A little sweetness, a little courage, and the first real yes.
"Okay, spill it," Shelby says the second I slide into the passenger seat. She's grinning like she already knows everything.
"Spill what?" I ask, even though my cheeks are already giving me away.
"Oh, please," she snorts, putting the car in reverse. "You're glowing. Did Alex finally do more than wink at you, or did he just propose over a hot fudge sundae?"
I try to bite back a laugh, but it escapes anyway. "Neither. But… he did ask me out."
Her eyes go wide, and she slams the brakes a little too hard at the stop sign. "He what? Angela Meyler, you are just going to drop that on me like it's nothing?"
"It's just a date," I say, trying to sound nonchalant, but my voice betrays me.
"Just a date?" Shelby gawks, throwing one hand in the air. "Girl, you've been stuck in gloomy-moody-Angela mode for weeks, and now Mr. Scoop Daddy finally asks you out? That's not just a date—that's divine intervention."
"Can we not call him that?" I say, trying to sound calm but completely failing.
Shelby's grin is pure chaos. "Oh, we're absolutely calling him that. You've been in a funk for weeks, and now you're getting asked out by literal eye candy? The universe finally did something right. "
I roll my eyes, laughing. "You're ridiculous."
"Yeah, but admit it," she says with a smirk. "You're smiling again."
I glance out the window, but she's right. I am. Really smiling. "Maybe I am."
We're still laughing when she pulls into my driveway. The kind of laughter that makes your chest ache in the best way and the kind that reminds you how comforting it feels to just be normal again.
That night, I finish the last few details of my dress for the Masquerade Ball, the one I've been designing since freshman year.
The off-white sweetheart bodice shimmers with tiny teardrop crystals, catching the lamplight like rain. The skirt flows into layers of silk and feathers, all interwoven in soft, woodsy tones that make it feel almost alive—part gown, part daydream. My mask matches perfectly: lace and silk with tiny jewels that dangle like dew and frame delicate, elven-shaped ears.
It's bold. Unique. Completely me.
I've been working on this dress and mask since my freshman year, back when I just wanted to make something that would stand out. Now, it feels like more than that. Like I'm standing out again.
As I sew, my thoughts betray me and wander straight to Will.
Where is he?
Part of me hopes he's okay, which is ridiculous because I shouldn't care. He said I'd somehow feel if he were in danger, like we had some invisible connection. But I haven't felt anything unusual, such as a gut twinge, a weird sixth sense, or a cosmic GPS alert going off in my chest.
So maybe that's proof he was full of it. Or maybe it means he's fine.
Still, the idea nags at me.
I sigh and set the needle down, rubbing the back of my neck. I can't shake the feeling that I screwed something up, whatever this was between us. It's a stupid thing to be sad about, but it hits me like a punch to the gut anyway.
As much as I hate to admit it, I wanted to get to know him better. There was something about him that didn't feel like everyone else, something familiar and wild all at once.
And Will… he's different. He's a gentleman in a world where most guys can't even spell the word. He's intense, yes, but there's this rare sincerity in him that makes you want to believe every impossible word he says.
And then there's the kiss.
Gods, that kiss.
Thinking about it now makes my stomach flip. It wasn't just a kiss—not really. It felt like the world stopped for half a second, and every nerve in my body lit up. That kind of magic.
I exhale and pick the needle back up, threading it with unsteady hands.
Magic. Fate. Keres. Fates. All of it sounds insane, but if I close my eyes, I can still feel the press of his lips, the way time cracked open around us.
Maybe I'm the one who's losing it.
I shake my head, hard. Enough.
I've already spent too much time trying to make sense of Will, of the impossible things he said, and of the way that kiss made me feel like I'd stepped out of my life. I need to stop romanticizing the crazy.
I force myself to focus on the stitching in front of me. Small, even, and methodical. It helps quiet my brain. Mostly.
Still… maybe I should apologize.
I mean, I did run out on him like some unhinged rom-com heroine mid-existential crisis. The least I could do is talk to him face-to-face. I know his number is somewhere in my phone, but a text feels wrong, too distant for everything that's happened.
Face-to-face.
The thought makes my stomach flip. That could lead to more… kissing. And maybe other things.
Oh, my god. Why am I thinking about this right now?
I press the back of my hand to my forehead like that'll help cool me down. "Get a grip, Angela," I mutter to myself. "You've officially lost it."
I set the half-finished gown aside and stretch my arms. Sleep—that's what I need. Sleep, and absolutely no thoughts of blue-eyed lunatics who talk about gods and destiny.
The house is quiet, dimly lit from the soft glow of the porch light outside. Mom's out for the night with her latest date, and I'm happy for her. She deserves it after everything she's put up with from my dad. He certainly didn't stop seeing women, even when he should have.
At least I don't have to trek downstairs to say goodnight and risk finding a half-empty bag of chips calling my name.
I grab my phone and send her a quick text:
Me: Hey Mom, have a great night. I'm turning in for bed.
Mom: All right, sweetheart. Goodnight.
Me: Goodnight. Do nothing I wouldn't do. ;)
Mom: Ha ha ha, you're hilarious. Goodnight. Love you.
I grin at the screen, toss my phone onto the nightstand, and run a hand through my hair. Sleep isn't happening anytime soon, not with my brain spinning like this.
A hot shower. That'll help. Wash away the nerves, the confusion, and the lingering image of Will's eyes in the rain.
I grab a towel and walk into the bathroom, flicking on the light. The mirror glows softly in the haze of the overhead lamp. I turn the shower on, the hiss of the water filling the small room, steam already curling around the edges of the glass door.
As I peel off my clothes and step inside, the first hit of hot water against my back makes me exhale; finally, something simple. Something I can control.
The heat builds, rising into a fog so thick I can barely see the tiled wall in front of me. I twist the handle and turn the temperature down, but before the water can cool, it hits.
Another vision. Sudden. Violent. Like my mind short-circuits and reality slips sideways.
I'm sitting in a shower, but not my shower. The walls are dark granite, cold and smooth beneath my palms. The air feels heavier and thicker, and the light flickers overhead like a heartbeat.
Hot water pounds over my head, and for a moment, I can't tell if it's steam or breath fogging around me. Then I hear it, a faint, deliberate click.
A door opening.
Then closing.
Slowly.
I freeze, my pulse hammering. My heart is beating so loud it drowns out the water.
I reach for the handle to shut it off, and the sound of rushing water fades into silence.
I peer around the edge of the granite wall, and two red eyes stare back at me from the darkness.
"Did you really think you could hide, my sweet niece?"
The voice isn't just sound; it's vibration. Low and hollow, scraping through the room like the echo of something spoken in a cavern too deep for light. The air chills instantly. My pulse stutters. Every syllable feels like it's being breathed from a grave.
"You've made quite the impression on our friend Ares." The Kere steps forward, her outline barely visible through the steam. "Does he even realize you've been keeping company with one of his guards? His own flesh and blood." Her lips curl back, revealing a smile that doesn't belong to any living thing. "His son."
The way she says it, the echo that follows, it doesn't sound like a voice at all. It sounds like the sound fire makes when it dies.
"You don't scare me," I manage, though the words barely hold together.
The Kere tilts her head, a jerking, unnatural motion, and the shadows bend with her. "Oh? You sound afraid."
I force my chin up. "Are they getting desperate now? Sending one of you to do their bidding, to drag me back to whatever pit they think can hold me? Let me make this easy: I will escape again."
She laughs. It's a slow, grinding sound that feels like it's coming from inside my skull instead of the air.
"'Creature,'" she repeats softly. "That hurts, Angelia. You wound me."
The temperature drops. Condensation freezes against the glass door behind me, thin white veins spiderwebbing across it.
She takes another step closer, and the smell of ash and iron fills the air. "Tell me," she whispers, her words vibrating through my bones. "Where is Enyalius?"
"He'll be back," I say through clenched teeth. "He had an urgent meeting with his father and grandfather."
The Kere smiles, slow and predatory. "Excellent."
She claps her hands together, the sound cracking through the steam like a thunderclap. The droplets around us hang suspended in the air for half a breath before falling again.
"You're going somewhere new," she murmurs, almost lovingly. "And I'm the one taking you there."
"By whose command?" I demand. "This is a sanctuary; you can't touch me here without permission."
Her grin widens, and when she speaks again, her voice isn't a single voice—it's many. Layered, distorted, the chorus of a thousand whispers crawling out of Hades' gates.
"Oh, dear little one… you might want to have a word with your mother, then. She's already given me all the permission I need."
My stomach drops. "What?"
"She wants you in Erda."
"Erda?" My pulse spikes. "No. No, I'm not going there. I want to see my mother—now."
"You will." Her smile stretches impossibly wide. "She's at that urgent meeting."
I take a step forward, anger breaking through my fear. "What did you—"
Her hand shoots out and grips my arm.
The pain is instant. Blinding. Her touch burns like molten iron, crawling up my veins. I choke, clutching my chest as every breath turns to smoke.
"Stop—"
My voice vanishes. My vision tunnels. The world twists.
Through the suffocating darkness, those eyes—those red, gleaming eyes—burn brighter than fire.
And then there's only silence.