Cole Bradford trudges through a dark oasis, fists clenched, every muscle in his body coiled tight, ready to explode. Above him, the sky is an endless, black abyss, stars thrown like shattered glass against the void. Everything around him is too damn quiet, too perfect, like some kind of dream. Hell, maybe it is. This secret garden of emerald leaves, kissed by the soft glow of moonlight, is almost cinematic, and certainly not real life.

He steps forward, bare feet into the crystal-clear water, toes gliding over smooth, ancient stones. The tranquil surface ripples beneath him, mirrors of the stars above breaking with every step. He loathes how peaceful it seems, how wrong it is, until he sees her.

Perched on a large, moss-covered rock protruding out of the water, sits his baby sister, Alaina. She is absorbed in her sketchbook, tiny fingers deftly working with an ordinary pencil. "Took you long enough," she mutters without looking up.

"Lainey," he breathes. "What . . . what are you doing over there? It's dangerous."

"Not as dangerous as your dorm room."

"My dorm room?" A sudden throbbing sensation rips through Cole's temple. He reaches for it instinctively. "I should be in my bed. I—I'm dreaming."

Lainey nods, a hint of exasperation seeping into her little voice. "Well, we could've been in my dream, if you weren't so stubborn."

He ignores her, eyes stirring, searching his mind for something, fragmented images for him to piece together. "I was dreaming . . . of something else, I think. Rayne?"

The memory hits him like a sucker punch.

He'd been locked in a fierce struggle . . . with Rayne.

In his dream, the intensity of their fight left him breathless. She had been pinned against the wall, his body against hers. Insults flying, a slap across his face, their voices raised, and then, she'd thrown her hands in the air, practically begging him to peel off her shirt mid-screaming match. Underneath, just a little black bra. He was about to rip that off too, until she slammed her skull into his, sending him stumbling backward. Rayne was on top of him in an instant, tearing open the buttons of his uniform, hands roaming, lips kissing him eagerly.

It was all teeth and heat.

He rolled her over and tossed her to the ground, her head crashing to the floor, and her eyes glinted wildly with pain and pleasure—a twisted dance of desire and anger. A trickle of blood slipped down her forehead.

"He can't hurt you like I can," he told her, biting down on her lip. "Can't love you"—tender kisses now, gentle promises over her bare shoulder—"like I can."

And then . . . somehow, he found himself here. In this quiet place.

"Yeah, your dream was gross." Lainey turns her sketchpad around, revealing a colorful drawing that resembles the watering hole around them. Yet, all she has is a regular pencil. Where did all the color come from? "Don't worry," Lainey adds. "I made it look like my dream. Much better now."

Cole knows this doesn't make sense, that his sister couldn't possibly have seen what he dreamt—right? After all, this is just a dream too. Still, he feels something akin to embarrassment, burning his cheeks.

A rustling in the leafage makes Cole whip around, his fists already balling up. A dark figure emerges from the green and shadow, moving with a surreal elegance. Raven-black hair spills over his forehead, and a deep scar cuts across his face. These are the only features Cole doesn't recognize. But everything else? The guy is a damn near dead ringer for his English teacher, Mr. Matthews.

"We don't have time for this," the stranger says, stepping closer. "Your soul is too difficult to sway. I couldn't ferry you to Alaina's dreamspace, so we had to enter yours."

"Mr. Matthews?" Cole shakes his head. "Dreamspace? What the hell is going on?"

"This is my friend," Lainey explains. "His name is Daniel." She gives him a reproachful look. "And stop being so mean to his brother. Mr. Matthews is really nice."

Daniel moves closer to the water, closer to Cole. "We need your help."

Cole blinks, still processing their words. He doesn't have long to think about it, though, because Lainey turns away, almost as though she's ashamed. "He wants my help," Cole notes, pointing to Daniel. He turns to his baby sister, the sorrow etched across her face pulling at him. "But you don't."

"There's been a change of plans," Daniel cuts in sharply.

"I didn't want you to—" Lainey stops herself, eyes darting away. "It's dangerous, my Cole. I don't want you to die."

Die? Why would he die? The thought barely barely has time to settle before his instincts take over, the same ones that had always driven him to protect her. He had always been her shield, the savior from monsters both under and inside her bed. Whether this danger was real or born from childish fears, it didn't matter—he would always protect her, no matter the cost.

"Oh, Lainey." His voice softens, and before he knows it, Cole is wading through the water, waist-deep, until he reaches her. Wrapping his arms around her small frame, he pulls her into the water with him. Her giggles ring out, mixing with the gentle lapping of waves, a sound so innocent and pure it slices right through him. He hasn't heard her laugh like that in what felt like a lifetime.

Now, I know I'm dreaming, he thinks, feeling the warmth of her small arms wrapping around his neck. Cole squeezes her tightly, trying to hold onto the moment. "I don't know what's happening," he whispers into her shoulder, his voice muffled by the closeness, "but this feels so real."

"It is real," Lainey whispers back, but her eyes flicker up just as storm clouds rush in.

"Alright. You have my attention. What's wrong, my Lainey?"

"That girl," Lainey begins slowly, "your friend. She didn't . . . kill herself."

"Hillary?" Cole asks, eyes narrowing.

Lainey nods solemnly. "My Cole . . . You're being hunted."

A sudden crack of emerald lightning streaks across the sky, casting a brief, sinister glow over the oasis.

Daniel's jaw tightens. "If you had just let me take your soul to Alaina's dream, we wouldn't be in this mess."

"I don't know what you're talking about, but I didn't do shit."

"Yeah, that's obvious." Daniel looks up, the ethereal shimmering of the stars above now completely blanketed by the incoming tempest. "It doesn't matter. We're out of time. It isn't safe to talk anymore."

Cole's patience snaps. "I'm getting pretty tired of your cryptic shit. Look at you. Nothing but a twisted, nightmare version of him," he sneers, referring to his teacher. "Why can't I dream about my little sister in peace?"

"My Cole," Lainey cautions, tugging at his arm, "be nice."

Daniel ignores the hostility. "In your desk, you still have Alaina's drawings. Look at the picture. The enemy is not what they think it is."

The sky churns again, ominous clouds and flashes of green pouring over them.

Cole glances at Lainey. "What is he saying? What enemy? I don't understand."

Her lip quivers, and Cole's eyes widen with an uneasy softness the very moment she places a small hand on his cheek. "My Cole," she says, tears welling up in her eyes. "You're my hero. You know that?"

She would never know how much he needed to hear that. The guilt his father had ripped into him all his life, for not being normal, for being a monster. Cole's most heroic deed, saving Lainey, had been framed as something dark and twisted, far worse than anything their stepfather had put her through. Cole needed to hear her say this. He presses his forehead against hers, his eyes burning with tears. "My Lainey. I would do anything for you. You know that, right?"

"Go!" Daniel shouts, his voice cutting through the moment like a knife. "Get out of here before I change my mind!"

Cole feels a sudden, disorienting force as Daniel appears before him, jabbing a finger into his forehead. Lainey slips from his embrace, and the world around him collapses, this dreamscape fracturing into a chaotic swirl of darkness and light. Cole falls backward, and the sensation stretches into an eternity.

◢✥◣

In the dead of night, Cole's eyes slowly blinked open, struggling to adjust to the darkness of his dorm room. He stared at the ceiling above, confusion draping over him like a heavy, unwanted blanket. Though he lay perfectly still, it felt as though the walls were shifting around him, the feeling of falling, suspended in time.

He grunted as he sat up, the cold sting of reality sharper than usual. He flicked on the light, wincing at the sudden brightness. His hand throbbed under the tight bandage, a reminder of the way he had stupidly punched that tree the day before. Slowly, the room came into focus, the familiar opulence surrounding him: dark, textured walls of ebony and charcoal, reflecting the soft glow from the overhead light. The mahogany bed frame, intricately carved, draped in charcoal silk and plum velvet, screamed luxury. All the fancy trappings his father's money could buy.

But tonight, it felt hollow. Like all the wealth in the world couldn't drown out the noise roaring in his head.

That dream . . . Lainey.

He threw his feet over the edge of his mattress, toes dusting the luxurious black shag rug below. Rubbing his forehead, Cole tried to make sense of it all. The dream had felt so real. Too vivid. Too raw. And that name kept circling back, gnawing at him. Daniel.

Cole scowled, shaking his head. The guy looked like a young Mr. Matthews, except he had somehow managed to appear even more pathetic. But Lainey had called him Daniel, almost like she'd known him forever. Why would his mind make up something so random like that?

He made his way to the desk in the corner, remnants of sleep still cradling his eyelids. Cole's fingers settled over the silver knob of his desk drawer and tugged. His sister's drawings were nestled at the top of the pile. The pictures, rendered in thick black crayon, depicted a dark house with shadowy figures huddled in a corner. Looming over them was a darker figure with piercing green eyes.

Cole glanced at his window, remembering the emerald flash of lightning from his dream. "The enemy is not what they think," he mumbled, closing his eyes in frustration. He slammed the draw shut, jaw clenched. "Hunted?" The word sat on his tongue, bitter and cold.

He tried to push it all away, but the images clung to him, dragging him back to places he didn't want to go. Like Bianca—her once plump, gorgeous face, now hollowed out, clawed away by the talons of terror. He could still see it clearly in his mind, the way he had turned his back on her at the memorial, too wrapped up in his own problems to give a damn.

But now, that guilt was crawling back up his throat, tightening around his neck like a noose. Maybe that was why he dreamed of Lainey, asking for his help. Because somewhere deep down, Cole knew that he'd messed up. Bad.

And Hillary. His mind jumped to her, too, another mess he couldn't untangle. What really happened that night? How did things spiral so far out of control? She was gone now because of him—because he gave Bianca that knife.

He slammed his fist into the desk. Jackie had been warning him! For weeks that something was wrong, just begging him to listen! But he kept blowing her off. All for Rayne. And that thought twisted his gut, tightening with a mix of pure rage and something else, something he hated to admit. Desire.

Rayne, the one who had lied to him, played him. And Lucas? Hell, maybe he should've seen it coming. Those two always had some sort of connection though, didn't they? It was right there the entire time. The quiet understanding, the subtle glances, the way they avoided each other like it was an open secret. In hindsight, it was so damn obvious. Somehow, Lucas always managed to know Rayne just a little bit better than he did too, didn't he?

But Cole? He had been too obsessed to notice. Too blind to see what was happening right in front of him.

Even now though, after everything Rayne had done, there was something about her selfishness that burned under his skin. The way she thought she could have everything, play everyone, knowing she had him all wrapped around her little finger. It made his blood boil—how she could hurt him, lie to his face, and somehow, he still wanted her? God, it pissed him off.

But it also made him want her even more.

She'd come around. He clenched his jaw, the heat in his chest intensifying. She'd push him away, act like she didn't care, but deep down? She wanted him just as bad. Whatever was going on with Lucas? It was just a phase, a distraction—something she'd snap out of once she realized Lucas could never give her what she really needed. She belonged to Cole, and nothing could hold a candle to what they had. Rayne would figure that out soon enough.

And when she did? He'd be there, waiting.

Ready to remind her exactly who she was meant to be with.

But right now, he couldn't just let everything fall apart. Not again. He had to fix the mess he'd made, and that started with Bianca. He needed to know what really happened that night. If there was even the slightest chance he could still help her, he was going to take it. No matter the cost.

◢✥◣

The morning announcements crackled through the intercom system, their monotonous drone barely penetrating the tense atmosphere of homeroom. Rayne and Lucas sat at the back, as per their custom, unspoken words lingering in the space between them. The room buzzed with whispered conversations, a backdrop to the thoughts that weighed heavily over Rayne.

Her gaze lingered on the empty seat just a few rows ahead.

Hillary's seat.

The chromed chair seemed colder today, its vacancy a raw, gaping wound. Next to it, Bianca slouched at her desk, her once fierce presence reduced to a mere shadow of itself. It was hard to believe she used to be the kind of person who would knock someone on their ass without a second thought. Now, Bianca looked haunted, the fire in her eyes replaced with a hollow stare, as if she was constantly bracing for an unseen blow. The sight was almost too painful to bear.

Rayne's attention drifted back to Lucas, sitting beside her.

Ever since their kiss, his uniform seemed to fall over him a little differently now, clinging to him in all the right ways, accentuating his lean athleticism, the strength hidden beneath the fabric. The gash on his left brow was healing, scabbed and bruised, while the freckles over his nose bore a faint tinge of purple—traces of the bloody nose Cole had given him the day before. There was something compelling about his injuries though, a hint of vulnerability that only heightened his allure. His sandy hair fell just enough to shadow his aureate eyes, lending him a quiet air of authority. Rayne swallowed, surprised at herself. After everything—all the death, the meds, the shadows—she never thought she could feel like this again.

Again? Ever. She meant ever.

And yet, here she was, gawking at him like some silly little schoolgirl.

But beneath the attraction, a seed of fear took root. Last night, someone had marked Lucas's dorm room door, just like they had Hillary's, and Olivia's before that. The inevitable shadow that descended over them felt so much closer now than it had ever been before. Lucas was her anchor in a world that constantly threatened to drag her under. Even now, his presence kept her tethered. How could she possibly go on if that tether was cut?

Thankfully, something on his desk pulled her attention away from such awful thoughts—a book, partially hidden beneath his hand.

"What's that?" she whispered, leaning closer. Curiosity flared as she tried to catch a glimpse of the cover, its title glinting faintly under the classroom's antique brass fixtures. "Beyond The Veil?"

The title stirred something within her subconscious, something forgotten.

Its tagline read: The Shadows of Purgatory.

Lucas shifted the book slightly, almost embarrassed, fingers tightening around it. "It's nothing," he replied, his tone casual, but the way he guarded it set her on edge. At the front of the room, Mr. Matthews glanced their way, his gaze lingering a moment too long. Did he notice the book too? Or was he just . . . watching them for some strange reason?

"Does it say anything about the shadow people?" Rayne pressed, nudging his hand aside with hers.

"I'm looking into some things right now." Lucas quickly tucked the book into the desk and out of sight. "I really don't want you to worry about it though. It's silly. If there's anything worth mentioning, I'll let you know. I promise."

Rayne narrowed her eyes. "I thought we were done keeping secrets."

"It's not a secret. I'm just being cautious," he said, softening his voice as he placed his hand over hers. "So much has happened—Olivia, Hillary, Dr. Shaw—and now, there's this." He paused, his fingers brushing over hers with a tenderness that both comforted and terrified her. "Us."

Rayne glanced at their intertwined hands, a knot of anxiety twisting her stomach. "Lucas, I've never been in a real relationship before."

Even as she said it, her brow furrowed with doubt.

He met her gaze with a small, rueful smile. "I'm scared too," he admitted. "I know you'll never say it out loud, but that's okay. I promise, I'll do whatever I can to keep you safe."

"W-why?" Rayne asked, her trembling voice betraying the vulnerability she loathed to show. She pulled her hand away, her chest tightening, bile rising in her throat. "Cole was right about me, Lucas. I'm just a bitch. Why do you even care about me? What am I to you? Some sort of project? Something for you to save after you couldn't save Olivia?"

Those words tumbled through the air between them like the fall off a bridge—long enough to regret the jump, but far too late to take it back. Lucas was so practiced in the facade, concealing his emotions, but even with all that practice, he flinched. The pain that seared his irises and parted his lips was so palpable, Rayne instantly swelled with penitence.

"I am so, so sorry," she breathed. "See. Fuck! What's wrong with me?"

"Hey." Lucas moved swiftly, pulling her desk closer to his so their knees touched. His eyes locked onto hers, fierce and intense. "For the past month, I've been falling in love with this face," he murmured, gently tucking a lock of her curls behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her skin. "The way it looks when you're sleeping—so peaceful, like you've finally found a place where nothing can touch you. It's a stark one-eighty from the fire in you when you're awake, but I—" He traced her cheek with his thumb. "I love that too. And I've been so spoiled, Rayne, getting to hold you in my arms every night. It's the greatest feeling in the world. Like I finally found myself again, some missing piece that makes everything make sense."

He paused, breath shaky as he bit his lip, then released a slow, ragged exhale. "Rayne, I am terrified. Terrified of losing you, just like I lost her. But I don't love you because of that loss. I love you because, from the very moment you walked into that stairwell . . . you haven't stopped taking my breath away."

Rayne had never felt her heart race quite like this before. The classroom around her faded into a blur, rows of desks dissolving into the background as she tried to absorb the words. "You . . . you love me?" she asked, but even still, she placed a hand over her beating heart, instinctively pressing down as though she could stop it from imploding.

"I do," he replied, eyes unwavering.

The weight of the confession left her feeling dizzy, like an amusement ride she needed to leap from. Why did it feel like she had been here before? She gripped her temple, a stream of déjà vu rippling through her, like she was standing at the edge of something she couldn't remember falling from before. Had she ever truly been loved before? By anyone? No, of course not! Even her own mother didn't love her! Her mom threw her away the first chance that she got! The thumping of Rayne's heart increased tenfold. How was she supposed to reciprocate something she'd never known? How was she supposed to accept it?

Seeing the panic in her eyes, Lucas leaned in, his voice almost soothing. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" she asked, breathless, hand still clutching her chest.

"Overthink it," he murmured, echoing their conversation from homecoming night—that magical, awful, spellbinding, traumatizing night. It brought heat to her cheeks but did not ease the rush of her heart. "Just . . . love me."

Now she needed to run, needed to escape the overwhelming emotions swirling inside of her, but she was trapped—trapped in the middle of the classroom, in the middle of this prison of a school, in the middle of this terrifying moment that should not have been so terrifying! The same classroom where she had first learned Luke's name, where he had once hated her with an ire that filled her up with so much excitement. And now, he loved her? But . . . they were all going to die! The walls were closing in all around them, even now, as a legion of various ruminations buried reason. God, the markings on Lucas's door! Would his seat be empty soon, just like Hillary's was? How was she supposed to love someone in all of this? What if she lost the love of her life again? She couldn't handle the loss! How did Lucas even know that he loved her? How did anyone even know how to love?

This wasn't like her back and forth with Cole—something in Cole wanted to own her, to make her his, and that wasn't love. It was a power struggle.

But this . . . this was different. It was tender. It was kind.

It couldn't be real. He couldn't possibly mean it.

"Hey, hey, hey," Lucas murmured, threading his hand gently through her hair, drawing her gaze back to him. "Look at me."

Rayne's eyes filled with unshed tears, self-awareness sparking her back to life for just a moment. Though the panic was overwhelming, she suddenly knew with alarming clarity what was wrong: "Lucas," she whispered, "I don't know how to do this."

What was she referring to? Relationships? Love? Grief? Hope? Loss?

She didn't know.

But it didn't matter. Lucas seemed to understand. He asked one question, softly, still cradling her face and smoothing out her curls. "Rayne, do you want this?"

"I . . . I want you," she confessed, her voice breaking. "That's all I know right now."

"Then, you have me." He wiped the tears she hadn't realized had finally spilled over. "Breathe." Rayne obeyed, taking a few, deep shaky breaths through pursed lips, trying to steady herself. "Well, not like that," he teased, a grin lifting his cheeks. "Are you having a baby?"

Despite herself, Rayne laughed at this, and the sound was a sudden burst of light in the dark. A flood of normalcy rushed over her bones, easing the tension from her body instantaneously. The relief was nearly euphoric. She smacked his arm, and at the sight of her smile, he pulled her onto his lap.

Rayne's breathing hitched as he put her in her place, tucking her away in their little corner of the classroom—students and teachers be damned! She felt the thrill of rebellion, a dance with defiance that made her heart sing in its familiarity. Next to someone like Cole, it was easy to make comparisons, to start seeing Lucas as some goody two-shoes by contrast. But now she remembered, with thrilling clarity, that there had always been this side to Lucas—an edge she'd admired ever since the first time they sat next to each other in this very homeroom.

Sitting sideways on his lap, Rayne gripped his shirt for support, just as he slid his hand up her neck, fingers slipping under her collar. That simple touch melted all of her anxieties. A mischievous smile met hers when he pulled her in for a kiss, the taste of wayward bliss and aurora on her tongue. Who knew it was so hard to kiss and smile at the same time?

At the front of the classroom, Mr. Matthews cleared his throat. "Alright everyone, in your seats," he instructed, though a flicker of surprise crossed his face as he caught sight of them. For a moment, it seemed as if he, too, felt the warmth of their happiness, a quiet acknowledgment of something precious, finding a way to blossom, even in the midst of chaos.