling. That dream. The blood. That man.
And then—his eyes in the crowd.
It hadn't just been my imagination. Something inside me knew it.
My shopping bags swung at my sides, but I barely noticed the weight. It was my body that felt off—too light, too hollow. Like something had been scooped out of me and hadn't returned.
"I swear I could've bought three pairs of shoes and still left with guilt," Maggie muttered beside me. She glanced sideways at me. "You okay? You've been... off."
"I'm fine," I lied.
She didn't press. Not yet.
We reached the curb, and Maggie tapped her phone. "Let's cab it. I'm not carrying this stuff five blocks."
A dusty sedan pulled up a minute later. Older model. Paint dull and sun-faded. Tinted windows. The moment I saw it, something twisted in my gut.
"Looks like a junker," I said softly.
Maggie shrugged. "It's got wheels. That's all I care about right now."
The driver didn't roll down the window or greet us. He just unlocked the doors with a mechanical click. Something about that silence made my skin crawl.
Still, Maggie climbed in. I followed, against my better judgment, heart already speeding up.
The inside smelled of stale cologne and something… off. Something coppery.
The man in the front wore a cap low over his eyes. I couldn't see his face. Not clearly. But I saw his hands—rough, cracked, with deep scars across the knuckles. The way he gripped the wheel made my throat tighten.
I buckled in. Slowly.
He pulled off without a word.
Maggie glanced up from her phone. "Uh, did you tell him the address?"
"I didn't," I whispered.
She frowned. "Hey, excuse me? Maple Avenue, please?"
No answer. No head nod. Not even a grunt.
Maggie met my eyes, concern sharpening.
"This isn't funny," she said louder. "Maple. Avenue."
Still nothing.
The car turned off the main road. The streetlights thinned. Storefronts gave way to factories and rusting fences.
"Okay, this is not the way home," Maggie snapped.
The driver didn't stop.
"Let us out right now!" I shouted.
Click.
The doors locked.
My breath caught. Maggie's eyes went wide.
"What the hell?" she whispered, fumbling at the handle. "Why won't it—?"
"Phones," I said quickly, grabbing mine. But the signal was dead. No bars. Just static.
He kept driving.
The tension in the air thickened, heavy and sour. The street outside blurred into shadows and crumbling warehouses. The world looked dead.
I could hear my heart pounding.
"We need to run," I said. "As soon as it stops. No thinking. Just run."
The car jerked to a stop behind an abandoned warehouse. Before we could even breathe, the back door swung open.
Two men stood there. Hoods up. Faces shadowed.
Everything slowed.
One reached in.
"HEY—" Maggie shrieked, lashing out, but one of them grabbed my arm and yanked. Hard. I screamed, struggling, kicking with everything I had.
Maggie clawed at his sleeve. "Get off her! That's my best friend!"
They shoved her back hard, slamming the door in her face.
"MAGGIE!" I screamed.
"RUN!" she shouted. "I'LL FIND YOU—I SWEAR!"
But I couldn't. I was being dragged, heels scraping asphalt, heart wild. Another car pulled up behind us. Sleek. Black. Too perfect.
This wasn't random. This wasn't a mugging.
This was planned.
The moment they tossed me inside the second car, the air shifted.
I felt it—an energy, thick and humming, brushing along my skin like a whisper.
I opened my mouth to scream again, but a hand covered it.
A cold sting pierced my arm.
A needle.
My limbs sagged. My thoughts scattered like leaves in wind.
Before I blacked out, I heard it.
A voice. Deep and velvet-dark.
"You came early, little one. The blood calls. And now the veil has thinned."
Then—nothing.
Just the sound of my own breath slipping into darkness.