The nightmares had returned.
Not just fleeting images but full, vivid scenes that clung to her skin like smoke. A forest in flames. A voice calling her name in a language she didn't recognize. And eyes-silver and burning - watching her from the darkness. She was in the middle of the chaos and my mind Is a complete mess. She just screamed Aaaaah....
Chloe snapped awake, breathless, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets. Her chest rose and fell in panicked waves as she clutched the silver ring on her finger—the only thing left of her mother. The metal was cold, always cold, no matter how long she wore it.
The clock blinked: 3:03 a.m.
Third night in a row.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, heart still racing, and reached for the hoodie on her chair. The tiny studio apartment in Atlanta felt suffocating suddenly—like the walls were leaning in. She needed air.
But before she could move, her reflection caught her eye.
In the mirror across the room, she wasn't blinking.
She was staring back at herself.
Eyes locked.
Unmoving.
And then, just like that, her reflection blinked—first.
Chloe froze. Her breath caught in her throat.
"What the hell...?"
She stepped closer. Her own face stared back—brown skin pale from lack of sleep, wild curls coiled tight, shadows etched under her eyes. But something felt wrong. Like whoever was in the mirror… wasn't really her.
She looked away, shaking off the chill. It had to be the dreams. Sleep deprivation. Stress. All of it was getting to her.
But deep down, she knew better. Something had started to shift. Something was waking up.
She had always known she was different.
She could feel people's emotions like they were her own. She could hear a lie in someone's voice before they finished the sentence. And when she got angry—really angry—things around her broke.
Not metaphorically.
Glass. Metal. Bones.
She'd spent her life trying to be invisible. Working nights at the quiet bookstore downtown. Avoiding friends. Never letting anyone close enough to notice the cracks.
But lately, the cracks were getting harder to hide.
There was the time last week when the car alarm outside her building exploded into sparks after she walked past it. Or when her manager accused her of stealing and immediately collapsed with a nosebleed before finishing the sentence.
And then there was the mark.
She pulled back her hoodie sleeve, revealing her shoulder. The mark had burned itself onto her skin two days ago—three swirling symbols, pulsing faintly like they were alive. No tattoo artist had done it. No injury had caused it. It just... appeared.
She hadn't told anyone. Who would believe her?
By the time the sun rose, Chloe was already on her way to work—hood up, headphones in, trying to pretend she was just another tired girl in the city.
She never noticed the man watching her from across the street.
Dark jacket. Hands in pockets. Eyes locked on her like she was the only thing that existed in the world.
He didn't smile. He didn't move.
But as she passed, a whisper floated through the air, too faint for her to hear:
"She's awakening"