Lucian wasn't at the university that morning.
There were whispers. Everywhere.
Students crowding the hallways with half-baked theories and wide-eyed curiosity.
"He's been suspended," someone whispered behind Amara.
"I heard there's an investigation," another girl said.
"Something about falsified credentials?"
"He's not who he says he is."
Amara clenched her jaw and kept walking.
Lucian Vale, suspended?
Impossible.
Unthinkable.
But then again — everything about him had felt too clean. Too perfectly placed. A man who spoke like he'd lived for centuries and looked like he barely cracked thirty.
Her chest felt tight.
Damn him.
He had answers — answers she needed. He left without warning, without explanation. And now, he wasn't allowed back on campus.
Of course.
The only man who might've told her the truth was gone.
That night, Nico knocked softly on her door.
"Can I come in?"
Amara sat cross-legged on her bed, scrolling mindlessly through travel blogs.
"Sure. If you brought snacks."
He gave her a soft smile and handed her a bag of chips.
"What's with the packing?" he asked, glancing at her open suitcase.
"I need a break," she replied. "This week has been insane. If Lucian's not here, then there's nothing holding me back. I'm going away for a few days."
"Where?"
"Somewhere peaceful. Somewhere no one can lie to me for at least 48 hours."
He chuckled, but there was a flicker of pain in his eyes. "That bad?"
She shrugged. "You told me I was cursed to die. I think that deserves a spa weekend."
He looked like he wanted to say more — something that hovered just behind his lips.
But he didn't.
Meanwhile…
Isla paced the darkened attic of her family's ancestral home. Candles flickered violently as she slammed shut the ancient spellbook.
"No," she whispered. "This can't be right."
But the glowing rune hovering above the pages didn't lie.
If the ritual isn't completed, the bearer of the bloodline will die in place of the marked one.
Her.
Not Amara.
The curse would turn on her.
The magic was bound to death. Either Amara died by Nico's hand, or Isla's soul would be the offering.
Her hands trembled.
No one told me this.
They didn't warn her.
Liliane's voice echoed again — faint, cold, disembodied.
"You hesitated. You chose friendship. The blood knows."
"Finish it. Or be buried instead."
Isla dropped to her knees, heart pounding. "I don't want to die."
Back at the dorm…
Amara stood in the mirror, curling her hair. Her phone buzzed with a message from Isla:
You still leaving tomorrow?
She replied:
Yeah. You wanna come?
Three dots.
Then:
Maybe. I'll think about it.
Amara didn't think much of it.
But somewhere in the shadows of her room, a faint warmth spread again across her collarbone.
The mark.
It was glowing brighter.