Evelyn strolled into her room, barely registering her surroundings as she stepped inside. The moment she neared the bed, she let the bags slip from her fingers. The dull thud of them hitting the floor going unnoticed.
Her body felt heavy, her mind even more so. She sank onto the mattress, letting herself fall back against the soft surface, her gaze fixing on the ceiling.
A long sigh escaped her lips the moment she settled in, carrying the weight of the conversation that had just transpired between her and her mother.
"You are not allowed to use that power."
Her mother's voice echoed in her mind, sharp and final, leaving no room for argument.
Evelyn's hands curled into the sheets. After everything that had happened— after the undeniable proof that something inside her had changed, her mother's response had been to shut it down. No explanations. No reassurances. Just rules. Just more secrets.
Her chest tightened with frustration, but before her thoughts could spiral further, her phone buzzed on the nightstand. The sound drew her attention, and she lazily reached for it- lifting it up to her gaze.
A message from Riley.
"Got home a while ago. Whatever's eating you up, get enough rest and let's talk about it tomorrow. See you."
Evelyn stared at the words for a moment. The simplicity of the message, the quiet support woven into it, made something in her ease — if only, slightly. Riley didn't pry, didn't push for answers. Just a reminder that she wasn't alone.
Evelyn let out another breath, softer this time, before dropping the phone beside her. Her eyes fluttered shut, only for a moment but her mind refused to rest.
Even with the exhaustion settling into her bones, her thoughts kept circling back. The look in her mother's eyes. The way she had flinched when Evelyn accused her of never intending to tell the truth.
She was sure her mother feared something and she had a sinking feeling that she was at the center of it.
Evelyn turned onto her side, staring at the faint glow of the alarm clock. The numbers blurred slightly, her mind too restless to focus.
She had always felt there was something different about her. Strange moments that she had brushed off, odd instincts she had ignored. But now, there was no escaping it.
Something inside her had awakened. And her mother had no intention of helping her understand it. Evelyn's jaw tightened.
If her mother wouldn't tell her the truth, then she would find out on her own. - So she thought.
Before she could dwell on it, her phone buzzed again. She blinked, reaching for it, expecting another message from Riley.
But the number on the screen was unknown.
A single text.
"You felt it, didn't you?"
Evelyn's breath hitched, sitting upright in the process. Her fingers tightened around the phone as she stared at the words, her pulse hammering against her ribs.
Her body went still.
Who was this? And how did they know?
_____
Outside the house, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the quiet suburban street. The sky was painted in soft hues of gold and orange. Signaling the slow approach of evening. A faint breeze stirred the trees, rustling their leaves with a gentle whisper. The air was warm, thick with the lingering heat of the day.
A figure stood at the edge of the street, partially concealed by the shade of a large tree. He was dressed in black— a fitted hoodie, dark jeans, and a cap pulled low over his face. His posture was relaxed, hands tucked into his pockets, but his gaze was anything but casual.
He was watching.
His sharp eyes remained locked on the second-floor window of the house— Evelyn's room. Though the curtains were partially drawn, he could see glimpses of movement inside. She was there.
A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He had felt it. The shift, the awakening. Even from a distance, he could sense it.
Glancing on the screen of his phone for the last time as he ignored Emelia's desperate question of who he was- he tucked the phone back into his pocket.
Meanwhile, the shadows stretched across the pavement as the sun continued it decent journey. The neighborhood remained still, unaware of the silent observer lingering in its midst.
At that moment, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen. A single message flashed across it.
"Did you find her?" It read.
Without urgency, he stepped back and ducked behind the tree on an impulse. He had sense the curtains shifted in time. Not out of fear of being seen — but she shouldn't see him. Not yet. Not until he knew for sure.
He angled himself slightly a few seconds later. Just enough to peek around the trunk. There she was.
Emelia stood at the window, her gaze sweeping the street with quiet purpose. There was a sharpness in her eyes that hadn't been there before. A stillness in her posture. Awareness.
His brows knit for a fleeting second.
She knew.
The smirk faltered, then returned— cooler now, more curious than amused.
He typed back:
"She's awakened. But she doesn't look like she knows what she is... Not yet."
Phone tucked away, he watched her a moment longer, as if trying to read something more beyond the glass. Up until she drew away from the window, allowing the curtains slid down. Then, without a sound, he turned and slipped into the thickening dusk, leaving the quiet street behind.
Evelyn on the other hand, glanced the message for the last time before tossing it on the bed. She wasn't up for all this, given that End of semester exams was just around the corner. Probably a quick warm shower would be enough to reset her up.
Emelia's Perspective
Downstairs, the house was silent— too silent. Then, the sizzle of oil in the pan crackled through the kitchen, but Emelia barely heard it.
She stood at the stove, stirring the vegetables with slow, absentminded motions. Her eyes unfocused as steam rose before her. The comforting aroma of garlic and herbs filled the air, but her mind was a thousand miles away— upstairs, behind her daughter's closed door.
"She's awakened."
The thought hunted her. The energy had rippled through the house earlier like a pulse— subtle, but unmistakable to those attuned to it. And Emelia had felt it in her bones.
Evelyn's power had stirred.
She gripped the wooden spoon tighter, her stirring becoming erratic without realizing it. She had known this day would come. Had dreaded it. Tried to delay it. But now that it was here, it felt like a slow unraveling of everything she'd tried to protect Evelyn from.
A sharp sizzle snapped her attention back to the present—the pan had begun to smoke. The edges of the food were turning dark, curling, threatening to burn.
"Damn it," she muttered, quickly turning down the heat and shifting the pan off the burner. She waved the smoke away, eyes stinging slightly. Her heart thudded too fast in her chest, not from the near-burnt food, but from the thoughts chasing her.
She placed the spoon down, steadying her hands on the edge of the counter.
Upstairs, Evelyn was likely still drowning in her own storm of thoughts. Emelia had seen it in her eyes. The frustration, the hurt, the demand for truth she hadn't been ready to give.
"You are not allowed to use that power." The words had left her mouth like a lock on a door that should've never been opened.
But what else could she say? That there were people out there, things out there, who would hunt Evelyn down the moment they sensed what she carried? That she wasn't just different but a beacon?
Her daughter didn't understand yet. Evelyn knew what she was— part of her did, anyway but she didn't grasp the depth of it. The reach of her bloodline. The magnitude of the enemies she unknowingly attracted.
She had felt her restlessness and knew what it was like. That sensation of a world shifting beneath your feet and no map to guide the way.
She closed her eyes briefly, exhaling through her nose.
The old instincts stirred within her. Ones she had buried for years. Ones that whispered "Prepare. She's not safe."
She moved to the drawer near the sink and pulled it opened, with practiced ease. Revealing an old flip phone she hadn't touched in years.
She hesitated for only a second before flipping opened. Then dialed a number from memory.