Pov: Lucas
The sun was sinking behind the rooftops, spilling long, golden streaks across my bedroom floor—as if nature was trying to bribe me into feeling good.
It wasn't working.
I stood in front of the mirror, shirtless, holding up two shirts like I was starring in a dramatic indie film about indecision.
One was plain black. The other had a faded graphic of a wolf howling at a moon that had long since peeled off.
They were both fine. Which meant neither of them felt right.
"You're overthinking it," I told my reflection. "It's just a beach party."
The reflection didn't answer, which was probably for the best.
Eventually, I chose the plain black tee — soft from too many washes, slightly oversized, sleeves cuffed once. I threw it on, ran my hands through my hair to tame the chaos a little, and grabbed a hoodie just in case the ocean breeze got bold later.
Before leaving, I glanced at the nightstand where my old notebook sat. The one with the weird writing I didn't remember scribbling.
Something cracking beneath the skin of the world…
I shook it off. Just poetry. Just my brain being weird. Again.
My phone buzzed just as I made my way downstairs
Rafe [6:43 PM]:
I hope you're wearing something hot, because I've decided we're showing up like we're in a band.
Also, I may or may not have eaten an entire bag of marshmallows and require a ride to the scene of the crime.
I rolled my eyes and texted back:
Luca:
I look like a moody rockstar. You're welcome.
Be ready in five or I'm telling everyone about the TikTok dancing incident.
No response — just the thumbs-up emoji.
Figures.
My car—a battered old Civic with more attitude than actual horsepower—coughed to life like it was offended I'd disturbed its rest. I backed out of the driveway, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping out a half-forgotten beat against my knee.
Driving helped, sort of. If nothing else, it gave my brain something else to focus on.
The town slid past my windows in snapshots: closed-up cafés with fading signs, streetlamps leaning like they were tired, kids pedaling down sidewalks without helmets or a care in the world.
I passed the bookstore Mom used to drag me to on lazy Sundays, the park where I shattered my arm trying to ollie off a picnic table, and the old movie theatre that now proudly called itself a gym.
It was all still there. Familiar. Predictable. Fine.
So why did it feel like the air was holding its breath?
By the time I pulled up outside Rafe's, the sky had turned dark.
He was already waiting, bent over the railing like he was in a music video, bomber jacket zipped and sunglasses still on—even though there was no sun.
He climbed into the passenger seat.
"Driver," he said, flashing a grin, "take me to the sea."
I didn't even blink. "I'm reconsidering this entire friendship."
Rafe grinned, shoving a backpack between his feet.
"Inside this bag are essentials for the evening: a Bluetooth speaker, an irresponsible amount of glow sticks, and what may or may not be legal fireworks."
"Remind me to drive away safely when the cops show up," I said.
"Pfft. You love me."
"Unfortunately."
We drove with the windows cracked, music low. Rafe talked the entire time — about the playlist, about Jess's new crush, about a video Mia sent of a raccoon opening a vending machine.
I half-listened, throwing in the occasional snarky reply. But mostly, I stared at the road. And the sky.
Something felt… close.
Like static right before a storm.
The beach came into view like something out of a music video — the kind that's just a little too perfect to be real.
The bonfire was already blazing, its glow bouncing off windbreakers, bare arms, and red plastic cups.
Music thumped from the portable speakers someone had jammed into a cooler setup — bass-heavy and too loud, but no one seemed to care.
The smell of toasted marshmallows, cheap beer, and salty ocean air mixed together into something that screamed high school.
Shadows flickered across the sand.
Rafe hopped out before I even cut the engine. "Let it begin," he declared, tossing his backpack over one shoulder and jogging toward the chaos like he was stepping onto a stage.
I trailed behind at a slower pace, hands buried in my hoodie pockets, letting the music wash over me like a wave I wasn't ready to ride.
Mia spotted me first.
She was perched on a log near the fire, knees pulled under a flannel shirt that definitely wasn't hers — probably Noah's. She raised her drink in a lazy salute and scooted over.
"You came," she said, a little surprised.
"I was blackmailed with s'mores and emotional manipulation," I replied, dropping beside her.
Rafe was already throwing glow sticks at people like a rogue DJ. Jess twirled barefoot in the sand, bracelets jangling as she spun, her drink sloshing but never spilling.
"Jess is feral tonight," Mia commented.
"Isn't she always?"
"True."
We sat in silence for a moment, watching the fire throw sparks into the dark. Laughter exploded to our left — a game of truth or dare spiraling into shirtless stupidity.
Girls walked past in tank tops and denim shorts, some glancing my way a little too long. One smiled — not subtle.
"I'm not pretending. I just don't care," I muttered, tugging the sleeves of my hoodie down over my hands.
"You're impossible," she said, though I could hear the smile in her voice.
Jess bounced over seconds later, cheeks flushed from dancing or maybe something stronger.
"Luca!" she beamed, flopping onto the log beside me like a cat claiming space. "You're wearing black. Good. We match."
"You're rocking sequins and a glow-in-the-dark bracelet that basically says 'bite me.'I don't think this counts as matching."
She cackled. "I'm a mood."
"You're something," Mia muttered, clearly fond of her.
Rafe returned with a half-burned marshmallow held high like a trophy. "This is chaos," he said, proudly. "My chaos."
The night spun on.
The heat of the fire. The thump of music. People pressing too close. Eyes lingering too long.
And through all of it, I felt… off.
Not bad. Just apart. Like the moment was happening around me, not with me. Like I was in the movie, but not the lead. Not even the supporting cast. Just some blurry background character watching the plot from the wrong angle.
I stood and brushed the sand from my hands.
"Where are you going?" Jess asked, half-pouting.
"Just need a minute. The noise is getting in my head."
"You okay?" Mia asked. Her voice was softer now.
I nodded. "Yeah. Just—back in a bit."
No one stopped me.
The firelight stayed behind.
And the woods ahead… waited.
I slipped away from the fire when no one was looking.
The music followed me at first — muffled bass thudding like a heartbeat behind me, cheers rising with the smoke. But the farther I walked, the more it faded. Like someone was turning the world down, click by click.
Past the blankets and coolers. Past the dancers near the edge. The sand cooled beneath my shoes, the breeze off the ocean sharper now.
At the tree line, I paused.
The woods stretched ahead — tall, dark, quiet.
A different kind of silence. One that hummed beneath the skin.
The wind moved through the branches like it had something to say. I stood there, listening.
Then I stepped in.
The party noise dimmed completely. Only crunching leaves under my shoes now, the low whisper of swaying trees, and something else — something I couldn't name.
I should've turned back.
But I didn't.
I kept walking.
A few steps in, I felt it.
A tightness in my chest. Not pain. Just pressure. Like someone had looped a thread around my ribs and started to pull.
I stopped walking.
The wind shifted. The leaves rustled. The trees creaked like old floorboards.
I rubbed my sternum. "Okay," I muttered. "This is definitely how horror movies start."
Still, I moved.
Each step felt both chosen and not. Like I was walking by my own will… and also not at all.
The pressure grew — not painful. Just louder.
Not fear. Just awareness. A buzzing under the skin. Breath slowing.
I'd wandered off the map. And somehow, it felt more right than anything had all night.
Curiosity and caution danced inside me.
Caution lost.
I kept going.
The trees thinned without warning.
One second I was in shadows.
The next, a clearing opened in front of me — silver light spilling across moss and fallen leaves.
That's when I saw her.
She was lying in the centre of the clearing.
At first, I wasn't even sure she was real. Her body was still, half-curled on the moss like she'd fallen from a great height.
Long black hair spilled around her like ink, catching the moonlight. Her skin was pale, almost glowing.
There were streaks of dried blood down her arms and legs, but no visible wounds.
She looked… peaceful. And completely out of place.
Like someone had dropped a painting into the middle of the woods.
I took a slow step forward.
Then another.
The closer I got, the weirder it felt. That heavy pressure settled back in my chest—not painful, just weighty.
Like the air around her was thicker.
I knelt down beside her, careful not to startle her, even though she stayed completely still.
She looked young. Maybe my age. Her features were delicate, almost unreal — like they'd been drawn, not born. Her lips parted just a little, and her lashes lay softly against her cheeks.
I reached out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.
Blood dried into it.
Blood streaked the side of her face, her clothes torn as if she'd crashed through the branches
But she was warm. Not feverish — just… warm. Alive.
I pressed two fingers gently to her neck. There it was — a steady pulse.