Mira never expected danger in a forgotten library. But that afternoon, as sunlight filtered through dusty windows, a shadow moved between the shelves—silent, watchful.
She clutched the book tighter, the silver pen cool against her palm. The warmth that had pulsed there all week was now replaced by a prickling chill.
"Who's there?" Mira whispered, heart pounding.
A voice answered from the darkness—a man's voice, low and smooth, laced with something cold.
"You shouldn't meddle with things beyond your time, Mira."
She froze. How did he know her name?
From the shadows stepped a tall figure, sharp eyes glinting beneath a worn coat. He moved with purpose, eyes fixed on the book in her hands.
"I'm just… curious," he said, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. "That book belongs to my family. It's dangerous."
Mira shook her head. "No. It belongs to me now. It's the only way I can reach him."
The man's gaze hardened.
"Alaric?" he sneered. "You don't know what you're dealing with. That boy's trapped by a curse centuries old. If the book falls into the wrong hands… it could destroy more than you realize."
Mira's fingers tightened around the cover.
"I won't let you take it."
Suddenly, the pen on the book glowed—a soft, blue light pulsing like a heartbeat. The man's expression flickered—fear? Recognition?
"You don't understand. But I will have it."
With a swift motion, he lunged for the book.
Mira dodged, clutching it close, the room spinning as a rush of wind swept through the shelves. The ink on the pages shimmered wildly, and a distant voice echoed softly—Alaric's voice.
"Run, Mira."