Jasmine woke in a room that didn’t smell like hers. The sheets were rougher, carrying a familiar scent of… Theo.

  "Just a bad dream," she murmured, the words catching in her throat.

  For a moment, she almost believed it—until she realized she had no memory of how she’d gotten to his place.

  She opened her eyes. The room was dimly lit, but she found him instantly. Theo was already watching her. He rose from a wooden chair, his fingers fidgeting with the silver rings he hadn't bothered to take off the night before.

  As Jasmine shifted, the fabric of the bedsheets brushed against her back; the touch of light cotton felt like a blade against her skin. Instinctively, she reached out through the bond for Emma, searching for that soft, golden hum of her mind—a sound so ordinary it was like breathing.

  It wasn't there.

  Emma is gone. The thought clawed at her.

  Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision as the haunting images of the previous night forced their way back into her mind. The salt stung her skin, carving a path through the jagged claw marks that now painted her face.

  Theo lowered himself to her level, pressing his forehead against hers. She couldn't make out his features through the veil of her tears.

  "I'm right here, Jasmine," he whispered.

  But she isn’t, Jasmine thought, though she couldn't find the breath to say it.

  Jasmine wrapped her shaking arms around Theo, clinging to him as if he had the means to take her pain away. "How do I live without her?"

  He didn't answer. She knew he didn’t have an answer for her.

  Jasmine broke beneath the weight of it, sobbing into his chest until his light gray shirt turned dark with her grief. The tears that didn’t soak into the fabric, he wiped away with trembling hands.

  When the sorrow finally hollowed her out, leaving her too drained to cry, they sat together in the heavy silence.

  And when exhaustion eventually overtook her, pulling her into restless sleep, his arms remained locked around her—as if he were the only one who could keep the demons away.

  For the next two weeks, Jasmine barely moved from Theo’s bed, buried beneath layers of blankets as if they could shield her from the new reality. She hardly spoke and rarely acknowledged the world beyond her sorrow. Theo remained—he made sure she ate and drank enough water.

  And when sadness no longer found a place inside her, she drifted into months of numbness. When she was finally brave enough to return to her own house, Theo was right there beside her. He stayed through the empty stares and the hollow conversations that carried no real meaning; he sat with her in the quiet that stretched between them.

  Months later, when the numbness finally erupted into anger and the house filled with the sound of shattering dishes, Theo didn't stop her. He let her break every piece of porcelain she could get her hands on.

  But it wasn't just the dishes. She turned on every mirrored surface she could find, unable to bear the sight of her scars––permanent, painful reminders of the night Emma was killed.

  It was then that Theo started hiding her own belongings. Every fragile ceramic, every reflective surface she had not yet shattered, he hid away in the bedroom she and Emma had shared— a room Jasmine hadn't stepped foot in since that night. He emptied cabinets, pulled down decorative plates, and removed every mirror from the walls, trying to spare what little was left of her home.

  Eventually, when there was nothing left for her to break but him, he simply stood there. He let her scream at him until her voice cracked. He let her break him.

  He stayed for a month after that. Not because he had to, but because he chose to.

  But what Jasmine could never have imagined was that his unwavering presence during her grief would turn into something she resented. She started to despise him—and her friends—not for anything that they had done, but for the simple, cruel fact that they were alive. They were breathing and existing, while Emma was not.

  The bitterness inside of her twisted the love she had for him into something unrecognizable. Theo's patience and kindness became unwelcome reminders of everything she had lost.

  And on June 17th, Theo left. Jasmine didn't see him go; she simply realized his things were gone and his car keys were missing. He had reclaimed what belonged to him and returned to his old apartment without a note or a word of explanation.

  Jasmine knew why, anyway.

  Time went on, and with or without Theo, Jasmine learned to live with two shadows: her own and the void of Emma's absence. In the span of a year, she replaced water with alcohol and food with cheap drugs. She rarely managed to show up for work, cycling through new jobs every two months. Her old ceramics were gone, replaced by whatever she’d ‘accidentally’ taken from bars and restaurants.

  Jasmine stumbled through the front door, the faint glimmer of the approaching dawn still hidden behind the horizon. The birds hadn't begun their morning song; the world outside was caught somewhere between the night and day of late September. Her unsteady hands sought out any surface to anchor her, each step heavy with the haze of her intoxication.

  The house was dimly lit, but even through her drunken blur, she could make out the figure on the living room sofa.

  "You," she muttered, the word slipping from her lips in quiet disbelief.

  He didn't simply sit in the shadows. He belonged to them, his posture melting into the darkness as though they were one.

  "My condolences." His pitch-black eyes studied her face.

  "How dare you show up here?" Jasmine's voice cracked as the tears spilled over. "Do you have any idea what you took from me?"

  He rose slowly from the sofa with an air of indifference. His movements were deliberate, almost mocking, as he began to stroll around the room. The shadows followed him, stretching and bleeding across the floor like spilt ink, pooling at his heels as if they were anchored to him. His gaze flicked over the walls and furniture as if he were critiquing the architecture.

  "Nothing of any importance to me," he said, his words were like a blade to her throat.

  His fingers dipped into his coat pocket, unhurried, the shadows mimicking his movements, before emerging with something small, something glinting in the dim light. Two rings: Emma's and her own. The sight of them hit her like a punch to the gut, her breath catching in her throat.

  "I've got something you might want," he continued, almost playful. "But nothing comes for free."

  "What else is there that you could want from me?" Jasmine's voice was sharp, her fury blazing in her blue eyes as she stepped closer.

  He exhaled slowly, as if savouring the moment. Then, with unnerving calm, he said, "You're going to kill the serpent sisters for me." A smirk ghosted over his lips. "They killed Emma," he continued, his words like poison. "And I know you've been replaying it in your mind ever since. I bet it haunts you. I'm offering you the chance to make them suffer for it."

  She lunged at him with every bit of fury she had for him.

  But he was swallowed by the shadows before her fingers could even graze his skin.

  "And who's going to make you suffer for it?!" Jasmine yelled into the dark.

  The sudden loss of her target left her exposed and vulnerable. She didn't register the movement––not until she felt his fist clench her jacket collar.

  He yanked her back instantly, slamming her against the bookcase with a force that rattled the very foundations of the room. Books tumbled to the floor, and a vase shattered into fragments at her feet.

  He slammed into her while she was still in shock, pinning her to the wall with his forearm. The pressure was cruelly controlled, just enough to constrict her lungs and force desperate breaths, but never quite enough to grant her the mercy of a blackout.

  "You know," he mused, his voice low, dark with amusement, "You and I are not so different."

  He smiled, and in the faint lamplight that bled into the room through the open windows, his fangs gleamed like polished ivory. Only now, mere inches away, could she discern the truth of his eyes. They weren’t the bottomless black she'd assumed, but a brown so dark it was almost invisible. And yet, despite that faint hint of colour there, she was certain his heart shared no such nuance; it was black to its very core.

  Jasmine couldn’t help it—a laugh broke from her lips, jagged and unexpected. He looked so human, and yet his eyes betrayed the mask. They held no warmth, no flicker of humanity.

  "Our powers were forged from the same fire," he stated, his words cutting straight through her reaction.

  "What exactly… are you?" Jasmine’s voice wavered, but her gaze remained fixed.

  He leaned in until his breath ghosted against her ear, sending a cold shiver down her spine. "That's not the question you should be asking, my dear."

  He let the implication hang. A sinister smile touched his lips, and then the shadows swallowed him whole. Just like that, he was gone.

  That was the last time she touched a bottle. Jasmine didn’t want to drown her grief for Emma in cheap gin and loud music anymore. She wanted her hands steady. She wanted her eyes clear. The next time he stepped out of the dark, she was going to aim for his head—and she wasn’t going to miss.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Although he didn’t show his face the day after, or even the day after that, she knew he would eventually.

  It was a few weeks later, as Jasmine made her way down the stairs, that she felt him. Her living room appeared empty, yet she could feel his presence. It was in the way the shadows defied logic, stretching unnaturally across the walls. The air itself seemed to hold its breath, unwilling to disturb the profound darkness. He was here. She didn’t know how she knew—only that her instincts screamed it.

  "Why have you come to bother me today?" Jasmine's voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet.

  "I told you we’re not so different," he replied, his tone bordering on a taunt. "Otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to sense me." He stepped out from the kitchen corner as if being caught had been his plan from the very start, a chaotic mess of raven curls crowning his head.

  "Why are you here?" Jasmine demanded.

  "You're going to do something for me."

  He dissolved into the shadows he seemed to conjure. A hand settled on her shoulder, and in that instant, both of them were devoured by the deepening gloom. It didn't hurt; the shadows were like a cool cloud brushing against her skin. Then, in the blink of an eye, she was somewhere else entirely.

  The familiar comfort of her house was replaced by biting cold and sharp, frosty air. It was the first night temperatures had dipped below zero; what remained of the once-green plants had turned into frost-covered decay.

  "Could you have picked a warmer night than this to explore the forest?" Jasmine’s voice sliced through the air, a puff of vapor escaping her lips as she shivered in her thin clothes. "Or at least you could have let me put on a jacket," she added, her words laced with sharp irritation.

  He said nothing, dismissing her voice entirely as though her discomfort was beneath his notice. "Follow me," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. He didn't check to see if she obeyed; he simply continued walking up the hill.

  Yeah, right. Jasmine turned and headed in the opposite direction.

  "Where are you going?" His voice cut through the air after only a few steps.

  Jasmine didn't stop, nor did she look back. "Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you heard me the first time when I said I was cold. I’m going somewhere warm." She kept moving downhill, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest.

  As the shadows twisted in the path ahead of her, he solidified from their depths, her jacket clutched in his hand. Jasmine hesitated, the suddenness of his appearance making her pulse jump, but the biting cold won out. She reached for the coat.

  He stepped past her without a word, heading up the hill once more. This time, Jasmine followed. The rhythmic crunch of dead leaves was the only sound in the hushed air as she matched his pace. She kept her eyes drilled into the nape of his neck, her stare silent and venomous.

  Higher on the hill, an old, abandoned house stood, its skeletal silhouette sharp against the night sky. The cracked walls bore the deep scars of decades of neglect. Most of the roof had long caved inward, leaving the interior exposed. The boarded-up windows had started to come undone, their nails rusted and loose. The black gates to the house stood open, a silent invitation.

  "What an interesting place for a first date," Jasmine remarked.

  He didn’t acknowledge the jab. He merely leveled that same emotionless gaze at her, the one she had grown so accustomed to.

  "Oh, right," she continued, her voice light. "Our first date was the time you killed Emma. Silly me."

  Daggers shot from her eyes as she walked away from him, leaving him behind to stand in the dark. She knew her words wouldn't wound him, but it was her only way of coping with the fact that she wasn't strong enough to take him down.

  She stalked toward the house, eyes fixed on the house. By the time she reached the main entrance, he was already there. His silhouette melded into the shadows, leaning effortlessly against the pillar, watching, waiting.

  Without hesitation, he reached for the handle. The lock gave way beneath his grip with an effortless snap, metal splintering like brittle bone. As he pushed the door open, the hinges groaned in protest. A smirk tugged at his lips, his voice edged with a sharp amusement.

  "After you, firecracker."

  She stepped forward, brushing past him, her stare holding his like a challenge. “Oh, a gentleman?” she muttered, the sarcasm thick enough to taste.

  The silence inside remained undisturbed until the soft crunch of grime beneath her feet fractured it. Each step sent tiny clouds of dust spiraling into the air. Time had claimed this place, weaving itself into the thick layers of dust that covered every surface. Water had seeped through the fractured roof, leaving dark scars where it had bled into the structure.

  Yet, despite its abandonment, the interior remained strangely untouched by vandals. There was no graffiti marring the walls, no shattered furniture, no splintered glass. The scene was frozen, as if the inhabitants had simply risen one day and vanished, leaving the house to stand as a silent memorial to their absence.

  "What do you need me for?" Jasmine finally asked.

  "I want you to walk around."

  She blinked, waiting for him to finish the thought. When he didn't, her voice sharpened with disbelief. “You’re joking, right? You stole me from my home and dragged me out here just to… walk around?”

  Jasmine was stunned by his ignorance to not fill her in on anything, her irritation bubbling just beneath the surface. "Because, as I recall, you needed me. Otherwise, I can walk myself home."

  He stayed quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable as he weighed his next words.

  "I brought you here because we are the only ones who can see this house. And you're the only one who can find the first snake's venom hidden within these walls. It is the only thing strong enough to kill what is after you."

  Jasmine stared at him, skepticism clear in the sharp arch of her brow. "How am I supposed to find it if I don’t even know what it looks like? And 'after me'? You need to be more specific. Who—or what—is hunting me?"

  He exhaled a sharp, jagged breath that spoke volumes of his fraying patience. "Do you always have so many questions?"

  "I do," Jasmine snapped, her arms locking firmly across her chest. "And you will start providing answers if you want my help."

  He held her gaze for a long moment. "No one knows its form; that is the cruel art of it. Only your kind can find it. You will sense it, Jasmine—the same way you sense me."

  He sank onto the bottom step of the staircase that led to the second floor, his back pressing against the cracked, peeling wall. The shadows around him seemed to stir in response, curling faintly at the edges of his silhouette as if drawn to him by some dark force. He said nothing more, watching her with a steady, unnerving focus.

  Jasmine turned around, her gaze settling on the doorless frame at the end of the hall. She decided to start there, moving with a calculated slowness, doing her absolute best to make him wait.

  She found the kitchen covered in dust, like a blanket had been placed over the whole room. Dead flowers slumped lifelessly in the vase at the table's center, their petals long since drained of colour. The table was set for four, a silent testament to a family that once lived here. The chairs surrounding it were old, their wood darkened and worn by years of use.

  Even though the furniture of the kitchen intrigued her, Jasmine didn't find anything that called out to her. With a faint sigh of irritation, she left the room, heading back toward the stairs where he still sat.

  She stepped over his outstretched legs, her jaw tightening as she resisted the temptation to stomp on his face instead. The thought was satisfying, but she kept it to herself.

  His dark eyes followed her. He did not move, but his shadows followed Jasmine all the way to the last step.

  As she reached the landing, she found herself at the beginning of a narrow hall. Two doors stood on each side, their wooden frames warped and splintered with age. The ceiling above had caved in, leaving jagged gaps that bared the night sky. Moonlight streamed through the broken roof in pale, silvery shafts, casting shadows across the crumbling walls.

  She was careful with her steps, not to disturb the floor beneath her feet. The art on the walls had been eaten by time, its colours dulled and blurred by the relentless assault of mould and moisture. The original images had been lost in the haze of neglect.

  She stepped inside the first room, her gaze sweeping over the surfaces. There was a bed in the middle of the room; by the colour choices and the style, she assumed it must have been the parents' bedroom. She found herself staring at countless books, their covers coated in dust. Some were leather-bound, their spines cracked, while others bore faded titles barely legible in the dim light.

  She was surprised to find jewelry on the nightstand—rings, necklaces, and bracelets, all arranged with care. Amongst the jewelry, one in particular piqued her interest. Her eyes landed on the silver necklace lying among the jewelry, its chain delicate but gleaming under the faint light. Suspended from it was a green pearl.

  The green reminded her of eyes—eyes that she hated the moment they met hers. She had dreamt of ripping those eyes out countless times, driven by a need to make them feel what Emma had felt.

  She knew, without a doubt, that this necklace was what they were searching for. It had a presence, a pull she couldn't explain.

  The moment Jasmine’s fingertips brushed the cold silver, an overwhelming vision tore through her consciousness. She froze, unable to move, as the world around her dissolved into one she didn't recognize. It was as if slipping into someone else's past, being there at the very moment their memories first took shape.

  A gasp escaped her lips as she stumbled back, her breath hitching as the vision unfolded. She saw a young girl with the same necklace hanging from her neck. The girl's fingers toyed with the pearl, twisting and turning it until, click, it opened.

  Thick, dark green liquid erupted from the pearl, surging outward like a predator unleashed. Jasmine watched helplessly as the liquid surrounded the girl, swallowing her in its depths. It spread mercilessly, wrapping around her brother and parents like a rogue wave, pulling them apart until their crimson was one with the green.

  Then, as quickly as it came, the liquid was gone—retracted, absorbed back into the green pearl, leaving nothing but silence.

  A strobe light of faces followed—hundreds of others claimed by the pearl flashed before Jasmine’s eyes. Some were innocent, some were monsters, all were gone.

  Jasmine’s hands shook with such violence that she had to force her fingers to uncurl. Her heart pounding against her ribs, she backed away until her spine pressed hard against the wall, the cold surface barely keeping her upright.

  She stared at the necklace, which sat innocently on the floor, masking the destruction it carried.

  "Seems to me like you found it."

  His voice broke the silence, the shadows that clung to him strong against the doorway. "What did you see?"

  Jasmine’s voice trembled as she spoke, the weight of the vision still pressing on her chest. "I saw the family who lived here. The necklace... it took them. It swallowed them in that green liquid.”

  Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and a few escaped, trailing down her cheeks, following the path of her jagged scars. She couldn't shake the image of the little girl, the terror she must have felt in those final moments.

  He stepped forward, his movements deliberate, and bent to pick up the necklace from where it lay on the floor. He held it out to her, the green pearl gleaming in the dim light.

  "You are the only one who can use it," he said, his tone calm but firm. "Only your kind can."

  Jasmine hesitated, her hand hovering near the necklace. "My kind?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Was that girl... was she like me?"

  "No," he replied, his gaze steady. "That's why it acted against her. Only an angel can wield such power. It will not hurt you."

  The words hit her like a blow, and she stared at him, her mind racing. Angel. The word felt foreign, impossible, yet it explained so much she had never understood about herself.

  He smirked, his expression unreadable, as if he found her confusion and shock amusing—or perhaps expected.

  Jasmine stayed hollowly silent until they left the house. The night air seemed colder than before, biting at her skin. She clutched the necklace, the green pearl humming faintly in the palm of her hand.

  "Take me home," she said, her voice barely audible against the wind.

  He turned to her, a sharp glint of mockery in his eyes as the wind caught his raven curls. "I believe you mentioned something about walking yourself home."

  Before Jasmine could react, the shadows bent around him like a dark veil.

  Jasmine exhaled shakily, her breath visible in the frosty air. "Jerk."