The figure at the end of the driveway didn't move. He just stood there, still as stone, watching.
Amara's breath caught in her throat. Every nerve screamed at her to turn away, to shut the curtains, to pretend no one was there. But she couldn't. Her eyes locked on him, held by some invisible force.
"Amara," her mother whispered, gripping her wrist. "Don't move."
But the figure did. Slowly, he stepped forward, his boots crunching against gravel. The sunlight caught his face, and Amara's stomach tightened.
He was young no older than thirty but his features were sharp, his eyes an unsettling shade of gray that seemed to pierce through her. His hair fell in dark waves around his face, and though he moved with deliberate grace, there was something feral about him, something that didn't belong in daylight.
Her mother swore under her breath. "It's him."
"Who" Amara's voice cracked, but she couldn't finish the question. She already knew.
Micah.
He stopped just beyond the gate, his gaze never leaving hers. Then, with a smile that made her blood run cold, he lifted his hand in greeting.
"Blood of my blood," he called softly. His voice carried too easily across the quiet morning, deep and steady, as though the air itself bent to deliver it.
Amara's knees weakened. Something about his tone commanding yet intimate slid beneath her skin.
Her mother pulled her back from the window. "Don't answer him. Don't look at him."
But Amara couldn't stop. The words echoed in her mind. Blood of my blood.
Her chest tightened, her breath quick and shallow. It wasn't just fear. Something else coiled in her stomach an invisible tug, as though part of her recognized him, called to him.
Micah tilted his head, studying her with unnerving calm. "She feels it," he murmured, more to himself than to them. "She feels me."
Her mother stiffened. "Get away from this house, Micah. You have no claim here."
He laughed softly, shaking his head. "No claim? He promised her to me long before you ever drew breath, sister."
Amara froze. The word hit her like a strike of lightning. Sister.
Her eyes darted to her mother, whose face had gone pale. Her mother's lips parted as if to argue, but no words came.
Micah's smile widened, cruel and knowing. "She doesn't know, does she?" His gaze flicked back to Amara, burning into her. "But she will. She deserves the truth."
Her heart pounded so loudly she could hear it in her ears. She didn't understand, not fully, but a sickening unease rooted itself deep inside her.
Micah stepped closer, his hand brushing against the iron gate. "Come with me, Amara. You don't belong here, hidden away like some shameful secret. You are mine, by blood and by promise."
Her mouth went dry. "I'm not yours."
For the first time, his calm cracked. His eyes darkened, his smile fading into something harder, more dangerous. "You are," he said, his voice low, commanding. "You always have been. You feel it I see it in you. Deny it all you want, but blood calls to blood. And yours calls to me."
Amara stumbled back, shaking her head. The room felt too small, the air too thin. She wanted to scream at him, to slam the window shut, but her body wouldn't obey. It was as though some invisible thread tethered her to him, pulling taut with every breath.
Her mother moved between them, her hands trembling but her voice steady. "If you come near her again, Micah, I swear"
"You'll what?" His laugh was sharp, bitter. "Hide her? You tried that once, and look where it's led you. You can't fight blood. You can't bury destiny." His gaze cut past her, back to Amara. "She's mine. Sooner or later, she'll understand."
And with that, he turned. He didn't rush, didn't look back, just walked down the road with the same deliberate calm, as though he had already won.
Amara collapsed into a chair, her whole body trembling. The silence left in his wake was heavier than his presence had been.
Her mother stood at the window, her shoulders stiff, her hand gripping the frame so tightly her knuckles whitened.
Amara's voice shook. "What did he mean? Sister? What did he mean?"
Her mother closed her eyes. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, in a voice barely louder than a whisper, she said, "It's time you knew the truth."