I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
Patréon.com/emperordragon
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Chapter 150: Perfect
The day felt almost ordinary.
The sun above Beacon Hills High spilled down in sharp, golden beams that made the courtyard shimmer with late afternoon warmth. It was one of those deceptively peaceful days—bright, loud, alive. The air was full of teenage chaos: voices shouting from across the lot, the hollow thud of locker doors slamming, the laughter of friends spilling over the noise of engines and sneakers and ringing phones.
And for once, Erica Reyes didn't feel like her body was betraying her.
She sat perched on the hood of Lucas's car, a can of orange soda sweating in her hand, the faint fizz of carbonation humming against her palm. Her legs swung lazily, brushing against the sunlight, while Lucas leaned beside her—quiet, unhurried, his back against the fender, scrolling through something on his phone with the kind of focus that made the world seem smaller, simpler.
There was something grounding about him. The steadiness in the way he breathed, the calm that seemed to radiate off him like heat from asphalt. He'd been busy lately—pulled away by whatever new project that Dr.Deaton somehow had him tangled in—but today felt different. Today, it felt like he'd gone out of his way to show up, to be here with her.
Maybe that was why the air felt lighter. Maybe that was why she'd caught herself smiling before she even realized it.
"You're smiling," Lucas said without looking up, his tone easy, almost amused.
Erica snorted softly and rolled her eyes. "Don't make it weird."
He smirked, just a flicker of it at the corner of his mouth, but it lingered long enough to make her heart skip. The silence that followed wasn't awkward—it had evolved into something else, something warmer. Comfortable. A quiet kind of understanding that didn't need words.
Then a cold brush of wind swept through the parking lot.
It wasn't strong enough to scatter papers or ruffle hair—just a faint whisper of chill that cut through the warmth, raising goosebumps on her arms. Erica's laughter died in her throat as she looked up, scanning the edges of the school grounds: the rows of cars gleaming in the sunlight, the chain-link fence, the stretch of trees swaying just beyond it.
Nothing.
Still, her pulse tripped.
"You okay?" Lucas asked, glancing at her now, his thumb pausing on the phone screen.
"Yeah," she said quickly. "Just… thought I saw someone."
His brow furrowed for a heartbeat. Lucas didn't move, but his instincts had flared—like radar sweeping the air for what Erica couldn't see. Whatever it was, if it had even been there, was gone now.
Erica forced a smile, shaking her head. "Probably just my imagination."
He nodded, though not convincingly, before his phone buzzed again. A message. Deaton's name flashed across the screen. He sighed. "Gotta check in. He wants an update about the tests."
Lucas had probably explained the whole project—the one he was helping the town vet with—but she'd been too busy getting lost in his eyes to really listen.
"Go," she said, pretending not to mind. "Doctor's orders."
When he left, the courtyard somehow felt bigger. The noise of students, the echo of footsteps, the thrum of the world—it all seemed to stretch around her in a way that made her feel suddenly small.
Too open.
Too exposed.
She slid off the car, slung her bag over her shoulder, and started toward the side exit. The sun flashed across the glass door as she reached for the handle—and for half a heartbeat, she froze.
In the reflection, behind her shoulder, stood a figure.
She spun around.
Empty hallway.
Her chest tightened. A rational voice inside whispered, You're tired. You're fine. But another part of her—the part that was somewhere deep inside her—kept whispering, Something's wrong.
She walked faster, her boots scuffing the concrete. Every sound seemed sharper: the creak of the stair rail, the distant chatter, the echo of her own breathing. And all the while, that prickling sensation followed her—the sense of being watched, of eyes tracking her from somewhere unseen.
Then—
"Hey!"
She jumped.
A man stood a few steps behind her, holding a small stack of books she hadn't realized she'd dropped. He looked ordinary—painfully ordinary. Mid-thirties, short brown hair, kind eyes, a friendly smile that seemed practiced but not false. The kind of person you'd forget existed the moment you looked away.
"You dropped these," he said, voice calm, a little breathless, as if he'd hurried to catch up.
Erica blinked, exhaling a shaky laugh. "Oh. Thanks. Guess I'm more tired than I thought."
"No problem." He handed the books over with a small nod. "I'm Darren, by the way. New in town."
Something about his tone was warm—friendly enough to disarm. She smiled back out of habit. "Welcome to Beacon Hills, Darren. Try not to get scared off too soon."
He chuckled softly, eyes steady on hers. "I don't scare easily."
There was something faintly off in the way he said it.
Still smiling, she stepped back, tucking the books into her bag. "Good to know."
When she turned to leave, she didn't see how his smile didn't fade. Didn't shift. It stayed frozen in place a moment too long, his expression smooth, almost serene.
And from across the lot, Darren watched her go—his gaze darkening, his stillness uncanny, the light in his eyes dimming to something inhuman. Beneath his skin, something moved—something that wasn't muscle, wasn't bone.
The crowd of students swallowed her up a moment later.
And as she disappeared into the noise, Darren whispered under his breath, voice soft, almost tender—
"Perfect."