The morning light streaming through the infirmary windows felt too bright, too normal after the nightmare of the storm. Vinny groaned as he pushed himself upright, the stiff hospital sheets sticking to his skin. His entire body ached like he'd been run over by a truck, and his marked arm throbbed with a dull, persistent pain. The silver lines had faded to near invisibility, but the weight of what they meant still pressed heavily on his chest.
Deborah sat slumped in the chair beside his bed, her blonde hair escaping from its messy bun and her school uniform wrinkled. She'd clearly been there all night. The sight of her, exhausted but still there, sent an unexpected warmth through Vinny's battered body.
"You're awake." Her voice was rough with fatigue. She leaned forward, her blue eyes searching his face. "How do you feel?"
"Like I lost a fight with a lawnmower," Vinny croaked. His throat felt raw, scraped clean from screaming. The last thing he remembered clearly was Daniel—alive, impossibly alive—emerging from that damned tree. Everything after was a blur of pain and darkness.
Deborah handed him a paper cup of water, her fingers brushing his. The simple contact sent a jolt through him, familiar and electric. "You've been out for sixteen hours. The nurses think you have a concussion." She lowered her voice. "I might have... left out some details about what really happened."
Vinny nearly choked on his water. "You mean like the part where your dead cousin climbed out of a murder tree?"
"And the sentient roots. And Lena's whole... situation." Deborah's smile didn't reach her eyes. "They think you hit your head during the storm."
The door swung open before Vinny could respond, revealing a cheerful nurse with a clipboard. "Mr. Calloway! Good to see you awake." She shone a penlight in his eyes, the beam making his headache spike. "Any dizziness? Nausea?"
"Just a headache," Vinny lied smoothly, slipping effortlessly into the charming patient routine. He'd had plenty of practice—both from actual injuries and fabricated excuses to skip class. The nurse bought it easily, just like teachers always bought his "I'll do better next time" promises.
The nurse patted his arm. "Well, your scans look clear, but I'd like to keep you one more night for observation—"
"Actually, I'd really rather go home." Vinny turned up the charm, flashing the smile that usually got him out of trouble. "My mom will freak if I don't check in."
It wasn't entirely a lie. His mom *would* freak—just not for the reasons the nurse thought.
---
The school courtyard buzzed with midday activity, students lounging beneath the few trees that had survived the storm. Vinny kept his marked arm tucked in his jacket sleeve, the faint silver lines hidden from view. He needed to find Daniel, needed answers about what happened after he blacked out, but fate—or some cruel god—had other plans.
"Vinny! Oh my God!"
The high-pitched squeal preceded the trio of girls descending on him like a flock of brightly colored birds. Mia with her signature cherry-red lipstick, Jess in a crop top that defied dress code, and Lina, whose perfume always smelled like trouble. They'd been his... something, before everything went sideways. Before Deborah.
Mia pressed a manicured hand to his chest. "We heard you got *hospitalized*! You poor thing!"
Jess twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "You should come to my dorm. I'll *take care* of you." Her suggestive wink left little to the imagination.
Old instincts kicked in automatically. Vinny opened his mouth to respond with his usual playful deflection—the one that kept things fun but never promised more—when a familiar voice cut through the chatter.
"Wow. And here I thought *I* was the shameless one."
Lena leaned against the courtyard wall, her arms crossed. The black veins had receded from her skin, but her eyes still held that unnatural darkness at the edges. She wore the damage like a badge of honor, her smirk firmly in place despite the bandages peeking out from under her sleeves.
Mia wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. *Pyro Girl*."
Lena's grin widened. "That's *arsonist* to you, sweetheart." She pushed off the wall and sauntered over, her gaze locking onto Vinny's. "Deborah's looking for you. *Daniel* too."
The name sent a ripple through the group. Jess gasped. "Wait, *Daniel*? As in Deborah's *dead* cousin?"
Lena's smile turned razor-sharp. "Turns out reports of his death were... exaggerated."
Vinny didn't wait for the inevitable interrogation. With practiced ease, he extricated himself from the girls—a wink here, a promise to call there—the same way he'd navigated a dozen similar situations before. But as he followed Lena across the quad, the usual satisfaction of his playboy reputation felt hollow.
"You're enjoying this," he muttered.
Lena shrugged. "I've been possessed by an ancient evil and stabbed *twice* in the last twenty-four hours. Let me have this."
---
Vinny's house looked deceptively normal from the outside—the same peeling blue paint, the same sagging porch swing his mom kept promising to fix. But the moment he stepped inside, the illusion shattered.
The living room looked like a tornado had hit it. Furniture overturned, picture frames shattered, and worst of all—the *smell*. Like wet earth and rotting flowers, so thick it clung to the back of his throat.
"Mom?" Vinny called, his pulse spiking.
Silence.
He found the note on the fridge, held up by a magnet shaped like a strawberry.
*Gone to Aunt Carol's. Storm damage at the house. Stay with a friend tonight. Love you. —Mom*
Vinny crumpled the note in his fist. *Liar.* His mom never left town without telling him. Never.
A floorboard creaked upstairs.
Vinny grabbed the fireplace poker, the metal cool against his palm. The stairs groaned under his weight as he crept upward, each step ratcheting his tension higher. The hallway was dark, the only light coming from his half-open bedroom door.
He kicked it open.
A man sat on his bed, silhouetted by the setting sun. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a face that looked like it had been carved from granite. A jagged scar ran from temple to jaw, cutting through one milky, blind eye. The other eye was an unnerving shade of gold.
"Relax, kid." The man stood, unfolding to his full height—a good six inches taller than Vinny. "Name's Silas. I'm your uncle." He grinned, showing too many teeth. "And I'm here to teach you how to survive that *thing* in your veins before it kills us all."
Vinny tightened his grip on the poker. "I don't have an uncle."
Silas laughed, the sound rough as gravel. "You do now." He reached into his jacket and tossed something onto the bed—a photograph of Vinny's mother, young and smiling, standing beside a man who looked unmistakably like Silas. Behind them, barely visible in the background, stood the old oak tree.
"Welcome to the family business, nephew." Silas's golden eye gleamed in the fading light. "We've got a hell of a mess to clean up."