Zara couldn't stop thinking about Reed. The way his body had twisted after using the stolen vial, the way her own hunger had screamed for his death. He wasn't the first threat she'd faced since the bite, but he was the first who felt like a mirror—proof that she wasn't alone in this nightmare.
The next night she returned to the lab. The halls were colder, quieter, like the building itself was watching her. Dust shifted as she walked, as if the spiders she'd unleashed still crawled in the shadows.
At the far end of a collapsed corridor she found a hidden elevator door, jammed open by rubble. It took her nearly an hour to pry it apart with strands of silk, forcing the metal until the elevator creaked back to life. She stepped inside, the floor vibrating beneath her shoes as it sank deep underground.
The elevator opened onto a chamber that hadn't seen daylight in years. Rows of computers flickered weakly, powered by some backup generator. She brushed dust from a monitor, and the screen woke with a low hum. File directories glowed faintly.
Her stomach twisted. This wasn't a random accident. The spiders had been designed. Each file carried the name of an experiment. PROJECT ARACHNID-ALPHA. PROJECT BLACK WIDOW. PROJECT WEBSTRAND. The words burned themselves into her brain.
And then—PROJECT Z.
Zara's throat went dry. She clicked. The file loaded slowly, glitching with corrupted images. Her name was stamped at the top of a research log.
She staggered back. "No. That's impossible."
The lab had been studying her for years. Her family's address. School records. Blood samples she didn't remember giving. She wasn't bitten by chance. She had been targeted.
The hunger growled in her gut, hotter than ever. She slammed the monitor with her fist, the screen cracking down the middle.
At school, things only got worse. Tammy barely spoke to her, still angry at Zara's late-night vanishing acts. Josh lingered like a shadow, staring too long, asking questions he didn't voice.
During gym class, a fight broke out. A senior girl with a reputation for cruelty shoved another student into the lockers. Zara's instincts flared before she could control them. She stepped in, her body moving sharper, faster than it should.
"Back off," she said.
The girl sneered. "Make me."
They clashed, fists flying in the middle of the locker room. It wasn't just a fight—it was a test. Every punch that landed sent sparks of pleasure through Zara's nerves. Every dodge made her hunger quiet.
The fight ended with Zara pinning the girl against the lockers, silk coiled around her wrist like a whip. Gasps filled the room. Students scrambled for their phones. Zara realized too late how much of herself she had revealed.
She released the girl and walked out, head low, but she could feel every eye burning holes into her back.
That night, she stood on the roof of her apartment building, staring at the city. Her phone buzzed—an unknown number, one message.
WE KNOW WHAT YOU ARE.
Her grip tightened around the device until the screen cracked.
Below her, the city pulsed with danger and secrets. Above her, the stars seemed closer than ever, like threads waiting to be pulled.
Zara raised her hand. Silk shimmered between her fingers, stronger than before.
"If you're watching me," she whispered, voice trembling with fury, "then you already know what's coming."
Her first real war had begun.