It was that dream again.
The one she hadn't had in years.
The sky had been gray that day. Not cloudy. Just… dull. A filtered sort of light, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
She stood by the gate near the school courtyard, hands trembling, a small folded note clenched in her fist like a paper lifeline.
"Meet me behind the field after last period."
She had written it with shaking fingers. Left it in his locker during lunch. Waited all day with a thousand storms in her chest.
And Jacob came.
That, perhaps, was the cruelest part.
He came with a smile. Calm, casual. His voice soft—like it always was when he talked to her. Like maybe, just maybe, he really had seen something in her. Not the shy girl no one noticed. Not the awkward one who kept to corners. But Raina.
She opened her mouth, heart stammering. "I... I think I like you."
For a moment, he said nothing.
And then he grinned.
And behind the hedge, they burst out—his friends, stifling laughter, already shaking their heads.
"Told you she'd fall for it," one of them snorted.
"Took you long enough, man."
Jacob just chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "Too easy," he said. "Didn't think it'd actually work."
She didn't run.
She didn't speak.
She just stood there, the blood draining from her face, her voice dead on her tongue.
Inside, something broke—slowly, quietly.
Like drowning.
Like sinking into a river of black, where the ghosts of every unspoken word, every unmet gaze, pulled her down into a quiet grave. Shadows thick with betrayal, with humiliation, with despair. They clung to her skin, whispering you're nothing, you're invisible, you don't belong anywhere.
Raina woke with a gasp.
The sheets were damp, her skin cold. Her chest felt caved in, her limbs heavy, like she'd carried the weight of that nightmare across lifetimes.
Seven years since that day.
And still it found her, now and then. When the moon was too full. When the world was too quiet.
She slipped from bed and moved silently toward the kitchen, the familiar stone floor cold beneath her bare feet. She didn't bother turning on any more lights. Darkness felt safer.
The house was large. Old. It murmured softly at night—floorboards creaking, enchanted lanterns breathing low above the mantels. Her brothers were asleep. Probably.
She didn't need conversation. She needed water.
She entered the kitchen—
—and froze.
A man was there.
Leaning against the doorframe, half-shadowed. Broad-shouldered. Unmoving.
Not one of her brothers.
His eyes found her in the dark.
Raina's heartbeat stuttered.
He didn't speak. Didn't smile.
He just stared—like a creature from another place, some ancient beast wrapped in human skin, tilting his head as if measuring her soul.
She didn't ask who he was. She didn't whisper a greeting.
She simply turned, cold water forgotten, and walked away.
Her hands shook as she shut the door behind her, locking herself back into her quiet little world.
Don't dream again.
Don't remember.
Morning came slowly.
Raina rose, dressed, and tied her hair back in a loose braid. Her hands moved with precision. She didn't think, didn't feel. She just existed, moment to moment.
Her study chamber at the Ministry of Magical Sciences and Ritual Theory was tucked in the eastern wing, far from the louder, flashier departments. That suited her just fine.
She arrived without speaking to anyone. Nodded once to the guard at the lift, then slipped inside her office—lined with books, scrolls, and ink-stained notes.
Her work was quiet. Detailed. Endless.
Charts on magical decay. Case studies. Lab reports on hybrid physiology.
Her physiology.
Because Raina wasn't just a scholar. She was her own subject.
In a world where a child always took after one of their magical parents—never both—Raina was a rarity. Equal parts from both bloodlines. A perfect, impossible balance.
A true hybrid.
And hybrids, by law of nature, did not survive.
The strongest ones lived to twenty-five. Some, barely that. To pass thirty was considered miraculous.
Raina was twenty-three.
And every day, she felt a little colder. A little more distant from her body.
Like the shadows were already preparing her.
But she never said a word.
She only researched. Day after day. Looking for a loophole in the biology. A crack in the code of death itself.
The knock came at exactly noon.
She didn't answer. Just looked up as the door creaked open.
"You're supposed to be off today, you know," said Leon, stepping inside, arms full of bags.
Her second brother—casually dressed, sharp-eyed, taller than her by almost a foot. The reliable one. The one who nagged her into existing.
He dropped the bags onto her desk. "Mom says you need clothes for the gathering. And food. And a checkup. And I was told to drag you home, dead or alive. Preferably alive."
Raina stared at him for a moment.
He stared back.
"No, you don't get to argue," he said. "And don't try the 'silent treatment' thing, it's been seven years, I'm immune."
She sighed—barely.
And stood.
Leon was already rifling through her bag of books. "You've been reading about temporal decay again, haven't you?"
She gave a look—half warning, half confirmation.
"Rai," he said, dragging out her name in that half-scolding tone, "I know you're dying and all, but could you maybe not accelerate the process with this much overthinking?"
She didn't answer. Just tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, grabbed her coat, and waited.
Leon watched her for a moment. Then, with a softer voice: "Sorry. That was a terrible joke."
She glanced at him. It wasn't a smile, not quite. But the edge of her mouth twitched—barely. That was enough.
He opened the door and waved dramatically. "Your chariot awaits, O mysterious one."
The two of them walked in silence down the quiet Ministry corridors. Leon did most of the talking, filling the space with harmless chatter, half the time making up stories about the portraits they passed.
"That guy definitely murdered someone," he said, pointing to a wizard with an especially judgmental mustache. "You can tell by the eyebrows."
Raina didn't respond aloud, but she glanced once at the painting, then gave Leon a long, slow blink.
"See? She agrees with me," he muttered to no one in particular. "Even when she's silent, she agrees."
Outside, the sky was overcast. Leon summoned a sleek hovercar from the Ministry fleet, and they flew in silence above the winding streets of the capital.
"You didn't eat breakfast," he said after a while, eyes still on the sky. "I brought your favorite bread. It's in the bag. Don't lie, I know you skipped again."
Raina looked down at her hands.
"You forget that I basically raised you when Mom and Dad were still searching libraries and war archives for how to keep you alive."
That one hit deep. But his voice stayed calm. Not pitying—just honest.
"You're my favorite problem, Rai."
She turned to look out the window. Her throat tightened, just slightly.
"Anyway," Leon continued, reaching down and pulling a list from his pocket. "We need to get clothes for you—again—because all you own are coats in five shades of sorrow, and Mom wants you to look alive, not like a haunted librarian."
He held the list up. "And you have a medical appointment. That's non-negotiable. I already bribed the cleric not to make you talk. Just blink once for yes, twice for 'get me out of here'."
Raina blinked once, slowly.
"Good girl," he smirked.
She hated that phrase.
He glanced sideways at her, the edge of his smile fading just a little.
"You scared me last winter," he said, quieter now. "When you fainted in the hall and tried to pretend it was just 'overwork'."
She looked away.
"Don't do that again," he said. "Please."
She didn't nod. Didn't promise.
But her fingers curled slightly over the fabric of her coat.
That was the closest he'd get to an answer.
By the time they landed at the capital market district, Raina had almost forgotten about the stranger in the kitchen the night before. Almost.
There had been something about him. Something not quite human. Not dangerous. Not warm, either. Just... watching.
But she said nothing. Not even to Leon.
Because some shadows, even he couldn't protect her from.