"Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour."
— 1 Peter 5:8
Jazz spun beneath the pulsing lights, laughing as the beat shifted into something heavy and nostalgic. The floor throbbed with energy. Bodies danced shoulder to shoulder, sweat and perfume mixing into a dizzying cocktail of youth and rebellion.
A guy from her literature class — maybe Ben? Brad? Something with a B — leaned in, trying to say something over the music. She smiled, gave a playful wink, and twirled away before he could finish.
She wasn't in the mood to flirt too seriously tonight. Not with everything going on.
And not with Thalia disappearing again.
Jazz slowed mid-song, the tension behind her eyes flaring in quiet alarm. She scanned the crowd, eyes sharp beneath her glittering lashes.
Thalia had been right here.
A feeling crawled across her spine — a mix of intuition and the strange static she sometimes felt when the veil between "normal" and whatever else was thin.
Jazz slipped through the dancing crowd, her boots crunching lightly against spilled ice and broken plastic cups. She passed the drink table. No Thalia. The makeshift photo booth? Empty. The bathroom door swung open, and she peeked. Nothing.
That left one place.
Jazz stepped out into the hallway, heels clicking softly on the tile. The party noise dulled behind her. She followed the echo of voices — low, quiet, familiar.
She rounded the corner just in time to see them.
Thalia. And Caleb.
Leaning close, heads tilted just enough for it to feel like a moment borrowed from something delicate. Not quite touching. But close enough that Jazz felt like an intruder.
She froze.
Then, in true Jazz fashion, she knocked lightly on the wall and gave a wide, awkward grin. "Well, well, well… should I give you two a minute or just start humming 'Kiss the Girl' now?"
Thalia jumped slightly, the spell breaking. Caleb straightened, brushing a hand through his hair and offering Jazz a lopsided, caught-in-the-act smile.
"I was just—" Thalia began.
"—swooning under the stars," Jazz cut in, wagging a finger. "Don't worry, I'm not judging. I'm just here to make sure you didn't sneak off to talk to ghosts again."
Thalia groaned, hiding her face in her hands.
Caleb chuckled. "She's relentless, huh?"
"Oh, you've no idea," Thalia mumbled.
Jazz walked up beside them, looping her arm through Thalia's. "Come on, Romeo. I'm stealing her back before you get her reciting poetry. And besides, someone needs to help me finish the sangria."
Thalia hesitated for just a breath — and Jazz felt it. That tension. That distance.
But Thalia nodded, letting herself be pulled away, and Jazz didn't let go.
Not this time.
Thalia let herself be pulled along by Jazz, their arms looped like old times. The hallway felt oddly quiet compared to the pounding music inside. Her steps were slow, reluctant. Caleb remained behind, watching for a second too long, lips parted as if wanting to say something.
Jazz caught it.
She smirked. "You're so lucky I like you," she whispered under her breath, just loud enough for Thalia to hear.
Thalia gave a short laugh. It was soft. Hollow. But real.
As they passed under the dim hall light, Jazz leaned in and murmured, "You okay, though? Really?"
Thalia hesitated. Her hand twitched at her side, as if brushing something unseen off her sleeve.
"I remembered something," she said finally, voice tight. "But it wasn't mine."
Jazz didn't push. She just squeezed her friend's arm a little tighter. "We'll talk later. After you dance. And maybe spike your drink with joy."
But even as she joked, something prickled at the back of her neck.
It was cold.
Sudden.
Wrong.
She slowed just a step, glancing back down the hallway. No one. Just the shadows stretching a little too far, like the light itself didn't trust them. The door to the courtyard creaked. Air — dry and sharp — crept in like a whisper.
Then the temperature dropped.
Just a degree or two. Barely enough to notice. But Jazz noticed.
She'd felt this before.
Something watching.
Not like a person.
Like a weight. A presence. Cloaked in skin.
She turned again and caught a silhouette standing just past the archway. A man. No—a teacher, she realized. One of the professors from the theology department. Professor Ruel, wasn't it?
Except…
He was just standing there.
Staring.
Expression flat. Almost expectant.
And then, he nodded. Just once.
As if in approval.
Jazz blinked—and when she looked again, he was gone. No sound. No footsteps. Just empty air.
Thalia didn't notice. She was too deep in her thoughts, gaze unfocused.
Jazz didn't say anything.
Not yet.
But her heart thudded unevenly as they stepped back into the noise and color of the party. She glanced back once more.
The hallway remained empty.
But the chill lingered.
Jazz didn't look back again.
But she felt it.
That drop in temperature — that brittle stillness that made even laughter feel… out of place. Her gut whispered wrong, but she had Thalia's hand in hers, and that grounded her enough to move forward.
Still, as they slipped back into the party, her eyes kept darting. She would laugh. She would dance. But she'd also keep watch.
⸻
Somewhere just behind the light…
It watched them leave.
The girl — Jazz — had noticed. She always did. Not enough to act. Not enough to name it. But her instincts were irritatingly sharp. Like a cat raised in houses where things never stayed dead.
Still, she wasn't the concern.
The other one… Thalia.
She pulsed with it.
The Anomaly.
The faint shimmer of blood-etched fate curled around her steps like invisible iron. A remnant of something too old for language. A scream wrapped in silk.
The vessel still didn't remember what it carried.
Not fully.
But that would change soon.
The figure that wore Professor Ruel's face let its borrowed mouth curl slightly. A smile, if you could call it that. It didn't quite reach the eyes — they remained too still, too empty. Like someone had sketched the shape of a man, then forgotten to breathe life into it.
Its hand flexed behind its back — skin creaking faintly over bone. Fingers remembered rituals the body never learned.
It had sent the message earlier that evening:
Do you remember what you were born carrying?
The silence that followed had been expected.
Thalia hadn't answered — not with words, at least.
But her movements had changed. Subtly. Frightened.
The figure's gaze sharpened all of a sudden
He was getting close.
Too close.
The figure turned, drifting through the shadowed corridor like fog. Its shape bent where the lights flickered — as though its presence confused the architecture of the space.
He cannot be allowed to reach her yet, it thought. Not until the convergence.
Their paths were intertwined far too deeply. The bond between the Nephilim and the cursed girl was written long ago — not in ink, but blood. It was fate's way of protecting her, an innocent soul bearing the curse of the damned
The Nephilim would unravel everything too soon.
And that could not be allowed.
Not yet.
Not until the rite was complete.
Not until the Door opened.
The figure passed a mirror.
And its reflection didn't follow.
Only a smear of red light remained — like a warning… or a seal cracking.