The world was a blur of shadows and echoes when I came to. My head throbbed like I'd been hit with a sledgehammer, and my mouth tasted like ash. The polished wood floor beneath me was cold, grounding me in a reality that felt impossibly wrong. I wasn't in the Justice Building anymore. I wasn't in District 12, or even Panem. The air here was different—thicker, laced with something metallic and unfamiliar, like the tang of blood mixed with incense. My fingers tightened around the pendant in my hand, its faint warmth the only thing tethering me to sanity.
"Get up," a sharp voice cut through the fog in my mind. "Unless you want to explain yourself lying down."
I forced my eyes open, blinking against the dim light of the cavernous hall. The boy from before—the one with the dagger and the scowl—stood over me, his arms crossed. His dark hair fell into his eyes, but it did nothing to soften the intensity of his gaze. He was lean, all sharp angles and coiled energy, like a predator waiting for an excuse to pounce. The black leather he wore clung to him like a second skin, etched with faint, glowing symbols that pulsed faintly in the low light. Behind him, the red-haired girl and the archer guy watched me, their expressions a mix of curiosity and suspicion. A fourth figure, a tall woman with sleek black hair and a whip coiled at her hip, had joined them, her eyes narrowing as she studied me.
"I said, *who are you?*" the boy repeated, his voice low but edged with steel. "And don't try lying. I can smell a mundane a mile away, and you're not one."
My throat was dry, but I forced myself to sit up, ignoring the dizziness that threatened to pull me back under. "I don't know what a mundane is," I rasped, my voice steadier than I felt. "I don't know where I am, or how I got here. My name's Lilia Thorn, and I was in District 12 an hour ago, about to be shipped off to die in the Hunger Games. That's all I've got."
The boy's jaw tightened, but the red-haired girl stepped forward, her green eyes sharp but less hostile. "District 12? Hunger Games? What is she talking about, Kyle?" she asked, glancing at the boy—Kyle, apparently.
Kyle didn't take his eyes off me. "Sounds like she's from some kind of dystopian hellhole. Or she's delusional. Either way, that rune on her necklace isn't a coincidence." He nodded toward the pendant, which I realized was still glowing faintly, the crescent moon symbol etched in light. "It's Nephilim. No mundane could activate a portal with it."
"Nephilim?" I echoed, my voice cracking. "Portal? Look, I don't know what any of this means. I just want to go home. My sister's back there, and she's—" My voice broke, and I swallowed hard, forcing the panic down. Mira's face flashed in my mind, her tear-streaked cheeks as the Peacekeepers dragged her away. I couldn't lose her. Not now, not ever.
The woman with the whip stepped closer, her movements graceful but predatory. "Enough," she said, her voice smooth but commanding. "If she's telling the truth, she's no threat. If she's lying, we'll find out soon enough. Take her to the infirmary, Kyle. We'll deal with this after we've secured the Institute."
Kyle muttered something under his breath but offered me a hand. I ignored it, pushing myself to my feet, my legs wobbling but holding. I wasn't about to show weakness, not to these people, whoever they were. The red-haired girl gave me a small, almost sympathetic smile. "I'm Isabelle," she said. "That's Alec," she nodded toward the archer, "and this is Maryse, our head of the Institute. Don't mind Kyle. He's always this charming."
"Charming's not in my job description," Kyle shot back, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. He gestured for me to follow him, and I did, my heart pounding as I took in my surroundings. The hall was massive, its walls lined with tapestries depicting warriors in black fighting monstrous creatures. Weapons—swords, daggers, even a crossbow—hung in neat rows, their blades glinting in the chandelier light. The air hummed with an energy I couldn't name, like the buzz before a storm.
We passed through a set of double doors into a corridor lined with stained-glass windows, each depicting scenes that made my skin crawl: winged figures battling horned beasts, rivers of fire, and symbols like the one on my pendant. "What is this place?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"The New York Institute," Kyle said, not slowing his pace. "Home to the Shadowhunters—Nephilim, if you want to get technical. We're half-human, half-angel, tasked with protecting the world from demons. And you, Lilia Thorn, just portaled into our headquarters with a rune that shouldn't exist in your world."
I stopped dead, my mind reeling. "Half-angel? Demons? You're insane." But even as I said it, I knew it wasn't true. The pendant, the portal, the way my skin tingled when I touched it—it was all too real. And deep down, I'd always known there was something different about me. The way I could run faster than the other kids in District 12, the way I'd survived things that should've killed me, like the time I fell into a mine shaft and walked away with barely a scratch. My mother used to call it luck, but her eyes always held something else—fear, maybe, or a secret she never shared.
Kyle turned, his expression unreadable. "Insane's one way to put it. But you're here, and that rune's active. You're not just some girl from—what did you call it? District 12? You're one of us, or at least part of you is."
Before I could argue, a deafening crash echoed through the corridor. The stained-glass windows rattled, and a low, guttural growl sent a shiver down my spine. Kyle's hand went to his dagger, his body tensing. "Stay behind me," he ordered, his voice low.
"What was that?" I whispered, my heart hammering.
"Demon," he said simply, like it was the most normal thing in the world. "Looks like your arrival tripped the wards. Great timing."
Isabelle and Alec appeared at the end of the corridor, weapons drawn. Isabelle's whip uncoiled with a snap, its tip glowing faintly, while Alec nocked an arrow in his bow, his blue eyes scanning the shadows. "Ravener," Alec said, his voice calm but urgent. "Coming from the east wing."
"Stay here," Kyle told me, but I shook my head, my hands balling into fists. I'd faced starvation, Peacekeepers, and the Hunger Games. I wasn't about to cower now, not when I didn't even know what I was up against.
"I can help," I said, though my voice trembled. "I'm not useless."
Kyle's eyes flicked to mine, assessing. For a moment, I thought he'd argue, but he just nodded. "Fine. Don't die. I'd hate to clean up the mess."
The growl came again, closer now, and the air grew heavy, like a storm about to break. We moved as a unit, Kyle leading the way, Isabelle and Alec flanking us. The corridor opened into a larger chamber, its ceiling lost in shadows. At its center stood a creature that made my blood run cold. It was massive, at least ten feet long, with a segmented body like a centipede and a gaping maw lined with needle-like teeth. Its eyes—dozens of them—glinted in the dim light, and its claws scraped the stone floor, leaving deep gouges.
"Ravener demon," Isabelle muttered, her whip cracking like thunder. "Aim for the eyes."
I had no weapon, no training, but adrenaline surged through me, sharp and familiar. It was the same rush I felt in the mines, when a collapse was seconds away, and I had to move or die. I scanned the room, spotting a rack of weapons against the wall. A short29 short sword caught my eye, its blade etched with the same symbol as my pendant. Without thinking, I grabbed it, the weight unfamiliar but comforting in my hand.
"Stay close!" Kyle shouted as the demon lunged, its claws swiping at Alec, who dove aside, firing an arrow that sank into its flank. The creature roared, black ichor oozing from the wound, but it didn't slow.
Isabelle moved like a dancer, her whip lashing out, slicing through one of the demon's legs. It shrieked, its body thrashing, and I saw my chance. I sprinted forward, my heart pounding, and drove the sword into one of its eyes. The blade sank deep, and the demon's scream was deafening, its body convulsing before it collapsed, dissolving into a puddle of foul-smelling goo.
For a moment, silence. Then Isabelle let out a low whistle. "Not bad, newbie."
Kyle sheathed his dagger, his expression unreadable. "You're either crazy or stupidly brave," he said, but there was a hint of respect in his voice.
Alec approached, wiping ichor from his hands. "We need to figure out how she got here," he said, his tone serious. "That rune—it's not just Nephilim. It's old, forbidden. If the Clave finds out—"
"They won't," Maryse interrupted, appearing at the chamber's entrance. Her eyes locked on me, sharp and calculating. "Not until we know more. Lilia, you're coming with me. We need answers."
I nodded, my grip tightening on the sword. Answers. That's what I wanted too. About the pendant, about this place, about the part of me that felt alive for the first time in years. But as I followed Maryse, Kyle falling into step beside me, I couldn't shake the image of Mira's face. She was waiting for me, back in Panem, and I'd tear through demons and angels alike to get back to her.
---
The infirmary was a stark contrast to the grandeur of the Institute's halls. It was small, clinical, with shelves lined with vials of glowing liquids and a cot covered in crisp white sheets. A woman with kind eyes and a streak of gray in her hair introduced herself as Catarina, the Institute's healer. She checked my vitals, her hands steady as she murmured something about "dimensional displacement" and "rune activation." I barely listened, my mind racing.
Kyle leaned against the wall, watching me like I was a puzzle he couldn't solve. "You handled that demon like you've been fighting them your whole life," he said, his tone casual but probing. "Care to explain?"
I shrugged, wincing as Catarina dabbed a cut on my arm with a stinging salve. "I've spent my life surviving," I said. "District 12 doesn't exactly hand out medals for sitting still."
He raised an eyebrow but didn't press. Instead, he pushed off the wall and handed me a glass of water. "Drink. You look like you're about to pass out again."
I took the glass, my fingers brushing his for a split second. His skin was warm, calloused, and I pulled back quickly, my cheeks heating. Get it together, Lilia. This wasn't the time for—whatever that was.
Catarina finished her examination and stepped back, her expression troubled. "Physically, you're fine, considering you just portaled across dimensions," she said. "But your rune signature is… unusual. It's Nephilim, yes, but there's something else. Something older."
"Older?" I asked, my voice sharp. "What does that mean?"
She hesitated, glancing at Kyle, who gave a slight nod. "The rune on your pendant is tied to the First Accords," she said. "A set of laws established centuries ago to govern the Shadow World. Some runes from that era were banned—too powerful, too dangerous. Yours is one of them."
My stomach twisted. "So what, I'm some kind of walking bomb?"
"Not exactly," Catarina said, but her tone wasn't reassuring. "It means you're connected to something—or someone—significant. We need to know who your parents were."
My mother's face flashed in my mind—her tired smile, the way she'd hum as she mended our clothes. "My mom's dead," I said flatly. "Died when I was ten. My dad left before I was born. That's all I know."
Kyle's eyes narrowed, but he didn't push. "We'll figure it out," he said. "But you're staying here until we do. No offense, but you're a liability."
I bristled, but before I could snap back, Maryse entered, her presence filling the room. "Catarina, report," she said, her voice all business.
Catarina repeated her findings, and Maryse's expression grew darker with every word. When Catarina mentioned the forbidden rune, Maryse's eyes flicked to me, cold and calculating. "You're a complication we didn't need," she said. "But you're also an asset. If you're telling the truth about this… Panem, we'll need to know everything. Starting with how you survived a demon attack with no training."
I met her gaze, my jaw tight. "I'm not here to cause trouble," I said. "I just want to get back to my sister."
Something flickered in Maryse's eyes—sympathy, maybe, or recognition. "Family is a powerful motivator," she said. "But you're in our world now, and there are rules. You'll train, you'll learn, and you'll prove you're not a threat. Understood?"
I nodded, though my chest ached. Training, rules, demons—it was a far cry from the mines and the Reaping. But if it meant finding a way back to Mira, I'd do whatever it took.
Kyle stepped closer, his voice low. "You're not alone in this," he said, almost reluctantly. "I've got your back. For now."
I looked at him, searching his face for a lie, but all I saw was a flicker of something raw, something that mirrored the weight I carried. "Thanks," I said, my voice softer than I meant it to be.
As Maryse and Catarina discussed next steps, I clutched the pendant, its glow faded but its weight heavy in my hand. I was a stranger in a world of angels and demons, but for the first time, I felt like I was waking up. Whatever this rune was, whatever I was, I'd face it head-on. For Mira. For myself.
---
**Author's Note**
Wow, what a ride, right? 😍 Thanks for diving into Chapter 2 of *Flames of the Shadows*! I had a blast writing this one—Lilia's stepping into a whole new world, and things are only going to get crazier. What do you think of her dynamic with Kyle? Any theories about that mysterious rune? Drop a comment and let's chat—I'm dying to hear your thoughts! If you're loving this, please hit that vote button and add the story to your library. More action, secrets, and maybe a little spark between Lilia and Kyle coming next week! 💥