Amara had never really understood the phrase "fight or flight" until her own grandmother threw a bolt of magic at her face before sunrise.
It started with a warning.
Kind of.
"Ready?" Grandma asked.
Amara yawned.
"No," she said honestly.
"Good," Grandma replied and flicked her wrist.
Something invisible punched Amara in the chest.
It wasn't hard enough to break anything, but it was definitely hard enough to knock her flat on her back.
Air whooshed out of her lungs.
She stared at the ceiling, stunned.
"What—" she wheezed.
Grandma loomed over her, unimpressed.
"Dead," Grandma said. "You're dead."
Amara coughed.
"You assaulted your only grandchild," she croaked. "That's what happened."
Grandma extended a hand.
Amara took it and let herself be yanked upright.
"Again," Grandma said.
"I wasn't even"
Another flick.
This time, Amara felt the spell gathering like pressure in the air a split second before a slap.
Her body didn't react fast enough.
The impact hit her shoulder instead of her chest and spun her sideways. She staggered, barely keeping her footing.
"Better," Grandma said calmly. "Still dead. Solid improvement from extra dead."
Amara glared, rubbing her shoulder.
"Is there a level called 'alive' in this training?" she demanded.
"That depends on you," Grandma said. "Listen with more than your ears."
She stepped back.
"Again."
They moved through drills.
No chants.
No long incantations.
Just breath, will, and instinct.
Grandma would send a shove of energy, a jolt, a low-level stun each time from a different angle. Sometimes from behind. Sometimes from the side. Once from the ceiling, bouncing it off the corner of the wall.
At first, Amara took all the hits.
Each impact made her head ring and her bones buzz.
Her frustration grew.
"I can't do this if you don't at least say 'Ready, set, go'," she snapped after a particularly nasty shot to the ribs.
"In real danger," Grandma said, "no one says 'ready'."
She lashed out again.
This time, Amara didn't try to see it.
She stopped relying on her physical senses and let her awareness loosen just a little enough to feel the subtle shift in the room's energy before each strike.
She felt a swell behind her.
Without thinking, she threw up a shield.
The impact smacked into it and slid off with a hiss.
Amara spun around, panting.
Grandma nodded.
"Good," she said. "Again."
Hour after hour, they repeated the cycle.
Hit.
Block.
Miss.
Hit again.
By mid-morning, Amara was drenched in sweat, muscles trembling.
"I thought magic was supposed to be mental," she groaned, bracing her hands on her knees. "Why are my legs dying?"
"Power flows through the body," Grandma said. "Weak body, unstable channel. You want to survive a vampire trying to pull your spine out, you must at least be able to stand without shaking."
"Your encouragement is beautiful," Amara muttered.
Grandma merely lifted a hand.
Another spell shot toward her.
This one felt different.
Sharper.
Cold, like a splash of icy water aimed at her mind instead of her skin.
Shields, shields
She tried to block it.
Too slow.
The spell sliced through her outer barrier and slithered toward her thoughts like black ink in water.
Panic flared.
The room warped.
For a terrifying moment, she couldn't move.
No. No no no
The necklace burned.
A hot line of fire raced from her collarbone to her spine and up into her skull.
Instinct the part of her that wasn't just Amara but also Serena's legacy snapped awake.
She didn't reach for a neat, careful word this time.
She didn't gently redirect.
She rejected.
The magic inside her flared outward in a rough, raw burst.
The invading spell shattered like glass against a suddenly spiked surface.
The backlash snapped through the room.
Grandma jerked back a step, eyes widening.
The candle on the table blew out.
So did the one in the kitchen.
So did the neighbor's TV, if the distant "Ah-ah, NEPA again!" was anything to go by.
Amara gasped, clutching her head.
"Owwww," she groaned.
"Good," Grandma said softly.
Amara blinked through the pounding in her skull.
"How is that good?" she demanded. "I just gave the whole street small blackout."
"You pushed back," Grandma said. "Instinctively. You didn't just block—you broke the incoming spell."
She studied her granddaughter.
"That," she added, "is not beginner's magic. That is Serena's blood talking."
Amara sank to the floor.
"Serena's blood has migraines," she muttered.
Grandma chuckled under her breath.
"We'll work on finesse later," she said. "For now, we know that if someone tries to cloud your mind, there is something in you that will bite back."
Amara flopped onto her back.
"So I can maybe resist mind games," she said. "If I don't pass out first."
"It will get easier," Grandma replied.
"Will it?" Amara asked skeptically.
Her grandmother's face softened.
"Yes," she said. "If you live long enough."
Amara groaned again.
They paused for a short break.
Mum had left early for work again, leaving a pot of jollof and two plastic containers of stew on the counter.
Amara gulped water like she'd crossed the Sahara.
Grandma sipped hers, unbothered, only the faint sheen of sweat on her forehead betraying any exertion.
"So what was that cold spell?" Amara asked between breaths. "It didn't feel like the others."
"Basic clouding," Grandma said. "Low-level mind-mist. Enough to dull your reactions. Imagine if that had gone through and then a vampire attacked you physically. Even ordinary humans can't dodge what they can't feel coming."
Amara shuddered.
"Can vampires do stronger things?" she asked. "Like proper mental control?"
Grandma's eyes darkened.
"Yes," she said. "The old ones can. Not as easily as stories say. You still have to open the door. But they are… persuasive."
Amara thought of how Lucian's voice had felt earlier.
Gentle pressure.
A suggestion.
She'd slipped around it.
Barely.
"What if someone wants to be controlled?" Amara asked quietly.
"Then they will be," Grandma said bluntly. "That is how it works. Power plus desire. They offer safety, love, thrill, escape. You offer obedience, trust, your neck. Bad trade, if you ask me."
Amara looked down at her water bottle.
She didn't say what she was thinking:
That part of her had wanted to say yes to coffee with Lucian.
Wanted to see what was behind the carefully polite eyes.
Wanted to know if the pull she felt toward him was just danger dressed as charm—or something older, stranger, binding them like an echo.
Serena and Darian's ghost-love humming under her skin.
She shook the thought away.
"More practice?" she asked.
Grandma nodded.
"For an hour," she said. "Then you rest. Your body must adapt, not break."
Amara sighed.
"One day my life was just rehearsals and watching K-drama," she muttered. "Now it's 'don't die by vampire' bootcamp."
"Character development," Grandma said.
At the same time, across town, Lucian stood on a rooftop, staring down at the street where Amara lived.
Not too close.
Not too far.
The early morning haze blurred the edges of the buildings.
Rian lounged on the cracked parapet behind him, picking invisible dirt from under his nails.
"You're brooding," Rian said lazily. "It's annoying."
Lucian didn't look at him.
"Then leave," he said.
Rian snorted.
"Auntie said to watch your back," he said. "Which I'm doing. Against my will. So you'll endure my commentary."
Lucian rolled his shoulders, letting his senses extend outward.
He could smell the faint tang of iron from some distant construction site.
Hear the hum of transformers.
Feel the subtle play of his own kind's marks humming under his skin.
And below
There.
He found it again.
The faint, intricate lattice of witch wards wrapped carefully around one particular building.
It felt like spiderwebs made of light.
Clean.
Old.
Reinforced recently.
"They're not amateurs," Lucian said quietly. "These wards are layered."
Rian stepped closer, eyes narrowing as he probed the air.
"I can barely feel anything," he said. "It's like fog that doesn't want to be noticed."
"That's the point," Lucian replied.
He reached a little farther with his senses.
Carefully.
Testing.
The wards whispered against his awareness cool and firm. There was a personal signature to them. Not Amara's. Older. Sharper.
An elder witch.
Someone strong.
"This line is more protected than the Council assumed," he said. "If we go in loud, we lose the element of surprise."
Rian flexed his fingers.
"Or we overwhelm the wards and send a clear message," he said. "Fear can be useful."
Lucian's jaw tightened.
"Fear makes people reckless," he said. "Especially witches. Especially if they're already hiding."
Rian rolled his eyes.
"You're soft," he said. "Too soft for this game."
Lucian turned.
"I'm careful," he said. "Care keeps you undead."
Rian laughed.
"And what do you think will happen?" he asked, strolling to the edge and peering down. "That you will befriend the witch girl, fall in tragic half-enemy love, and she will choose to help us out of pure understanding?"
Lucian stiffened.
Rian caught it.
"Oh," he said, smile sharpening. "Is that the plan? History repeating? Serena and Darian, version two point zero?"
"Shut up," Lucian said quietly.
Rian hopped up to sit on the parapet.
"You know how that story ends," he said. "Witch curses our people. Vampire betrays her. Everyone suffers. It's romantic, in a 'please never do this' way."
Lucian looked back at the house.
He couldn't see Amara, obviously.
But he could feel a faint something.
Like standing near a locked door and sensing the heat of a fire on the other side.
"I'm not Darian," Lucian said.
"True," Rian said. "You're prettier."
Lucian ignored that.
"I just need information," he said. "Who she lives with. How many witches. If they are the type to negotiate or the type to burn first."
Rian's expression shifted.
"You really think they'll negotiate?" he asked. "After what we did to their Court?"
Lucian was quiet for a long moment.
"No," he said eventually.
"Then what are we doing?" Rian demanded. "Watching them? Playing spy? When we could end this fast?"
Lucian's eyes hardened.
"You think it's fast," he said. "But you know as well as I do—if we attack and fail, the witches run. Hide her deeper. And next time, they'll see us coming. We get one good shot at this. I'd rather not waste it on your ego."
Rian's smile vanished.
"Careful, little brother," he said softly. "You're not the only one Auntie can send."
"I know," Lucian said.
He stepped back from the edge.
"We've confirmed the wards," he said. "That's enough for today. Any closer and we risk triggering—"
Something in the air shifted.
He felt it an instant before it happened.
Below, one of the ward-threads brightened, as if reacting to… something.
Not him.
Rian.
The idiot had stretched out too far with his senses, pushing against the delicate weave like a heavy hand against glass.
"Rian," Lucian snapped. "Pull back."
"Relax," Rian said. "It's barely"
The ward rang.
Not physically.
Magically.
A ripple shot outward from the house.
Lucian swore under his breath.
"Now," he hissed. "Pull back now."
Rian withdrew his probe, but the damage was done.
The ward lattice rearranged itself.
Tightened.
And from inside that glowing net of protection
A flare.
Not like the subtle spike of last night when Amara's seal had broken.
This was smaller.
Focused.
Sharp.
It shot outward in a clean line and smacked against Lucian's outer senses with a warning crackle.
Like someone slapping his hand away from a hot pot.
He staggered back a step, more from surprise than pain.
Rian blinked, rubbing his temple.
"What was that?" he muttered.
Lucian frowned.
"That," he said slowly, "was a message."
Inside the house, Amara stood barefoot in the sitting room, heart thudding.
She had felt it clearly this time.
Not just pacing.
Pressure.
Someone had pressed harder against the wards testing, probing.
Too close.
Too curious.
Her grandmother had been in the kitchen.
Before Grandma could react, something in Amara snapped tight.
No calm this time.
No measured response.
She reached for the wards without thinking, like grabbing a wall for balance.
The glowing lines that ran along the walls and corners met her halfway, surging toward her touch.
Together, they flared outward.
"Not for you," Amara hissed under her breath.
The words weren't just the old boundary spell.
They were hers.
The wards answered.
A sharp, bright pulse shot outward from the house straight toward the probing presence.
A slap.
A warning.
A small taste of pain.
Her necklace burned hot, then cooled.
The tension eased.
Grandma rushed in.
"What did you do?" she asked sharply.
Amara's chest heaved.
"They were pushing harder," she said. "I just reacted. I didn't break anything, did I?"
Her grandmother's gaze flicked to the corners of the room, tracking the wards.
"No," Grandma said slowly. "You… reinforced them. Redirected the strain. Interesting."
She studied Amara.
"You felt where they were pushing from?" Grandma asked.
Amara nodded.
"Rooftop, two houses over, other side of the street," she said automatically. "Two of them."
Grandma's eyes narrowed.
"How do you know there were two?"
"One was careful," Amara said. "Soft. Like… fingertips. The other was heavier. I don't think the careful one triggered the wards. The heavy one did."
A corner of Grandma's mouth lifted.
"Good," she said. "You can distinguish signatures already. That will save your life."
Amara swallowed.
"So they know now," she said quietly. "That I'm not just some random girl."
"They suspected before," Grandma said. "Now they know the house is not undefended. Which means…"
"We have less time," Amara finished.
Grandma nodded.
"Yes," she said.
She reached out and touched Amara's cheek briefly, a rare gesture.
"You did well," she said. "You didn't hide. You didn't overreact. You sent a clear message: 'We see you.'"
Amara huffed a humorless laugh.
"Is that smart?" she asked. "Shouldn't we be pretending we don't notice them?"
Her grandmother's eyes flashed.
"Wolves are more cautious," she said, "when the sheep bites back."
⸻
On the rooftop, Lucian stared in the direction of the house.
The echo of the ward-slap still tingled along his outer senses.
Rian scowled.
"Witch bruise," he grumbled, massaging his temple. "Annoying."
Lucian's lips curved slightly.
"You deserved it," he said.
Rian glared.
"Don't get cocky," he said. "You got hit too."
Lucian shook his head.
"It didn't penetrate," he said. "Just warned me. Like a dog barking when you lean on a gate."
"Dogs get poisoned," Rian muttered. "Gates get broken."
Lucian ignored him.
He was thinking.
The nature of the ward's response had been telling.
Fast.
Targeted.
Almost… instinctive.
That wasn't the work of some half-trained hedge witch.
That was the move of a mind and magic that were finally starting to sync.
Amara, he thought.
It was probably her.
His aunt would need to know.
He turned away from the edge.
"We're done here," he said. "For now."
Rian hopped down from the parapet.
"You're going to tell Auntie we got slapped by a house?" he asked, a hint of mockery in his tone.
Lucian's smile was thin.
"I'm going to tell her we found a witch who learns fast," he said. "Fast enough that if we don't adapt, we'll be the ones on the back foot."
They dropped silently from roof to roof, moving away in the pale morning light like shadows leaving before they were properly noticed.
By the time Amara got to campus later that day, her body ached, but her mind felt… sharper.
The world still hummed with hidden patterns.
Magic still whispered at the edge of everything.
But she no longer felt like a confused human in a horror movie.
More like a player who'd finally been given the rules.
Some of them, at least.
Tola waved wildly when she arrived.
"Amara!" she called. "You look tired. And kind of badass. What happened? Did you fight with PHCN?"
"Something like that," Amara said.
They walked together, students flooding the walkway around them.
Halfway to the Performing Arts building, Amara felt it.
A familiar presence stepping into range.
Cool.
Steady.
Laced with restrained power.
Lucian.
Her shields tightened automatically.
Her awareness brushed lightly against his without touching.
He was there, not far—by the courtyard again, pretending to be invested in a book.
His attention pricked toward her as she entered his radius.
He didn't move immediately.
Didn't rush.
He was learning, too.
He let her pass.
Almost.
As they walked by, Tola nudged her.
"He's here again," Tola whispered. "Your 'random wall decoration'."
"Don't call him that out loud," Amara hissed.
Like he'd heard them (he probably had), Lucian lifted his gaze.
Amara focused on his shoulder.
"Morning," he said.
"Morning," she replied.
Their exchange was short.
Casual.
On the surface.
Beneath, both of them were measuring.
He was thinking: How much did you feel last night, witch?
She was thinking: How much did you see when the wards bit you, vampire?
Neither asked.
Not yet.
Tola, oblivious to the silent war under their smiles, sighed happily.
"I swear," Tola said, "if you don't at least get a little campus romance out of this semester, I will be very disappointed."
Amara almost laughed.
It came out closer to a choke.
"Trust me," she said dryly, eyes flicking briefly toward Lucian's mark hidden under his shirt, "romance is the least of our problems."
THE FIRST STRIKE
Amara had never really understood the phrase "fight or flight" until her own grandmother threw a bolt of magic at her face before sunrise.
It started with a warning.
Kind of.
"Ready?" Grandma asked.
Amara yawned.
"No," she said honestly.
"Good," Grandma replied and flicked her wrist.
Something invisible punched Amara in the chest.
It wasn't hard enough to break anything, but it was definitely hard enough to knock her flat on her back.
Air whooshed out of her lungs.
She stared at the ceiling, stunned.
"What—" she wheezed.
Grandma loomed over her, unimpressed.
"Dead," Grandma said. "You're dead."
Amara coughed.
"You assaulted your only grandchild," she croaked. "That's what happened."
Grandma extended a hand.
Amara took it and let herself be yanked upright.
"Again," Grandma said.
"I wasn't even"
Another flick.
This time, Amara felt the spell gathering like pressure in the air a split second before a slap.
Her body didn't react fast enough.
The impact hit her shoulder instead of her chest and spun her sideways. She staggered, barely keeping her footing.
"Better," Grandma said calmly. "Still dead. Solid improvement from extra dead."
Amara glared, rubbing her shoulder.
"Is there a level called 'alive' in this training?" she demanded.
"That depends on you," Grandma said. "Listen with more than your ears."
She stepped back.
"Again."
They moved through drills.
No chants.
No long incantations.
Just breath, will, and instinct.
Grandma would send a shove of energy, a jolt, a low-level stun each time from a different angle. Sometimes from behind. Sometimes from the side. Once from the ceiling, bouncing it off the corner of the wall.
At first, Amara took all the hits.
Each impact made her head ring and her bones buzz.
Her frustration grew.
"I can't do this if you don't at least say 'Ready, set, go'," she snapped after a particularly nasty shot to the ribs.
"In real danger," Grandma said, "no one says 'ready'."
She lashed out again.
This time, Amara didn't try to see it.
She stopped relying on her physical senses and let her awareness loosen just a little—enough to feel the subtle shift in the room's energy before each strike.
She felt a swell behind her.
Without thinking, she threw up a shield.
The impact smacked into it and slid off with a hiss.
Amara spun around, panting.
Grandma nodded.
"Good," she said. "Again."
Hour after hour, they repeated the cycle.
Hit.
Block.
Miss.
Hit again.
By mid-morning, Amara was drenched in sweat, muscles trembling.
"I thought magic was supposed to be mental," she groaned, bracing her hands on her knees. "Why are my legs dying?"
"Power flows through the body," Grandma said. "Weak body, unstable channel. You want to survive a vampire trying to pull your spine out, you must at least be able to stand without shaking."
"Your encouragement is beautiful," Amara muttered.
Grandma merely lifted a hand.
Another spell shot toward her.
This one felt different.
Sharper.
Cold, like a splash of icy water aimed at her mind instead of her skin.
Shields, shields
She tried to block it.
Too slow.
The spell sliced through her outer barrier and slithered toward her thoughts like black ink in water.
Panic flared.
The room warped.
For a terrifying moment, she couldn't move.
No. No no no
The necklace burned.
A hot line of fire raced from her collarbone to her spine and up into her skull.
Instinct the part of her that wasn't just Amara but also Serena's legacy snapped awake.
She didn't reach for a neat, careful word this time.
She didn't gently redirect.
She rejected.
The magic inside her flared outward in a rough, raw burst.
The invading spell shattered like glass against a suddenly spiked surface.
The backlash snapped through the room.
Grandma jerked back a step, eyes widening.
The candle on the table blew out.
So did the one in the kitchen.
So did the neighbor's TV, if the distant "Ah-ah, NEPA again!" was anything to go by.
Amara gasped, clutching her head.
"Owwww," she groaned.
"Good," Grandma said softly.
Amara blinked through the pounding in her skull.
"How is that good?" she demanded. "I just gave the whole street small blackout."
"You pushed back," Grandma said. "Instinctively. You didn't just block you broke the incoming spell."
She studied her granddaughter.
"That," she added, "is not beginner's magic. That is Serena's blood talking."
Amara sank to the floor.
"Serena's blood has migraines," she muttered.
Grandma chuckled under her breath.
"We'll work on finesse later," she said. "For now, we know that if someone tries to cloud your mind, there is something in you that will bite back."
Amara flopped onto her back.
"So I can maybe resist mind games," she said. "If I don't pass out first."
"It will get easier," Grandma replied.
"Will it?" Amara asked skeptically.
Her grandmother's face softened.
"Yes," she said. "If you live long enough."
Amara groaned again.
They paused for a short break.
Mum had left early for work again, leaving a pot of jollof and two plastic containers of stew on the counter.
Amara gulped water like she'd crossed the Sahara.
Grandma sipped hers, unbothered, only the faint sheen of sweat on her forehead betraying any exertion.
"So what was that cold spell?" Amara asked between breaths. "It didn't feel like the others."
"Basic clouding," Grandma said. "Low-level mind-mist. Enough to dull your reactions. Imagine if that had gone through and then a vampire attacked you physically. Even ordinary humans can't dodge what they can't feel coming."
Amara shuddered.
"Can vampires do stronger things?" she asked. "Like proper mental control?"
Grandma's eyes darkened.
"Yes," she said. "The old ones can. Not as easily as stories say. You still have to open the door. But they are… persuasive."
Amara thought of how Lucian's voice had felt earlier.
Gentle pressure.
A suggestion.
She'd slipped around it.
Barely.
"What if someone wants to be controlled?" Amara asked quietly.
"Then they will be," Grandma said bluntly. "That is how it works. Power plus desire. They offer safety, love, thrill, escape. You offer obedience, trust, your neck. Bad trade, if you ask me."
Amara looked down at her water bottle.
She didn't say what she was thinking:
That part of her had wanted to say yes to coffee with Lucian.
Wanted to see what was behind the carefully polite eyes.
Wanted to know if the pull she felt toward him was just danger dressed as charm—or something older, stranger, binding them like an echo.
Serena and Darian's ghost-love humming under her skin.
She shook the thought away.
"More practice?" she asked.
Grandma nodded.
"For an hour," she said. "Then you rest. Your body must adapt, not break."
Amara sighed.
"One day my life was just rehearsals and watching K-drama," she muttered. "Now it's 'don't die by vampire' bootcamp."
"Character development," Grandma said.
⸻
At the same time, across town, Lucian stood on a rooftop, staring down at the street where Amara lived.
Not too close.
Not too far.
The early morning haze blurred the edges of the buildings.
Rian lounged on the cracked parapet behind him, picking invisible dirt from under his nails.
"You're brooding," Rian said lazily. "It's annoying."
Lucian didn't look at him.
"Then leave," he said.
Rian snorted.
"Auntie said to watch your back," he said. "Which I'm doing. Against my will. So you'll endure my commentary."
Lucian rolled his shoulders, letting his senses extend outward.
He could smell the faint tang of iron from some distant construction site.
Hear the hum of transformers.
Feel the subtle play of his own kind's marks humming under his skin.
And below
There.
He found it again.
The faint, intricate lattice of witch wards wrapped carefully around one particular building.
It felt like spiderwebs made of light.
Clean.
Old.
Reinforced recently.
"They're not amateurs," Lucian said quietly. "These wards are layered."
Rian stepped closer, eyes narrowing as he probed the air.
"I can barely feel anything," he said. "It's like fog that doesn't want to be noticed."
"That's the point," Lucian replied.
He reached a little farther with his senses.
Carefully.
Testing.
The wards whispered against his awareness cool and firm. There was a personal signature to them. Not Amara's. Older. Sharper.
An elder witch.
Someone strong.
"This line is more protected than the Council assumed," he said. "If we go in loud, we lose the element of surprise."
Rian flexed his fingers.
"Or we overwhelm the wards and send a clear message," he said. "Fear can be useful."
Lucian's jaw tightened.
"Fear makes people reckless," he said. "Especially witches. Especially if they're already hiding."
Rian rolled his eyes.
"You're soft," he said. "Too soft for this game."
Lucian turned.
"I'm careful," he said. "Care keeps you undead."
Rian laughed.
"And what do you think will happen?" he asked, strolling to the edge and peering down. "That you will befriend the witch girl, fall in tragic half-enemy love, and she will choose to help us out of pure understanding?"
Lucian stiffened.
Rian caught it.
"Oh," he said, smile sharpening. "Is that the plan? History repeating? Serena and Darian, version two point zero?"
"Shut up," Lucian said quietly.
Rian hopped up to sit on the parapet.
"You know how that story ends," he said. "Witch curses our people. Vampire betrays her. Everyone suffers. It's romantic, in a 'please never do this' way."
Lucian looked back at the house.
He couldn't see Amara, obviously.
But he could feel a faint something.
Like standing near a locked door and sensing the heat of a fire on the other side.
"I'm not Darian," Lucian said.
"True," Rian said. "You're prettier."
Lucian ignored that.
"I just need information," he said. "Who she lives with. How many witches. If they are the type to negotiate or the type to burn first."
Rian's expression shifted.
"You really think they'll negotiate?" he asked. "After what we did to their Court?"
Lucian was quiet for a long moment.
"No," he said eventually.
"Then what are we doing?" Rian demanded. "Watching them? Playing spy? When we could end this fast?"
Lucian's eyes hardened.
"You think it's fast," he said. "But you know as well as I do if we attack and fail, the witches run. Hide her deeper. And next time, they'll see us coming. We get one good shot at this. I'd rather not waste it on your ego."
Rian's smile vanished.
"Careful, little brother," he said softly. "You're not the only one Auntie can send."
"I know," Lucian said.
He stepped back from the edge.
"We've confirmed the wards," he said. "That's enough for today. Any closer and we risk triggering"
Something in the air shifted.
He felt it an instant before it happened.
Below, one of the ward-threads brightened, as if reacting to… something.
Not him.
Rian.
The idiot had stretched out too far with his senses, pushing against the delicate weave like a heavy hand against glass.
"Rian," Lucian snapped. "Pull back."
"Relax," Rian said. "It's barely"
The ward rang.
Not physically.
Magically.
A ripple shot outward from the house.
Lucian swore under his breath.
"Now," he hissed. "Pull back now."
Rian withdrew his probe, but the damage was done.
The ward lattice rearranged itself.
Tightened.
And from inside that glowing net of protection
A flare.
Not like the subtle spike of last night when Amara's seal had broken.
This was smaller.
Focused.
Sharp.
It shot outward in a clean line and smacked against Lucian's outer senses with a warning crackle.
Like someone slapping his hand away from a hot pot.
He staggered back a step, more from surprise than pain.
Rian blinked, rubbing his temple.
"What was that?" he muttered.
Lucian frowned.
"That," he said slowly, "was a message."
⸻
Inside the house, Amara stood barefoot in the sitting room, heart thudding.
She had felt it clearly this time.
Not just pacing.
Pressure.
Someone had pressed harder against the wards testing, probing.
Too close.
Too curious.
Her grandmother had been in the kitchen.
Before Grandma could react, something in Amara snapped tight.
No calm this time.
No measured response.
She reached for the wards without thinking, like grabbing a wall for balance.
The glowing lines that ran along the walls and corners met her halfway, surging toward her touch.
Together, they flared outward.
"Not for you," Amara hissed under her breath.
The words weren't just the old boundary spell.
They were hers.
The wards answered.
A sharp, bright pulse shot outward from the house straight toward the probing presence.
A slap.
A warning.
A small taste of pain.
Her necklace burned hot, then cooled.
The tension eased.
Grandma rushed in.
"What did you do?" she asked sharply.
Amara's chest heaved.
"They were pushing harder," she said. "I just reacted. I didn't break anything, did I?"
Her grandmother's gaze flicked to the corners of the room, tracking the wards.
"No," Grandma said slowly. "You… reinforced them. Redirected the strain. Interesting."
She studied Amara.
"You felt where they were pushing from?" Grandma asked.
Amara nodded.
"Rooftop, two houses over, other side of the street," she said automatically. "Two of them."
Grandma's eyes narrowed.
"How do you know there were two?"
"One was careful," Amara said. "Soft. Like… fingertips. The other was heavier. I don't think the careful one triggered the wards. The heavy one did."
A corner of Grandma's mouth lifted.
"Good," she said. "You can distinguish signatures already. That will save your life."
Amara swallowed.
"So they know now," she said quietly. "That I'm not just some random girl."
"They suspected before," Grandma said. "Now they know the house is not undefended. Which means…"
"We have less time," Amara finished.
Grandma nodded.
"Yes," she said.
She reached out and touched Amara's cheek briefly, a rare gesture.
"You did well," she said. "You didn't hide. You didn't overreact. You sent a clear message: 'We see you.'"
Amara huffed a humorless laugh.
"Is that smart?" she asked. "Shouldn't we be pretending we don't notice them?"
Her grandmother's eyes flashed.
"Wolves are more cautious," she said, "when the sheep bites back."
On the rooftop, Lucian stared in the direction of the house.
The echo of the ward-slap still tingled along his outer senses.
Rian scowled.
"Witch bruise," he grumbled, massaging his temple. "Annoying."
Lucian's lips curved slightly.
"You deserved it," he said.
Rian glared.
"Don't get cocky," he said. "You got hit too."
Lucian shook his head.
"It didn't penetrate," he said. "Just warned me. Like a dog barking when you lean on a gate."
"Dogs get poisoned," Rian muttered. "Gates get broken."
Lucian ignored him.
He was thinking.
The nature of the ward's response had been telling.
Fast.
Targeted.
Almost… instinctive.
That wasn't the work of some half-trained hedge witch.
That was the move of a mind and magic that were finally starting to sync.
Amara, he thought.
It was probably her.
His aunt would need to know.
He turned away from the edge.
"We're done here," he said. "For now."
Rian hopped down from the parapet.
"You're going to tell Auntie we got slapped by a house?" he asked, a hint of mockery in his tone.
Lucian's smile was thin.
"I'm going to tell her we found a witch who learns fast," he said. "Fast enough that if we don't adapt, we'll be the ones on the back foot."
They dropped silently from roof to roof, moving away in the pale morning light like shadows leaving before they were properly noticed.
By the time Amara got to campus later that day, her body ached, but her mind felt… sharper.
The world still hummed with hidden patterns.
Magic still whispered at the edge of everything.
But she no longer felt like a confused human in a horror movie.
More like a player who'd finally been given the rules.
Some of them, at least.
Tola waved wildly when she arrived.
"Amara!" she called. "You look tired. And kind of badass. What happened? Did you fight with PHCN?"
"Something like that," Amara said.
They walked together, students flooding the walkway around them.
Halfway to the Performing Arts building, Amara felt it.
A familiar presence stepping into range.
Cool.
Steady.
Laced with restrained power.
Lucian.
Her shields tightened automatically.
Her awareness brushed lightly against his without touching.
He was there, not far by the courtyard again, pretending to be invested in a book.
His attention pricked toward her as she entered his radius.
He didn't move immediately.
Didn't rush.
He was learning, too.
He let her pass.
Almost.
As they walked by, Tola nudged her.
"He's here again," Tola whispered. "Your 'random wall decoration'."
"Don't call him that out loud," Amara hissed.
Like he'd heard them (he probably had), Lucian lifted his gaze.
Amara focused on his shoulder.
"Morning," he said.
"Morning," she replied.
Their exchange was short.
Casual.
On the surface.
Beneath, both of them were measuring.
He was thinking: How much did you feel last night, witch?
She was thinking: How much did you see when the wards bit you, vampire?
Neither asked.
Not yet.
Tola, oblivious to the silent war under their smiles, sighed happily.
"I swear," Tola said, "if you don't at least get a little campus romance out of this semester, I will be very disappointed."
Amara almost laughed.
It came out closer to a choke.
"Trust me," she said dryly, eyes flicking briefly toward Lucian's mark hidden under his shirt, "romance is the least of our problems."