The morning was cool and misty, the kind of weather that made everything feel soft and unreal. The fog clung to the school grounds, wrapping the trees and buildings in a pale haze. I walked down the hallway, the usual chatter of students echoing around me, but my mind was elsewhere.

The project was done, but the strange connection with Lucian lingered. As I rounded the corner, I saw him. He was leaning casually against a locker, talking to someone I didn’t recognize.

For a second, I hesitated. Should I say something? Would it be awkward? Before I could overthink it, his eyes met mine, sharp and piercing as ever.

I walked over, trying to act casual. “Good work… on the project,” I said, my voice steady but quieter than I intended.

Lucian’s lips curved into that faint, almost teasing smile. “Good work… on trusting me.”

I felt a small, unexpected smile tug at my lips. “We’re friends now, right?” I said, half-joking, half-serious.

His smile grew a little softer. “Friends,” he agreed.

For a moment, it felt easy, like the tension between us had melted away with the fog outside.

As we stood there, something caught my eye—a flash of movement down the hallway. A student I didn’t recognize was standing at the edge of the lockers, holding their phone up. They were taking pictures.

“Did you see that?” I asked Lucian, lowering my voice.

He followed my gaze, his expression darkening. “Yeah. Weird.”

“Why would someone take pictures of us?” I asked, confused and slightly uneasy.

“No idea,” he said, though his tone suggested otherwise. “But maybe we should keep an eye on it.”

I nodded, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling. “Anyway, thanks… for everything. I’ll see you later.”

“See you later, friend,” he said, the word “friend” laced with a teasing tone that made me roll my eyes.

As I walked away, I couldn’t help but smile. The fog outside seemed less heavy now, the air lighter somehow. But the feeling of being watched lingered, making me wonder what that student with the phone wanted—and what it could mean for me and Lucian.

The evening air was crisp as I pedaled down the narrow path through the woods. The home wasn’t far, but the dense trees always made this stretch feel longer.

A rustling sound made me glance to my left. Probably a squirrel, I told myself, but I tightened my grip on the handlebars anyway.

Suddenly, a blur of gray shot out from the underbrush. My bike skidded to a halt, and I stumbled off, falling to the ground.

It wasn’t a squirrel.

The wolf was massive, its fur matted and eyes glowing unnaturally bright. My heart pounded as it bared its teeth, a low growl rumbling from its chest.

I scrambled backward, but it lunged, pinning me to the ground. Its hot breath was on my face, and I screamed, bracing for the bite.

Then, out of nowhere, a dark figure collided with the wolf, knocking it off me. The two figures blurred together in a flurry of snarls and movement too fast for me to follow.

When the dust settled, the wolf was gone.

I looked up to see Lucian standing over me. He was tall, with piercing red eyes and an air of authority that made me forget to breathe.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice smooth but urgent.

Before I could answer, he stepped back into the shadows. “Stay out of the woods,” he said, his voice fading as he disappeared. The one thing which make is frasturated and confused that what does he wants? Why he doing this  like for a moment he talk to me like we are good friends and other second he avoids me like I'm an old enemy!

Today I'm clunger. I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling as the rain tapped softly against the window. Celia’s words replayed in my mind: “You’ve got me.”

I wanted to believe her, but the emptiness inside me argued otherwise. My father had left when I was eight, leaving behind a tangle of unanswered questions and a mother too broken to care.

The faint sound of thunder rolled in the distance. I reached for the locket on my nightstand—the only thing of hers I had left. Inside was a picture of us, her arms wrapped around me, her smile radiant. I clutched it tightly, as if holding it could fill the void.

The fog outside made the air heavy, and the faint rustle of leaves outside my window added to the eerie atmosphere.

Suddenly, a soft creak came from the window. I sat up, my heart pounding. Before I could move, a figure stepped inside as though she owned the place. It was Pearl. Her sharp features were illuminated by the moonlight, and her smirk sent a shiver down my spine.

"Comfortable, little bird?" she asked, her voice dripping with mockery.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded, my voice trembling as I tried to sound braver than I felt.

Pearl walked closer, her movements slow and deliberate. "It's good you kept your mouth shut about me to Lucian," she said, her tone light but laced with menace. "But don’t get too comfortable. He had got two days. If Lucian doesn’t kill you by then… I will."

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening with fear. "Why? Why are you doing this?"

She tilted her head, her smirk widening. "Because I can, little bird. And because you’re in the way. It’s simple."

As she spoke, she moved closer, her eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "You think someone will save you? Lucian? Your little friends? No one can. Not from me. Again."

I froze as she grabbed my wrist with inhuman strength. Then, without hesitation, she start drinking blood from my wrist. My hand paining like someone cutting it deeply a lot of pain.

"This," she said, letting a few drops fall onto my floor, "is just a trailer."

Before I could react, she pressed her wrist to my lips. I tried to pull away, but she held me in place, forcing me to taste it. The metallic tang burned my throat, making me cough as she finally let go.

“Remember, little bird,” she whispered, her voice low and chilling, “two days. Tick-tock.”

With that, she vanished as quickly as she had come, leaving me shaking on the bed, the metallic taste of her blood still lingering. The room felt colder, darker, as though her presence had left a shadow that wouldn’t fade. I curled up on the bed, clutching my arms, trying to calm my racing heart.

Two days. Could I survive that long? And if I did, what then?
Next morning !

The morning was cold, and a thick fog blanketed the forest as students trudged toward school. The air smelled fresh, damp with dew, and the towering trees were a lush green, their leaves glistening in the faint light. Everyone was wrapped in warm clothes, their breaths visible in the crisp air. The forest path seemed almost magical, much like a scene from a dream.

The history class buzzed with faint whispers as students filed in, taking their seats. The old professor, Mr. Smith, stood by the blackboard, scribbling the day’s topic in his precise handwriting: "The Price of Betrayal in History."

Celia slid into her usual seat near the window, her notebook ready. Ash strolled in a moment later, wearing his trademark cocky smirk, his sharp cheekbones and messy hair drawing the attention of every girl in the room—except Celia, who didn’t even glance his way.

Ash plopped into the seat next to her, leaning back casually. “Ready to lose again, princess?” he teased.

Celia glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Lose? To you? Dream on, pretty boy.”

The class settled as Mr. Smith began his lecture. “Today, we’ll discuss moments in history where betrayal led to significant events or tragedies. Let’s start with a simple question: Was betrayal ever justified in history? Who wants to begin?”

Ash’s hand shot up first, his smirk widening. “Betrayal is never justified. It’s a coward’s move, no matter the context.”

Celia’s hand went up immediately after. “I disagree. Sometimes betrayal is the only way to bring about change. Look at history—revolutions were sparked by acts of defiance.”

Ash turned to her, his eyes narrowing playfully. “So, you’re saying it’s okay to stab someone in the back as long as you have a good excuse?”

Celia didn’t back down. “No, I’m saying that sometimes loyalty to a corrupt system is worse than betrayal. Take the American Revolution. If they hadn’t ‘betrayed’ Britain, we wouldn’t even be discussing this today.”

Ash leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Oh, so you’re the expert on morality now? Let me guess—you’d have been the first to betray someone if it suited your cause.”

The class collectively held its breath, their eyes darting between the two.

Celia’s eyes sparked with determination. “At least I’d have the courage to stand for something instead of hiding behind self-righteousness.”

“Oh, please,” Ash shot back, his tone still playful but with a slight edge. “History is filled with people who thought they were ‘standing for something’ and ended up destroying everything. Look at Caesar—betrayed by Brutus, and what did Rome get? Chaos.”

“And yet,” Celia countered, her voice steady, “Rome became stronger because of those changes. Betrayal isn’t the end; it’s a new beginning.”

Mr. Smith cleared his throat, cutting in. “Interesting perspectives, both of you. But let’s add a layer to this. What about personal betrayal? Imagine someone you trust deeply turns on you. Is that still justified?”

The room fell silent for a moment before Ash spoke, his tone shifting. “Sometimes betrayal isn’t about justification—it’s about love. A boy once died because the girl he loved betrayed him. She chose herself over him, and he paid the price with his life.”

The class turned toward him, surprised by the sudden gravity in his voice. Even Celia paused, her retort caught in her throat. There was something raw in his expression, a vulnerability that wasn’t there before.

“What’s the point of loyalty,” Ash continued softly, “if the person you’re loyal to doesn’t care?”

The bell rang, breaking the tension. Mr. Smith dismissed the class, but Celia stayed rooted in her seat, watching Ash as he gathered his things.

Outside, she caught up with him near the lockers. “Ash,” she called out.

He turned, his usual smirk absent. “What do you want?”

“That thing you said in class... about the boy who died. Was that real?”

Ash leaned against the locker, crossing his arms. “Why does it matter?”

“Because,” Celia said, stepping closer, “you don’t seem like the type to get emotional over history. So what’s the story?”

He hesitated, then sighed. “The story? It’s simple. A girl was just using him. He thought she loved him, but he was just a game to her. And when he realized that, it was too late. She betrayed him, and he died for her anyway. Pathetic, right?”

Celia’s chest tightened at the bitterness in his voice. “That’s not pathetic. That’s... tragic.”

Ash laughed bitterly. “Girls like her don’t know how to love, Celia. They just take and leave. That’s why I don’t get attached. It’s all just timepass.”

Before she could respond, he pushed off the locker and walked away, leaving her standing there, stunned.

For reasons she couldn’t explain, her heart ached as she watched him go. His sadness felt like her own, and the walls she’d carefully built around herself trembled.