(Evan)
The chalk scraped as Mr. Hunter finished writing the last line on the board.
Fate does not ask for permission.
He set the chalk down slowly, as if the sentence mattered more than the dismissal about to interrupt it.
“In nearly every myth involving prophecy,” he said, leaning back against his desk, “the tragedy isn’t that the warning exists. It’s that someone tries to outrun it. The attempt to avoid fate is often the very thing that ensures it.”
A few students groaned. Someone muttered something about dramatic teachers and ancient doom.
I didn’t.
I was still staring at the board like I expected the words to change.
“You are always given a choice,” Mr. Hunter continued. “Prophecy does not eliminate free will. It ensures consequence. The story shifts the moment you choose.”
The bell cut him off.
Chairs scraped. Backpacks zipped. Conversation rushed back in like a broken dam.
I shoved my notebook into my bag just as my phone buzzed in my pocket. The vibration felt louder than it should have.
When I checked the time, my stomach dropped.
I was twenty minutes late.
“Tell Ethan I said happy birthday!” Jenna called across the room.
I looked up long enough to see her slinging her bag over one shoulder, her brown curls bouncing from the motion.
“Don’t let him open the good presents before I get there,” she added. “I want to see his face.”
“He’s fifteen, not five,” I said with a laugh.
“Fifteen-year-olds are just taller five-year-olds.”
She wasn’t wrong.
I frowned when I turned my head to the window to see snow falling heavily outside – thick enough to blur the parking lot.
“Shit,” I muttered.
I slung my bag over my shoulder and headed for the door, but glanced back at the board.
You are always given a choice.
It was mythology.
Stories.
Nothing to do with snowstorms and birthday dinners.
Or so I thought.
The cold hit like a wall when I stepped outside.
My car looked like a snowbank with mirrors.
For a moment, I just stood there, breath fogging in front of me, already imagining Ethan at home checking the clock. He’d pretend he didn’t care if I was late.
He’d shrug.
Act like fifteen wasn’t a big deal.
But it was.
I started the engine, cranked the defrosters, and stepped back out into the storm to scrape the windshield. The plastic edge grated against the ice. Snow slid down in heavy sheets, soaking my sleeves.
Across the lot, Mr. Hunter was scraping off his truck.
No coat.
No hat.
Just the same dark sweater he’d worn in class.
The wind cut sharply across the parking lot, but he didn’t even flinch.
He didn’t even look cold.
“You’re going to be out here for a while.”
I nearly dropped the scraper.
I hadn’t heard him approach.
“Sorry,” he said mildly. “My mother used to say I was light on my feet.”
“It makes it easier to sneak up on your enemies,” I said with a nervous grin.
“Indeed.”
The word lingered strangely.
“The roads are worse than they look,” he continued. “I can take you.”
A snowplow roared past the entrance, pushing a heavy wave of white across the curb.
“It’s only a few miles,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”
He studied me for a long moment. Not like a teacher checking on a student.
Like a man waiting.
“As you wish,” he said at last.
He handed me a business card I hadn’t seen him take out.
“Call me if you run into any trouble.”
The way he said it made something tighten in my chest.
“If you change your mind,” he added, “I’ll be here for a few more minutes.”
I climbed back into my car as the man walked back to his truck. The interior was barely warmer. As I shifted into reverse, I glanced in the mirror.
Mr. Hunter was still standing beside his truck.
Watching.
As if something had just been decided.
I pulled out of the parking lot and reached for my phone to call my mom.
It rang twice.
“Mom?”
“Evan? Where are you?” Cynthia sounded distracted.
“Leaving school. I’m heading home. The snow’s getting bad.”
There was a pause.
“You’re just now leaving?”
“Yeah. Why?”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“Evan… we postponed the party. The roads are getting worse than they expected, and Grandma couldn’t make it. We’re celebrating this weekend instead.”
The words didn’t register at first.
“Postponed?” I repeated.
“Yes. I thought you saw the note.”
I hadn’t. I’d barely glanced at the kitchen table leaving for school.
For a moment, I just stared through the falling snow at the empty road ahead.
All that rushing.
All that panic.
For nothing.
Ethan was probably at home pretending he didn’t care that his birthday dinner had been moved. He’d shrug. Act like fifteen wasn’t a big deal.
But it was.
“Okay,” I muttered. “I’ll be home in a little bit.”
“Do you want me to send your dad to pick you up?”
“No,” I replied. “Then you’d just worry about both of us.”
My mom laughed lightly-the line filled with static for a second.
“You know me too well, Evan,” she acknowledged.
“Tell Ethan I’m on my way,” I instructed.
“Drive carefully,” she said. “It’s slick out there.”
I ended the call and dropped the phone into the passenger seat.
The snow was falling harder now.
Thicker.
Faster.
The wipers strained against it, rubber dragging across ice-stiff glass. Visibility dropped with every passing second. The world beyond my headlights had narrowed into a tunnel of white and gray.
I turned onto the back road that cut through the countryside toward home.
The plows hadn’t touched this stretch. Snow blanketed the pavement completely. My car slid slightly around the first curve, and I corrected carefully.
The trees leaned inward, their branches heavy and sagging. Snow blurred their shapes, turning them into dark shadows at the edges of my vision.
The radio crackled with static.
Then died.
My hands tightened on the wheel.
“You’ve got this,” I muttered.
Another curve approached.
And that’s when I saw him.
A figure standing in the middle of the road.
Perfectly still.
Head tilted slightly.
Shaggy blond hair plastered to his forehead.
He wasn’t dressed for the weather – just jeans and a blood-stained t-shirt.
My stomach dropped.
I slammed on the brakes.
Wrong move.
The car fishtailed instantly.
The teen smiled.
Then he moved.
Not stepped.
Moved.
In a blur, he shifted sideways and slammed his palm against the hood of my car.
The world spun violently.
Metal screamed.
My car slammed into the guardrail and flipped over it.
Airbags detonated with a deafening blast, slamming into my chest and face.
Glass shattered.
The world became spinning light and crushing pressure. For a split second, I was weightless…
Then gravity seized me again.
The car tumbled down the snowy embankment, each rotation jolting through my spine. My head snapped forward. Something hit me in the face – white light detonating behind my eyes. Pain rippled through my body in violent, disorienting waves. I couldn’t tell which way was up.
Then everything stopped with a brutal, bone-deep jolt.
Silence followed.
Snow drifted through the shattered windshield, slow and almost peaceful.
For a moment, I couldn’t feel anything except a high ringing in my ears.
Then the pain arrived.
Hot. Throbbing. Everywhere.
My chest burned where the airbag had hit. My legs felt wrong – twisted, heavy. I tried to breathe and tasted copper.
There were strange voices nearby as I struggled to regain consciousness. I couldn’t bring myself to focus on much through my blurred vision.
“We have to protect the boy from the newborn!” An old man’s baritone voice called out. “No matter what!”
“Of course, Marcel!” A younger male answered from somewhere beyond the wreck.
“Leslie, see to the boy!” The older man said. “The agents should be here soon!”
“I hope they hurry, Marcel,” the young male called out again. “I don’t think I can handle a newborn on my own!”
“You won’t be alone, Nikolas,” the old man stated firmly. “Jon’s with the squad.”
I felt lightheaded and risked glancing down to see my abdomen covered in blood. My stomach turned at the sight, and I fought the urge to vomit. Through the shattered windshield, snowflakes drifted lazily in the beam of my remaining headlight. In the distance, I heard a growl that didn’t sound like any animal I’d ever heard. The sound sent chills up my spine.
Then a blonde-haired woman in jeans and a blue blouse stepped into the beam of my only remaining headlight. Her eyes were blood red – and filled with something that looked disturbingly like concern. She grimaced before she stepped forward toward the car.
‘I really should have taken up Mr. Hunter’s offer on a ride home,’ I thought miserably before the darkness closed in around me again.
Then I thought about my little brother. I was never going to see him again.
I awoke again to find the blonde-haired woman leaning over me with an expression of concern on her unblemished face. Her thin lips were pressed together tightly as she assessed my situation. I couldn’t help but admire how beautiful she was until I saw the red of her eyes. A part of my mind told me that I should have been afraid, but that part of me was slowly dying. All I could do was sit there and smile at the young woman in a dreamy haze.
“Are you an angel?” I struggled to ask her. Her skin was flawless except for the light bruises under her almond shaped eyes. She looked at me and frowned.
“No, child,” she said quietly. Her voice rang as she spoke, and it sent chills up my spine. I shivered under her touch as she placed the palm of her hand against my cheek. “I’m going to get you out of here, young one. Just relax and try not to scream.”
Another roar of anger echoed off the trees around us before my car was suddenly jolted violently. I couldn’t stop the scream of agony that escaped from my lips. The woman’s jaw tightened. Something flickered behind her eyes.
“Let me kill him!” I heard another male voice scream out in anguish.
“No, Dylan!” The old man replied flatly.
Why not?
I’m dying anyway…
“The agents are coming!” I heard the other young man call out with relief in his voice. “I don’t think I can hold him off much longer!”
“Let me have him!” The other teen bellowed with a rage that was inhuman. “He’s mine!”
“No, he’s not, Dylan!” The old man replied. “Evan belongs to something far older than your hunger.”
With a scream of anger – Dylan broke free from Nikolas’s grasp.
The blond teen was suddenly standing in the beam of my headlight before Nikolas managed to grab the newborn and hurled him sideways.
I heard their fight as Leslie glanced at them for only a moment before she turned back to me. The woman’s nostrils flared as she studied my different wounds.
“Marcel,” she called quietly. “His legs are pinned.”
So that was the older man’s name.
Marcel stepped closer, surveying the damage.
“Can you free him?”
“Yes.”
She looked back down at me.
“There will be pain,” she said calmly. “When I move this, you will feel everything.”
“I already… do.”
She shook her head.
“No, you don’t.”
She braced herself against the twisted dashboard.
“Try not to scream.”
Then she pulled.
Metal shrieked.
The steering column tore free.
And sensation returned.
Not gradually.
All at once.
Pain detonated upward from my crushed legs. I screamed before I could stop it.
Dylan roared in response, thrashing violently.
“He’s dying anyway!” he screamed. “Let me end it!”
Nikolas struggled to keep Dylan back, but the newborn’s strength surged wildly.
Through the agony-
I thought of Ethan.
His nervous smile.
His deep blue eyes…
I’m never going to see him again.
The thought hollowed me out.
Dylan froze.
Just for a second.
His head tilted slightly, confusion breaking through the frenzy.
Marcel moved instantly, producing a blood pack and thrusting it toward him.
“Take it.”
Dylan hesitated with a growl. The blood pack wasn’t what he wanted.
Then the monster sank his fangs into the bag – greedily sucking out the red fluid inside.
Nikolas dragged him backward toward the trees as the rage dulled.
Leslie slipped her arms beneath my knees and my back, and carefully lifted me from the wreckage. The pain was blinding, but I was too weak to scream anymore. Instead, I sobbed quietly – my breath fading with each second.
“The agents are almost here,” Marcel said as Leslie lay me down in the snow next to my car.
Leslie continued to sit with me until I heard footsteps crunching through the snow. The woman glanced at who was approaching with a scowl.
“Finally,” she muttered under her breath.
Then, my Uncle Mason was kneeling above me. My brain couldn’t fathom what he was doing there as he fumbled with a small case.
Snow had gathered across Mason’s shoulders and in his dark hair, melting slowly against his temples. His breath came unevenly, fogging the cold air. For a long moment, he simply stood there, staring down at me.
Not as a government scientist.
Not as a strategist.
As a family.
“It’s your choice now, Mason,” Leslie said quietly.
Her voice did not waver. It did not push. It simply existed – steady and undeniable.
The words seemed to press into Mason’s chest.
He swallowed, his jaw tightening as he pulled a metal syringe from inside the case.
“Time is a factor,” a deep voice called from the edge of the trees.
A broad figure stepped forward, thick muscle beneath a dark coat, silver eyes cutting sharply through the storm. He carried himself like something carved from stone.
Mason didn’t even look at him.
“I heard you, Jon.”
The strange man folded his arms.
“You don’t have long,” he added evenly. “I can hear his heart failing.”
Leslie remained kneeling beside me, one hand still resting near my shoulder as if anchoring me to the earth.
Mason finally crouched down in the snow.
Up close, I could see it… the tremor in his hands.
My gaze shifted to the strange needle as the silvery fluid caught my attention with its shimmer. The barrel was clear, but the liquid inside it was not.
It wasn’t glowing like a light source.
It didn’t illuminate the snow around us.
Instead, it carried a subtle metallic sheen – silvery at its base, with faint slivers of red and green threading slowly through it like veins beneath glass. The colors shifted almost lazily when he tilted it, catching what little light filtered through the storm.
It looked alive.
Confusion pressed through the haze in my head.
Why would he have that?
Why would Leslie, this strange woman with red eyes, stand so calmly beside him?
“Tatum,” Leslie said softly, her eyes never leaving Mason.
The name pierced through my fading thoughts.
Why would she know about Tatum?
Mason’s expression cracked slightly.
“I promised Eugene,” he said hoarsely. “I promised I would keep him safe.”
Snow clung to his eyelashes.
His eyes flickered to my face again.
“Evan,” he breathed.
I tried to speak.
Tried to ask what he was doing.
But my body wouldn’t respond the way I wanted it to. My tongue felt thick. My lungs felt full of broken glass.
Leslie’s voice softened.
“If you wait longer, you lose him.”
Mason closed his eyes briefly.
For one suspended second, the world felt impossibly quiet – snow falling in soft, endless descent around us. The wrecked car sat twisted behind him. Dylan’s snarls were muffled now, restrained somewhere beyond the trees.
Mason leaned closer.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
The needle pierced my chest.
I gasped at the sudden intrusion into my already faltering heart.
The serum was thick.
Almost heavy as it sat there between beats.
Then my heart beat once…
Then again…
There was no dramatic surge at first. No explosion.
Only pressure.
Then a slow, spreading heat.
It began exactly where the serum entered – a tight, burning knot beneath my ribs. It wasn’t fire the way flames leap and consume.
It was controlled.
Deliberate.
Like something waking.
The metallic liquid pushed into my bloodstream, and I felt it move.
Downward first – through my chest, into my stomach. It crept through my veins in steady currents, branching outward into my arms. My fingers twitched against the snow as the heat reached them.
The snow beneath me did not melt.
The storm did not retreat.
“We need to move him,” Jon suggested. “This entire scene still needs to be covered up before the cops get here.”
They lifted me carefully.
The world tilted and swayed as strong arms carried me toward a waiting van at the top of the embankment. Snow struck my face in cold whispers, but I still couldn’t feel it properly. Everything was distant compared to the fire crawling through my veins.
Inside the van, darkness wrapped around us.
The engine started.
Its low vibration hummed beneath me, steady and mechanical.
I clung to that sound.
Focused on it.
The vibration felt real. Predictable. Something solid beneath the chaos of my own racing heartbeat.
My pulse pounded in my ears – uneven, frantic. I tried to drown it out by concentrating on the rhythm of the engine instead.
Someone shifted beside me.
A voice – younger.
“You remember this part,” he said quietly, almost to himself.
I forced my eyes open.
A boy who looked no older than seventeen cradled my head in his lap. Short brown hair. Calm red eyes watching me with something that almost looked like sympathy.
He didn’t look like the others.
Not wild.
Not detached.
Concern flickered in his expression.
“It burns,” he said softly. “Slow at first.”
His hand hovered near my temple but didn’t touch.
“It feels like it won’t stop.”
He glanced toward Jon.
“Director Croft says that’s necessary.”
Jon gave a low sound that might have been a humorless laugh.
“Croft says a lot of things.”
The van hit a patch of ice. The tires spun briefly before catching.
Jon smirked faintly from the driver’s seat.
Mason braced himself against the side wall.
“Careful,” Mason muttered. “Some of us are still human.”
Jon’s silver eyes flicked to the rear view mirror.
“That can be changed.”
A faint, tired huff of amusement left Mason despite himself.
The younger vampire beneath me – the one holding my head – looked unconvinced.
“Sometimes the prophecy only moves because people push it,” he said quietly. “Because they’re afraid of it.”
Jon’s jaw tightened.
“You think this is that?”
“I think,” he replied carefully, “that forcing something doesn’t make it destiny.”
The word prophecy drifted through my fading awareness like smoke.
My heartbeat thundered harder.
The burning reached my neck.
The other voices in the van began to distort…
The hum of the engine took on a ringing sound, and I was suddenly being pulled into my memories.
Ethan at five years old, gripping the handlebars of his tiny bike with white-knuckled determination.
“I’m going to fall,” he insisted.
“I’ve got you,” I told him, running behind him down the sidewalk.
Our mother stood at the edge of the driveway, hands clasped nervously, smiling anyway.
“You’re doing great!” she called.
“I’m not!”
“You are. You’re pedaling.”
He wobbled.
I steadied the seat.
“Don’t let go!”
“I won’t.”
But I did… just for a second.
He rode three full seconds on his own before tipping sideways into the grass.
He sat there stunned.
Then he looked at me.
“I did it,” he breathed.
“You did.”
He grinned like he’d conquered the world…
The grin flickered.
The color drained first.
The grass beneath him faded into a wash of gray.
The sound of his laugh stretched thin, distorted.
The heat in my veins pulsed.
The image tore away like paper pulled from wet hands.
Another memory surfaced.
Ethan sitting on the edge of my bed last week, twisting his hands together nervously.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
My chest tightened.
“You’re scaring me,” I’d said lightly.
He swallowed hard.
“I’m gay.”
The silence stretched…
Then warped.
His voice echoed strangely, repeating the last word twice.
Gay. Gay.
The burning in my bloodstream surged.
His face blurred at the edges.
“I didn’t know how you’d react.”
I tried to answer.
Tried to hold onto the moment.
“Ethan,” I said. “You’re my brother.”
The words felt distant.
Like they were being pulled out of me as I spoke them.
“That doesn’t change.”
Relief washed over his face…
Then cracked.
Light fractured across his features.
The memory shuddered.
“I thought you’d hate me.”
“I could never hate you.”
The promise felt solid.
Anchored.
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
Forever…
The word splintered.
It didn’t echo.
It dissolved.
Something inside me recoiled as the serum tightened through my veins, pulling, pulling…
The warmth of the hug thinned until I couldn’t feel it anymore.
Another.
His fifteenth birthday necklace clutched in his hand.
“You think it’s stupid?”
“It’s not stupid.”
“It’s kind of stupid.”
“It’s you,” I said. “So it’s not.”
He smiled…
And I couldn’t remember what his smile looked like.
The shape blurred.
His eyes lost their color.
His voice became sound without meaning.
The memory folded inward like it was collapsing on itself.
And the burning consumed what was left.
The van’s vibration blurred.
The engine’s steady hum began to fade beneath the roar inside my head.
The burning reached upward – into my skull now.
It felt like fire threading through my thoughts, dissolving them at the edges.
Ethan’s face flickered in my mind.
I tried to hold onto it.
Tried to fix it there – the exact shape of his smile. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. The way he’d looked at me when I promised.
What color were they?
I knew that!
I knew…
But the image began to thin.
Like mist at sunrise.
No.
I tried to cling to it.
I tried to remember the sound of his voice.
There was nothing.
Only static and pain.
I tried to say goodbye.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry I wasn’t there.
The burning spread deeper into my head.
Anger flared weakly.
If I’m dying, then let it be done.
Why is it taking so long?
My heartbeat stumbled.
Then roared.
Then…
Ethan…
Everything went white.