Amara woke up feeling like she hadn't slept at all.
Her body had rested.
Her mind hadn't.
All night, every time she closed her eyes, she saw flashes:
Darian's tired smile.
Serena's scream.
Lucian's eyes in the courtyard.
The necklace lay warm against her skin, humming quietly, like a phone on vibrate pressed against her collarbone.
Her alarm rang.
She slapped it off and lay there staring at the ceiling.
Just don't look at him, she told herself. Go to class. Act normal. You have survived 18 years of Nigerian wahala. One vampire boy cannot finish you.
"Amara!" Grandma's voice floated in from the sitting room. "You are late!"
"Normal," Amara muttered, dragging herself up.
⸻
She barely tasted breakfast.
Her grandmother watched her like a hawk from across the table.
Mum had already left for work, but not before issuing a full warning speech.
"If you see him—you turn. You walk. You run. You evaporate. You hear me?"
Now, Grandma spoke calmly, but her eyes were sharp as razor blades.
"Repeat what I taught you," she said.
Amara chewed mechanically on a piece of bread.
"Grounding, shielding, lying," she listed. "Grounding is: feel my body, feel the present, don't get lost in visions. Shielding is: wrap my mind and aura tight, don't let anyone poke at it. Lying is: don't act like prey, don't act like threat, act like mildly irritated human."
Grandma's lips twitched.
"And rule number one?" she pressed.
"Don't look him in the eyes," Amara said.
"Good," Grandma said. "Vampires read through the eyes. Not always mind control, not like films. More like… slipping past your guard. Seeing what you don't say. You feel the pull? Look away. Look at their forehead. Their mouth. Their ears. Their shirt. Anything but the eyes."
Amara swallowed.
"And what if I mess up?" she asked.
"You won't," Grandma said.
"But what if—"
Her grandmother leaned forward.
"Amara," she said softly, "you are not powerless. Not anymore. Don't walk into this day like a victim. Walk like what you are."
Amara blinked.
"And what am I?" she asked.
Grandma's gaze didn't waver.
"The heir of the witch who cursed a species," she said. "A storm in human skin. Even if you don't feel like it yet."
That should have made Amara feel better.
It mostly made her want to throw up.
⸻
The sun was already hot by the time she reached campus.
Students moved in loose clusters, laughing, arguing, carrying books and dreams and problems that had nothing to do with ancient curses.
Amara clutched her backpack a little tighter and tried to walk like everything was normal.
Grounding, she reminded herself.
Feet on sand.
Smell of dust and fried puff-puff from the food stand.
Distant noise of generator hum.
Sweat rolling down her back.
Normal.
Except it wasn't.
Because now, overlaid on top of everything, she could feel patterns she hadn't noticed before.
Thin lines of energy running along the edges of buildings—old protective charms the university founders might not even know were there.
Tiny distortions in the air where people had strong emotions—anger, love, heartbreak, stress—like faint color ripples.
And here and there… cold spots.
Dark ones.
Places where the air felt thinner, hollowed out.
She avoided those without thinking.
"Amara!"
She turned.
Tola jogged up, braids bouncing, eyeliner on point as usual.
"You didn't even text me yesterday after I spammed you," Tola pouted.
"Sorry," Amara said. "Birthday chaos. Family gist. No light."
"Always no light," Tola sighed. Then she squinted. "You okay? You look… different."
Amara's stomach dipped.
"Different how?" she asked quickly.
Tola blinked.
"Hmm. I don't know," she said. "Your eyes are sharper. Like you slept too much or not at all. One of the two."
"Definitely not too much," Amara muttered.
Tola hooked her arm through hers.
"Anyway, come and suffer with me," she said. "I heard Dr. Okon is taking attendance today. We can't be late."
As they walked, Amara focused on the feel of her friend's solid presence, the familiar comfort of Tola's dramatic energy.
Normal.
Safe.
Human.
They climbed the stairs to the Performing Arts building.
Amara's chest tightened.
The tug from last night—the sense that someone had touched her "name"—had pointed toward this place.
Shield, she told herself.
She imagined her aura (which she still didn't fully understand) folding in tight around her like a jacket. Grandma had told her to picture it as light.
Amara's, apparently, was a weird mix of gold and deep blue.
She zipped it up in her mind, shut it close.
The necklace warmed approvingly.
"Why are you breathing like that?" Tola asked suddenly.
"Like what?" Amara asked, startled.
"Like you're about to write JAMB again," Tola said. "Relax. It's just Dr. Okon, not an executioner."
If only you knew, Amara thought.
They stepped into the wide, open corridor.
He was there.
Of course he was.
Lucian leaned casually against the wall near their classroom door, one ankle crossed over the other, phone in hand. His white shirt sleeves were rolled up again. The sunlight from the open window hit his profile like the world was trying to show off.
Three others were nearby—two guys, one girl.
His family.
The girl with the red lipstick and sleek braids noticed Amara first.
Her eyes flicked over, sharp as knives.
Lucian looked up from his phone at the movement.
Their gazes almost met.
Don't look him in the eyes, Amara's mind screamed.
She dropped her focus half a second early, letting her gaze land somewhere just above his nose.
Close enough to pretend eye contact.
Far enough to keep her shield firm.
"Ah," Tola whispered under her breath. "Fine boy alert. Who is that one?"
"Nobody," Amara said too fast. "Random. Air. Wall decoration."
Lucian pushed off the wall with easy grace.
He moved toward them.
Tola made a small impressed sound.
"Definitely not a wall decoration," she murmured.
"Morning," Lucian said.
His voice was calm.
But now that Amara's own magic was awake, she could feel the layer beneath it—focused, assessing, like a hunter stepping into a clearing and pretending to be a tourist.
She forced herself to breathe evenly.
"Morning," she replied.
Her voice didn't crack.
Small miracle.
Tola, oblivious, smiled broadly.
"Hi," she said. "We've not seen you before in this department. Or maybe you're a ghost."
Lucian's lips twitched.
"I've been around," he said. "Just not much in this building. I'm Lucian."
"Tola," her friend said immediately. "This is Amara."
Traitor, Amara thought weakly.
Lucian's attention sharpened.
"Amara," he repeated.
Her name in his mouth felt…
Strange.
The tug in her chest tightened.
"You're in Performing Arts?" he asked.
She shrugged.
"Unfortunately," she said.
He huffed a small laugh.
"Unfortunately?"
She shifted her gaze to his collar, focusing on the faint line of a chain peeking from beneath his shirt.
"My mother wanted Law," she said. "I wanted something else. Compromise is suffering."
It was half-true.
Serena's heir or not, that part of her life was painfully normal.
His eyes—no, his face—was still turned toward hers, studying.
"I'm in History," he said. "Exchange placement."
Of course he was.
Old monster hiding in old stories.
"That fits," she said before she could stop herself.
His mouth quirked.
"What does that mean?" he asked.
Oops.
"Nothing," she said quickly. "You just… look like you like old things."
Tola choked a little bit beside her.
"Wow," she whispered. "You're flirting and insulting at the same time. Talent."
Amara stepped lightly on Tola's foot.
Lucian seemed amused.
"I do like old things," he said. "They last longer. They have stories. New things… burn out quickly."
His gaze dipped briefly toward her necklace.
Heat prickled at the back of Amara's neck.
Shield, she reminded herself. Lie.
"It's from my grandmother," she said quickly, fingers brushing the stone. "You know how they are. 'Take this, it will protect you', 'don't lose it or you'll lose your destiny', all those dramatic lines."
Lucian's expression flickered—just for a second.
Interest.
Recognition.
A hint of hunger.
Then it smoothed out again.
"Grandmothers can be wise," he said. "You should listen to them."
"I do," Amara said. "Mostly. When they're not telling me I'm a witch princess or something."
Tola snorted.
"My grandma told me I'm a reincarnated warrior," she said. "Look at me now, fighting for grades instead."
Lucian's attention stayed on Amara.
"A witch princess," he repeated softly. "That's specific."
"It's a joke," Amara said lightly, even though every part of her wanted to flinch. "My grandma is… dramatic."
It wasn't a lie.
Just not the whole truth.
He studied her for a beat.
The air around them felt taut.
Then he smiled.
"Dramatic families make life more interesting," he said. "Boring is overrated."
Tola grinned.
"Exactly! Finally, somebody understands."
The bell rang.
Students started filing into the classroom.
"See you in there," Tola said, squeezing Amara's arm and heading toward the door.
Amara made to follow.
Just one step.
Lucian shifted.
"Amara," he said.
Her heart jumped stupidly.
She turned—not fully, enough to show she'd heard him, not enough to step closer.
"Yes?" she asked.
He hesitated.
For a moment, she saw a crack in his calm.
Something darker underneath.
"I've been trying to place it," he said slowly. "Since yesterday."
"Place what?" she asked.
He looked at her—not quite in the eyes, but almost.
"The feeling when you're near," he said. "Like I'm remembering something I never lived."
Her throat went dry.
"Deja vu?" she said. "Drink water. You'll be fine."
His lips curved.
"Maybe," he said. "Still. I'd like to get to know you. Properly. If you're not… avoiding me on purpose."
She forced a laugh.
"And why would I do that?" she asked.
"People avoid things they're afraid of," he said.
"I don't scare that easily," she lied.
"Good," he said. "Then we'll see each other around."
She smiled, thin.
"Campus is small," she said. "Hard not to."
She turned and walked into the classroom before he could say anything else.
Her palms were damp.
Her heart wouldn't slow.
⸻
He watched her go.
Behind Lucian, his sister—Leah, the one with the sharp eyes and red lipstick—stepped up beside him.
"Well?" she asked under her breath. "Is she the one?"
Lucian was quiet for a moment.
The memory of the flare from last night burned behind his ribs.
Then there was this girl.
Amara.
Who felt like sunlight on old stone.
Who made something old in his blood sit up and pay attention.
"Yes," he said finally. "She is."
Leah's smile was quick and cold.
"Good," she said. "Then we are on the clock."
She glanced at the classroom door.
"And you," she said, "are already closer than the rest of us can get without making her run."
He frowned.
"You make it sound like trapping an animal," he said.
Leah's gaze slid back to him.
"Don't get sentimental," she said. "She's not your friend. She's not your project. She is an asset. A weapon. A key. Our elders will decide which. Your job is simple."
"Get information," he said quietly. "Get her to trust me."
"Yes," Leah said. "Just enough."
She adjusted his collar like an overbearing big sister.
"And don't forget," she added, almost gently, "whatever you feel when you look at her—it is not new. We've danced this story before. The last time, it ended with Serena's curse ripping our line apart."
Her eyes hardened.
"We do not repeat history, Lucian. We correct it."
She walked away to join the others.
Lucian stayed where he was, eyes unfocused.
The last time.
Serena.
Darian.
The witch and the general.
Their tragedy was bedtime horror story for his kind.
He should have been afraid.
He wasn't.
He was… curious.
Dangerously so.
⸻
Inside the classroom, Amara slid into a seat near the middle.
Tola dropped into the chair beside her.
"So," Tola whispered. "Explain quickly. Who is he? How do you know him? And why did you talk like enemies in a Nollywood romance?"
"We literally just met yesterday," Amara hissed back. "And we don't talk like enemies."
Tola smirked.
"No, you're right," she said. "Enemies have less tension."
Amara resisted the urge to bang her head on the desk.
Dr. Okon walked in then, halting further interrogation.
"Good morning, class," he droned.
"Good morning, sir," they chorused.
Amara opened her notebook.
Tried to focus on the lecture about performance theory.
Tried not to track Lucian's aura through the wall where he stood outside.
Yes.
She could feel it now.
A cold, steady presence, edged with something sharp. Not like the scattered warmth of normal human life buzzing around her.
Distinct.
He was still there.
Still.
Listening?
Waiting?
Watching?
Her fingers tightened around her pen.
Ground, she told herself.
She pressed her feet flat, sent her awareness down, down, down—through shoes, through concrete, into the earth.
It was easier now than last night.
The ground answered.
A slow, solid presence.
Ancient.
Patient.
It didn't care about vampires or witches.
It cared about weight and weather and time.
She borrowed a bit of that stillness, wrapping it around herself.
Her panic eased.
Slightly.
"Amara?" Dr. Okon's voice cut through her focus. "Since you are staring so intensely, perhaps you can tell us: what is the primary difference between performance and ritual?"
Some of the class turned to look at her.
Amara blinked.
Words rose up from inside her without warning.
"Intention," she heard herself say. "A performance is communication pointed outward. It's meant to be seen, to create emotion, reaction, reflection in others. A ritual is directed both inward and outward it performs the world, but it also rewires the performer. One can exist without belief. The other dies without it."
The room went quiet.
Dr. Okon stared at her a second longer than necessary.
"…Correct," he said finally. "And well put."
He turned back to the board.
Tola stared at her.
"Since when are you that smart?" she whispered.
"Since always, thank you," Amara muttered, but her heart was racing.
Because those words hadn't come from nowhere.
They had come from a place in her that wasn't fully hers.
Serena's memories.
Darian's warnings.
Witchcraft and performance and ritual were dangerously close cousins.
She glanced down at her notebook.
Without realizing it, she'd drawn a symbol in the margin.
A circle with lines radiating out.
Not a doodle she'd seen before.
The necklace warmed.
A faint spark moved from the pendant down her arm, into the pen.
The symbol glowed for half a second—and disappeared, fading into the paper like it had never been there.
Amara swallowed.
Later, she promised herself. I'll freak out later.
⸻
After class, students poured out into the corridor.
Amara hesitated, clutching her bag.
Tola was complaining about assignments.
"You're coming to rehearsals later abi?" Tola said. "If you don't come, I'll drag you"
Her voice faded as someone stepped into Amara's path.
Lucian.
Up close again.
Impossible to ignore.
His gaze settled on her.
She stared somewhere around his ear.
"Tola, go ahead," Amara said quickly. "I need to ask Dr. Okon something."
Tola raised a brow and smirked.
"Sure," she said. "Ask Dr. Okon."
She left, thankfully.
Amara turned back to Lucian, annoyed and nervous and something else she refused to name.
"You're still here," she said.
"You noticed," he replied.
His tone was light, but she could feel the focus beneath it.
"I have another class," she lied smoothly. "Can't talk long."
He nodded.
"I won't keep you," he said. "I just wanted to ask—"
He paused.
Just long enough to make her aware of how close they were.
"—if you'd like to grab coffee sometime," he finished. "Or jollof. Or whatever people get on this campus instead of sleep."
Her heart did a stupid little flip.
"Why?" she asked bluntly.
He blinked.
Most people would have been thrown off by that.
He wasn't.
"Because I'm new here," he said. "Because you seem interesting. Because yesterday you looked like the only person in that courtyard who saw through everything."
She lifted a brow.
"Everything?" she repeated. "That's deep for someone who doesn't know me."
He smiled slightly.
"Maybe I'd like to," he said.
Her shields flexed under the impact of his words.
He wasn't glamoring her no heavy, sticky compulsion.
But there was… weight in his voice.
A subtle suggestion.
Trust me. Choose me. Lean in.
She felt it like fingers trailing along the outside of her mind.
No.
She straightened inwardly.
Wrapped her aura tighter.
In her head, she heard Grandma's voice:
"When they pull, you don't pull back. You anchor. Let their tug slide past you like wind around a rock."
She let the suggestion wash over her.
Didn't fight.
Didn't surrender.
Just… watched it pass.
Something in Lucian's expression shifted.
Surprise.
Then intrigue.
"You're very direct," she said slowly. "Are all exchange students this… forward?"
"Only the rude ones," he said. "I can pretend to be shy if you prefer."
"Don't," she said before she could stop herself. "It won't suit you."
He laughed.
It was annoyingly nice.
"Is that a yes?" he asked.
She hesitated.
If she refused too strongly, he might push harder from another angle.
If she agreed too easily, she'd be walking into a trap with both feet.
So she chose the middle path.
"Maybe," she said.
"Maybe?" he echoed.
"I'm busy this week," she said. "Assignments. Group projects. Life. If I have time next week, we'll see."
He studied her.
"That's not a real answer," he said.
"It's the only one I have," she replied.
Another boy called his name from down the corridor.
He glanced over his shoulder, then back at her.
"All right," he said. "I'll wait."
She snorted.
"Do you have that kind of patience?" she asked.
"For some things," he said. "Yes."
He stepped back.
"See you around, Amara," he said.
He walked away.
She forced herself not to watch him go.
Only when he was out of sight did she let out the breath she'd been holding.
That night, back at home, Grandma listened to every detail.
"You did well," Grandma said when Amara finished. "You didn't give a clear yes, didn't give a clear no. You let him wonder."
"I feel like I'm trying to trick a lion by pretending to be a chair," Amara groaned. "He knows I'm not a chair."
"Maybe," Grandma said. "But he doesn't know what kind of weapon you are yet. That is our advantage."
Amara slumped on the couch.
"The problem is," she muttered, "I… like talking to him."
Grandma's gaze sharpened.
"Of course you do," she said. "He is old. Skilled. Designed to be compelling. A good predator makes the prey comfortable before the bite."
Amara winced.
"Thanks for that mental image."
Her grandmother softened slightly.
"You are not Serena," she said. "You have her power, not her path. She trusted too quickly. Loved too fiercely. You? You doubt. You question. That is good."
Amara stared at the ceiling.
"What if doubt isn't enough?" she whispered. "What if history repeats itself whether I like it or not?"
Grandma was silent for a moment.
Then she said something that surprised Amara.
"Then," Grandma said quietly, "we don't just react to history. We write a new ending."
"How?" Amara asked.
Her grandmother's eyes glinted.
"By becoming so strong," she said, "that no vampire, no Council, no curse can force you into their script."
She leaned forward.
"Are you ready to train properly?" Grandma asked. "Not just small shields and lies. Real work."
Amara's pulse jumped.
Lucian's eyes flashed through her mind again.
Darian's warning echoed: You must learn faster than Serena did.
She swallowed.
"Yes," she said. "I'm ready."
The necklace warmed, pulsing in time with her heartbeat.
Somewhere across town, Lucian lay awake in his too-dark room, replaying every second of their conversation.
Wondering why his magic hadn't slid into her mind as easily as it should.
Wondering why, for the first time in a very long time, he wasn't sure which one of them was truly the hunter.