It had been two months since that night.
Since the ritual.
Since it.
I'd told myself it was just a dream. That the voice in my head, the shadows in the woods, the inhuman figure—I imagined it all. Stress. Hormones. Something stupid like that.
But the voice never left.
Not really.
Sometimes I'd hear it when I was alone. A whisper in the dark, just under the surface of my thoughts.
"Soon.""Soon, they'll see what you are.""Soon, you'll understand."
I stopped sleeping properly. Started seeing things move at the edge of my vision. My reflection blinked a second too late in the mirror one morning.
And the strength… the rage.
A week ago, some guy at school tried to shove me for accidentally brushing past him. I didn't even think—my hand just grabbed his wrist, and I felt his bones shift under my grip.
He yelped. Said nothing. Backed off.
I let go before I crushed something.
It scared me. Not him. Me.
I wasn't a fighter. I wasn't brave. Hell, I avoided eye contact half the time. But whatever that ritual awakened in me… it wasn't sleeping anymore.
And that night in the alley—when I saw her—I stopped being afraid.
Everything finally made sense.