The motel room was silent except for the thunder of Amara's heartbeat. She stood pressed against her mother's back, every nerve in her body alive with dread. The curtains stirred though the window was shut, as if the night itself had crept in to breathe with them.
Her mother's grip tightened around her wrist. "Don't look at him," she whispered, her voice trembling but sharp. "No matter what happens don't look."
But Amara couldn't stop herself.
The air in the room rippled, and then he was there. Not outside. Not in the shadows. Standing just beyond the weak glow of the lamp, as though the dark had opened its arms and given birth to him.
Micah.
He was taller than Amara remembered from her dreams, his presence too vast for the small room. His eyes—cold, endless, and ancient—landed on her with a weight that buckled her knees. His smile was slight, more like a shadow curling across his face than any true expression.
"Finally," he murmured, his voice silk and iron all at once. "No more walls. No more distance."
Her mother stepped forward, her body trembling but unyielding. "You don't belong here."
Micah tilted his head, considering her as though she were a child defying him. "And yet, I am here. You've wasted years trying to keep her from me. Years teaching her to fear what is in her blood."
"She's not yours." Her mother's voice cracked, but she stood taller. "She never will be."
The tether in Amara's chest burned hot, thrumming in sync with Micah's presence. She clutched her shirt, trying to breathe, but the pull only deepened with every word he spoke. His gaze flicked back to her, and it was like gravity itself had shifted.
"Do you feel it?" Micah's words curled into her mind as though he didn't need to speak at all. "The bond that ties us? Stronger than your mother's fear, stronger than the lies you've been told?"
"Stop it!" her mother snapped, stepping between them. "You won't twist her like you twisted" She choked on the name, but Amara knew. Grandmother.
Micah's expression didn't falter. "Your mother didn't resist. She understood. She welcomed the truth of who she was." His eyes lingered on Amara. "And so will you."
Amara's legs shook. Her body screamed to run, but her heart hammered with something more dangerous than fear. A part of her wanted to step closer, to let that tether pull until it snapped everything else apart.
Her mother sensed it. She grabbed Amara's hand, dragging her backward toward the bathroom. "Don't listen to him. Don't let him in."
Micah's voice deepened, echoing with something that was not entirely human. "She already has. She belongs to me."
The lights blew out. Glass shattered, plunging the room into darkness. The tether snapped taut, yanking Amara forward with brutal force. She stumbled, her mother's grip slipping from her hand.
"Amara!" her mother screamed.
And then he was there closer than breath. His hand brushed her face, cold as stone, but electric where it touched. Her breath caught, terror and something else colliding violently inside her.
"You've been waiting for me," Micah whispered, his lips close to her ear. "Even if you don't want to admit it."
Her mother lunged through the dark, slamming into him. The sound of struggle filled the room flesh against flesh, the scrape of furniture toppling, her mother's ragged breathing.
"Run, Amara!"
But she couldn't. Her body refused to move, caught between her mother's desperate command and the consuming gravity of Micah's presence.
The shadows surged, wrapping around them all. Amara fell to her knees, hands clutching her chest as the tether burned brighter, hotter, until it felt like her very veins were lit with fire.
Her mother's cry tore through the dark. "Leave her! Take me instead!"
Micah's voice was calm, terrible in its certainty. "I've already had you. She is mine now."
And Amara knew whatever choice she made next would decide everything.