Kiran stabbed her eggs, fork scraping against the china with a dull clink.
Around her, the kitchen hummed with the usual noise—her brother ranting about some impossible homework, her mom pouring juice into the waiting glasses, Dad chuckling at something on his phone.
But they blurred at the edges.
Kiran's mind kept snagging on something else.
She remembered the alley. The pull in her chest. The darkness that swallowed everything.
Then... nothing.
How did I get home?
She didn't know. She couldn't remember. The gap in her memory felt wrong like a missing page, a skipped heartbeat.
Kiran bit her lower lip, worrying it between her teeth.
Kiran? Hello?"
She blinked. Her brother was waving a hand in front of her face.
"What?"
"You've been staring at your eggs like they owe you money." He grabbed a piece of toast. "They're eggs. They're innocent."
Kiran rolled her eyes. "Shut up."
But before anyone could say more...
Ding dong.
The doorbell rang.
Her mom, Vanessa—Nessa to her husband and close friends wiped her hands on a towel. "I'll get it."
Kiran didn't think much of it. Probably a neighbor.
Then she heard a familiar, theatrical voice.
"GOOD MORNING, MRS. V! YOU LOOK BEAUTIFUL TODAY AS ALWAYS! IS MY BEST FRIEND AWAKE? IS SHE READY TO BE BLESSED BY MY PRESENCE?!"
Kiran groaned.
Rina. Only Rina could turn her mom's name into something that sounded like a royal title.
Her mom's laugh drifted in from the hallway. "She's in the kitchen, dear. Go ahead."
Her footsteps dramatic, purposeful, impossibly loud—stomped toward the kitchen. And then…
"KIKI!"
Rina burst through the doorway like she was making a grand entrance on a stage. Her caramel waves bounced around her shoulders. Honey-brown eyes sparkled with mischief. She wore a designer top that probably cost more than Kiran's monthly salary, paired with jeans that looked casual but definitely weren't.
She struck a pose in the doorway. "The queen has arrived. You may bow."
Kiran's brother snorted. "Bow? I'll throw a pancake at you."
"Violence is not the answer, child." Rina waved a dismissive hand. "Now shoo. Adult conversation happening."
"There's no adult here," he shot back. "Just you and my sister."
Rina gasped, her hands flew to her chest in mock offense. "The AUDACITY."
Kiran couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. Rina had that effect of dragging her out of her own head whether she wanted it or not.
Rina slid into the seat beside Kiran and knocked lightly on the table right in front of her face.
Knock knock knock.
Kiran blinked. "Y-yeah?"
Rina stared at her, eyes narrowing. "Yeah? That's all I get? The great Rina, your one and only, your partner in crime, your emergency contact, your everything—and all I get is 'yeah'?"
"Sorry, I..."
"You know what?" Rina leaned closer, studying Kiran's face with intense focus. "You look... off. What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Lies." Rina pointed at her. "Your left eye twitches when you lie."
Kiran opened her mouth to speak...
"Ahem."
They both looked up. Nessa stood there with a fresh plate of pancakes, smiling warmly at Rina. "Stay for breakfast, dear. There's plenty."
Rina's face transformed—from suspicious detective to beaming sunshine. "Mrs. V! You're an angel! A saint! A culinary goddess! Yes, I'll stay."
Kiran's brother fake-gagged. Rina threw a napkin at him.
§***
Breakfast was loud and warm and exactly what a normal family looked like.
Rina fit right in teasing Kiran's brother, complimenting Nessa's cooking, even trying to get Kiran's dad to look up from his phone (she failed, but she tried). She laughed at everything, talked with her hands, and somehow made the small kitchen feel bigger just by being in it.
At one point, she leaned close to Kiran and whispered, "Your family is so... normal. It's disgusting. I love it."
Kiran smiled, real this time. "They're chaotic."
"They're perfect." Rina's voice softened, just for a second—a flicker of something sad behind her eyes. "If only my family could be more like this."
Kiran squeezed her hand under the table. Rina squeezed back.
Then the moment passed, and Rina was loud again. "Okay, okay, enough mush. Eat your pancakes, Kiki. We've got a day to conquer."
§***
After breakfast, Rina dropped Kiran at work.
Her car was sleek, expensive, and smelled like vanilla—because of course it did.
As they pulled up to The Bridgers key Hotel, Rina put a hand on Kiran's arm.
"Hey." Her voice was softer now, genuine. "You sure you're okay? You spaced out like three times during breakfast."
Kiran summoned her bright,easy, practiced smile."I'm fine, Rina.
Rina studied her for a long moment. Then she sighed. "Fine. But I'm watching you, Kiki." She pointed two fingers at her own eyes, then at Kiran. "Eyes everywhere."
Kiran laughed. "Dramatic."
"Yeah." Rina grinned. Then: "Bye, my little baby kitty."
Kiran snorted. "That's new."
"You're welcome. Now go. Be fabulous. Text me later."
Kiran stepped out of the car, still smiling, and watched Rina drive off.
Then she turned toward the hotel and walked in.
§***
Jace was lost in thought.
He'd been scrubbing the counter aggressively for what felt like hours, replaying last night over and over like a broken record.
The rooftop. The hug. How he'd panicked and fled like a complete idiot.
Smooth, Jace. Really smooth.
He didn't want to be just her friend.
The thought hit him like a punch to the chest. He'd been ignoring it for months years, maybe—burying it under jokes and banter and easy smiles. But last night, when she'd hugged him, something had cracked open inside him.
Not normal fear. Not "oh no, my friend is hurt" fear.
Terrifying, gut-wrenching, I can't lose her fear.
The thought of her arms around him. Her voice soft in his ear.
He'd frozen. Because if he'd hugged her back if he'd held on—he might not have let go.
What is wrong with me?
Jace ran a hand through his silver hair and groaned.
She was his friend. His best friend at work. He couldn't mess that up. He wouldn't.
He just had to... act normal. Pretend last night didn't happen. Be Jace—funny, annoying, slightly obnoxious Jace.
Easy.
Right?
§***
Kiran walked into the lobby and immediately spotted Jace at the reception desk.
He was tidying papers which he never did and looked up the moment she walked in.
Their eyes met.
For a split second, something flickered in his expression uncertainty, maybe? Then the mask slipped on, and he grinned.
"Hey, Kar..."
She could already hear the wrong name forming.
"Don't you dare," she said, pointing.
"It's Kiran, you absolute menace."
"Same thing."
"It's really not."
He laughed that same stupid infectious laugh and Kiran felt some of the tension in her shoulders ease.
Normal. We're normal. Good.
She walked over to the desk. "You're here early."
"Couldn't sleep." He shrugged like it was nothing. "You?"
Kiran hesitated. "Kinda."
Jace's eyes flickered with concern, quickly hidden. "You doing okay?"
Kiran pushed everything down and smiled. "I'm fine, Jace.
He studied her for a second too long. Then nodded. "Okay. If you say so."
An awkward silence stretched between them rare, uncomfortable, wrong for them.
Then Jace cleared his throat. "Well. Guess we should... work."
"Yeah." Kiran nodded. "Work."
They stood there for another beat too long.
Then Kiran turned and walked toward the staff area, Jace's gaze burning into her back the whole way.
§***
Kiran sat alone in her bedroom.
The house was quiet. Everyone was asleep. Just her and the moonlight and the weight of another day survived.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Pale. Tired. Fragile-looking.
You've been careful your whole life. You've been good. You've followed the rules.
And where has it gotten you?
The curse pulsed in her chest—a reminder. A countdown. A death sentence with no expiration date.
Nothing worked. Nothing helped. Nothing saved her.
Kiran's jaw tightened.
What if I stop being careful?
What if I stop following the rules?
What if I fight back?
The thought of the scene from her dreams surfaced again—the ancient chamber, the candles, the words she somehow knew. But it was just a dream. A fantasy. She had nothing real to go on.
Agitated, she pushed off the bed and began to pace, her mind racing. She turned sharply, her hip catching the edge of her small desk with a sharp crack.
"Ow..."
She stumbled, throwing out a hand to catch herself. Her fingers slapped against the overloaded bookshelf beside her desk, sending a cascade of paperbacks and knick-knacks wobbling.
One book, smaller than the rest and bound in faded, dark leather, tumbled free. It hit the floor with a heavy thump and fell open.
Kiran froze, rubbing her bruised hip. Her eyes landed on the open page.
The title at the top was in plain English, clear as day: Ritual on How to Break Any Curse.
Her breath hitched. She knelt, her heart beginning a frantic, hopeful rhythm against her ribs. But the words on the rest of the page weren't English. They were something else entirely—a dense block of text written in sharp, angular symbols that looked ancient and gothic, each syllable foreign and yet strangely compelling. It was like looking at a language from a nightmare.
With trembling hands, she carefully picked up the book and closed it to look at the cover. The title, stamped in faded gold leaf, read: RITES AND RITUALS.
She stared at it, a jumble of confusion and wild hope swirling in her chest. How did she get this? How was it in her room? She didn't remember buying a book like this. She scanned her memory, sifting through years of flea market trips and second-hand store visits. And then, a faint image surfaced: a dusty cardboard box at a flea market years ago, a gloved hand (hers?) picking it up because of the strange symbols on the spine. The seller had just shrugged and said it was "an old curiosity." She'd paid a dollar for it, brought it home, and promptly forgotten it, letting it get swallowed by the chaos of her bookshelf.
It had been here all along. Waiting.
Kiran looked back down at the open book, at the impossibly specific title. Ritual on How to Break Any Curse.
What do I have to lose?
Her heart—that stupid, broken, cursed heart thumped hard against her ribs.
Kiran took a breath.
She didn't have candles like in the dream—just the cheap rose-scented ones from her nightstand.
She lit them anyway.
The book lay open in front of her. The words stared up at her—strange symbols she couldn't read, shouldn't know, but somehow...Fathom
Kiran closed her eyes.
And spoke.
The language felt wrong in her mouth—harsh, guttural, ancient. But her tongue shaped the syllables like they belonged there. Like they'd been waiting to be spoken.
The candles flickered.
Kiran's eyes flew open.
The flames danced wildly—frantic, like something was feeding on them.
"Haa..."
Her heart lurched—not with pain, but with energy. With power.
She kept reading. Faster now. The words poured out of her like she couldn't stop them even if she tried.
The air in the room grew heavy and cold just like the abyss.
Shadows moved in the corners of her room—stretching, living.
Kiran's voice rose. The mark on her palm burned—searing, bright, and awake.
She was doing it. She was actually doing it.
The curse thrashed within her, fighting, resisting, screaming.
But Kiran didn't stop.
She wanted it gone. She wanted to live without counting down the days, without feeling her heart destroy itself.
"Please," she whispered
"Please work."
The candles flared. The shadows roared. The mark on her palm blazed.
After something, that feels like eternity.
The candles went out.
The shadows stopped moving.
The room was still.
Kiran sat in the dark, breathing hard, waiting.
Did it work?
But her heart—
Was still there. Still beating. Still cursed.
No.
Tears burned her eyes. Real tears—the tears she never let herself shed. It hadn't worked. She'd tried everything, everything, and....
Then the air changed.
Kiran looked up.
A figure stood in the corner, tall and watchful. A cold radiance swept over her as he emerged from the shadows.
He stepped forward.