The pendant's hum still lingers in my chest as the morning light filters through my window. I sit up, groggy from the restless dreams that haunted my sleep. The pull—the strange, insistent tug calling me toward something I don't yet understand—still clings to me. But I push it aside, at least for now. I have other things to worry about today. Like Justin.
We haven't talked since I ignored his call yesterday, and I can't avoid him forever. We still need to finish that paper, and honestly, I need a break from all the strange, unsettling things that have been happening lately. I need something normal.
With a sigh, I grab my phone and start typing out a message.
Hey, I'm sorry I didn't answer yesterday, but do you want to meet at the library today to work on our paper?
I stare at the screen, my thumb hovering over the send button.
The thought of seeing him sends a flutter of nerves through me, but I can't pinpoint why. I hit send before I can overthink it and wait, my stomach twisting with anticipation.
My phone buzzes a few seconds later, and I quickly unlock it to see his reply.
I can't make it to the library today, but you could come over to my place. We can work on the paper here.
I freeze, my pulse quickening. His place. The house. The same place I've been avoiding ever since the first time I saw it.
Just the thought of going there makes my chest tighten. I still don't know what it is about that house that unnerves me, but I know it's more than just the way it looks. It's the way it felt—like the air itself was watching me, waiting for me to make the wrong move. And now, he's asking me to go back there.
I swallow hard, my fingers trembling slightly as I type back:
Your place? Are you sure?
His reply comes almost instantly.
Yeah, it's fine. It'll be quiet, and we can get the paper done.
Quiet. Right. But it's not the quiet I'm worried about. It's everything else that house represents. Still, I can't exactly say no without it being obvious that something's off, and I'm not ready to explain why the idea of going to his house makes my skin crawl.
Before I can second-guess myself, I type:
Okay, I'll come over. What time?
Another buzz.
I'll be waiting.
I stare at the message, my heart pounding in my chest. This is it. I've agreed to go to that house. I try to tell myself it's just to work on the paper, but deep down, I know there's more to it than that. There's something about Justin—something about that house—that draws me in, even as every instinct screams at me to stay away.
As I get ready to leave, I glance at the pendant still resting on my dresser. Its silver crescent gleams in the soft morning light, almost as if it's waiting for me, calling to me the way it did last night. I hesitate, my fingers hovering above it.
A part of me wonders if wearing it will somehow protect me, like it's a shield against whatever it is that's been creeping into my life lately. But another part of me, the part that can't forget the strange hum of energy pulsing from it, wonders if it's the very thing drawing me deeper into the unknown.
My fingers brush against the cool metal, and a faint pulse of warmth spreads through my hand. It's subtle, almost too faint to notice, but it's there. I pull my hand back, a knot tightening in my chest.
What if the pendant isn't just a piece of my past? What if it's a key—a key to a world I'm not ready to face?
I close my eyes, trying to steady my breath. I don't know what's waiting for me at Justin's house, but I can't help but feel that this pendant, this tiny sliver of my fae heritage, might be the only thing standing between me and whatever is out there—lurking in the shadows, waiting for me to slip.
With a shaky breath, I pick it up and slip it into my pocket, its weight pressing against my side like a silent reminder that no matter how much I want to pretend everything's normal… it's not.
And it never will be again.
*******
The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the quiet street as I walked toward Justin's house. Normally, the warm light would have been comforting, but today, it seemed to deepen the shadows stretching across the pavement. Each step felt heavier, the crisp autumn air biting against my skin, despite the warmth of the sunlight.
Leaves crunched underfoot, the sound unnaturally loud in the stillness around me. Even the birds were silent, their absence unnerving. The further I walked, the more I noticed—the way the breeze tugged at the edges of my jacket, cold and sharp, and the faint rustle of leaves that seemed too deliberate, too focused.
By the time Justin's house came into view, the sunlight had dimmed, as if the house itself were drawing the light toward it. Its silhouette loomed against the fading sky, dark and foreboding. I felt a shiver crawl down my spine. The warmth in my pocket—the faint hum of the pendant—only heightened my unease, its rhythm syncing with the dull thud of my pulse.
The pendant felt heavier now, its cool weight pressing against my thigh with each step. I couldn't stop thinking about it, about the strange pulse of energy I'd felt earlier. It's like it knows something I don't, like it's part of a bigger picture, just out of focus. But instead of bringing clarity, it only seems to deepen the mystery.
As I near Justin's house, the familiar tension builds in my chest. The house stands at the end of the road, its shadow stretching across the pavement. The memory of the first time I stood before it—of the creeping dread, of the air that felt wrong—floods back. My instincts scream at me to turn around, to go home, to forget the paper and forget about Justin.
But I can't. I agreed to this. I can't back out now.
I try to remind myself that it's just a house. Just a building—bricks, wood, and windows. But there is something about it, something beneath the surface, that feels… alive. Like it's watching me. Waiting for me. And Justin—there is something about him, too. Something that makes me feel like I'm being pulled in two different directions: torn between trusting him and fearing him.
My fingers brush against the pendant in my pocket as I walk up the driveway, the pulse of energy a soft, rhythmic hum beneath my skin. It almost feels comforting now, a steady reminder that I'm not completely defenseless against whatever waits inside that house.
But the comfort is fleeting. What if the pendant isn't just protecting me? What if it is drawing me deeper into this world I don't understand? What if by wearing it, I am inviting more danger into my life, opening myself up to things I'm not ready to face?
I swallow hard as I reach the front steps. My heart pounding in my chest, the sound loud in my ears. I'm not ready for this. For any of it. But I can't turn back now. I've already made my choice.
Before I can second-guess myself, the door swings open. There he is—Justin, standing in the doorway. My breath catches in my throat. He's shirtless, his lean muscles catching the fading sunlight and casting soft shadows across his chest and arms. For a second, I can't tear my eyes away. The pull I've been feeling—this strange magnetic draw—intensifies, and for a moment, I forget about the house, the pendant, everything.
He clears his throat, snapping me out of my daze. "Hey," he says, his voice casual, but there's a glint in his eyes.
Heat floods my face as I realize I've been staring. I quickly looked away, my heart pounding in my chest for entirely different reasons. "Hey," I manage to say, my voice smaller than I'd intended.
Justin steps back, opening the door wider to let me in. His expression unreadable. "Come on in," he says, but there's something in the air between us, something thick with unspoken tension.
I nod, forcing my legs to move as I step inside. The house feels heavier, the air thick like it's pressing down on me. My nerves are frayed, every instinct screaming that this isn't just about finishing a paper. But my mind keeps drifting back to Justin—his proximity, the warmth radiating from his skin, and the way my body responds when I see him like that. I try to shake it off, but the pull between us lingers, stronger than ever.
The pendant hums softly in my pocket, its pulse synchronized with the racing of my heart. I can't help but wonder if it's reacting to him—to us.
He shuts the door behind me, and the click of the lock sounds too loud, like a reminder that there is no turning back now.
Justin steps aside, motioning for me to follow. The moment I cross the threshold, the air seems to grow heavier—almost thick, like something is pressing down on my chest. It's subtle at first, but as I move further into the house, the sensation grows stronger, settling in my ribs like a weight I can't shake.
The inside of the house is nothing like I expect. From the outside, it seems imposing and cold, but inside….it's stunning. The dark wood paneling gleams, polished and rich, and the furniture looks like it has been carefully chosen, each piece fitting perfectly into its space. Soft, warm light from the lamps bathe the room, giving everything an intimate, cozy feel. For a moment, I'm disarmed, surprised by how welcoming it all seems.
But the pictures. They are everywhere. Lining the walls, perched on shelves, scattered across side tables. Old, faded photographs in ornate frames, each one filled with faces that seem… familiar. There is something about them that I can't quite place—something that makes my skin prickle. The men and women in the photos all look the same. A chill runs down my spine.
I wonder if the house has always been in Justin's family. It feels ancient, like it's holding secrets in its very walls.
"Are you okay?" Justin's voice pulls me from my thoughts.
I glance at him, and for a moment, hesitate. There is something in his eyes, something unreadable. I nod quickly. "Yeah. Just… taking it all in."
He tilts his head slightly, as if he doesn't quite believe me, but he doesn't press it. "I'll be right back," he says, motioning towards a hallway. "I should probably put a shirt on."
As soon as he disappears, I let out a breath. I glance around again, my gaze lingering on the photos, the old furniture, the way the air feels almost alive in the house. It's beautiful, yes, but there is something beneath the surface, something that makes my nerves buzz. I don't know what it is, but I can feel it, like a low hum just out of reach.
I brush my fingers against the pendant in my pocket, and for a moment, I wonder if it's reacting to the house, to whatever secrets it holds. The thought makes my stomach twist.
Before I can think any further, Justin reappears, pulling a shirt over his head as he walks back into the room. I glance up, my eyes briefly catching the way the fabric clings to his chest before I quickly look away, heat rising in my cheeks.
"Better?" he asks, his lips quirk into a half-smile.
"Much," I say, though my voice comes out more breathy than I intend.
We sit down at the dining table, and for a while, we manage to focus on the paper. Or at least, Justin does. I try, but my mind keeps drifting—distracted by the house, by the photos, by the way Justin's presence makes me feel like I am teetering on the edge of something I can't quite name.
The tension between us is thick, almost palpable. Every time our hands brush while reaching for a pen or a book, a shiver runs down my spine, and I can't help but notice the way his gaze lingers on me, like he's waiting for me to say something, to admit something I'm not even sure of myself.
"Are you sure everything is okay?" he asks at one point, his voice low, his eyes searching mine.
I force a smile, hoping he won't see through it. "Yeah, just… a lot on my mind."
"More than just the paper?"
There's something in his tone—something that makes a flutter go off in my stomach. Heat rises to my cheeks, and I clear my throat.
"Yes. Nothing important though." I give him a reassuring smile and go back to working.
As we continue, I start to notice the pendant in my pocket begin to hum again. It's faint at first, barely noticeable, but as the minutes pass, the pulse of energy grows stronger. I can feel it spreading through me, like a current running just beneath my skin.
"Sarah?"
Justin's voice cuts through the fog in my mind, and I blink, realizing I've been staring at the table, my fingers trembling slightly. I look up at him, and the way he is watching me sends a chill down my spine. His expression is calm, but there is something in his eyes—something that makes me think he knows I'm hiding something.
"Are you sure you're alright?" he asks again, his voice softer this time, more insistent.
I open my mouth to reassure him, to brush it off like I have been all afternoon, but the words catch in my throat. The hum from the pendant grows louder, almost overwhelming now, and I feel my control slipping. My fingers twitch, and a faint shimmer of light passes between us—so quick and subtle that I almost think I imagine it.
But I don't. Justin sees it too. I can tell by the way his gaze sharpens, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watches me.
"You're… different today," he says slowly, his voice tentative, testing.
My heart skips a beat. He knows something is off. And the way he is watching me—his quiet suspicion, his growing awareness—it sends panic surging through me. How much does he know? How much is he guessing?
"I don't know what you're talking about," I say quickly, standing up from the table. My hands shaking now, my magic buzzing just beneath the surface, threatening to spill over. I need to get out of here. I need to calm down before I lose control.
But Justin doesn't look convinced. He stands up too, his movements slow, deliberate, like he is trying to figure me out. "Sarah," he says, his voice quiet but filled with something I can't read. "What's going on?"
The urgency in his tone makes my stomach twist, but I can't stay. I need space. The room feels too small, the weight of his gaze too heavy. My magic is pulsing through me, an electric hum that seems to fill the room, and if I stay, I'm not sure I can hold it in any longer.
"I—I need some air," I manage to say, the words rushing out before I can stop them.
Before he can stop me, I turn toward the door, my heart pounding in my chest, each step feeling heavier than the last. The buzzing in my veins intensify, and I swear I can feel the pendant throbbing in my pocket, urging me to leave, to step away from him.
But just as my fingers brush the door handle, it swings open—revealing Natalia standing in the doorway, her expression unreadable.
"Oh, sorry, I didn't see—" I start to apologize, but the words die on my lips when I see who else is standing behind her.
Justin's parents.
Their faces are calm, collected, but their eyes—especially his mother's—carries an unreadable weight. The moment they see me, I feel it—a shift, a subtle tension in the air, like they were waiting for something, for me.
For a brief moment, I think I see something flicker in his mother's gaze—recognition, maybe? Suspicion?—as her eyes linger on the pendant in my pocket. My heart stutters in my chest, and I quickly pull my hand back, tucking it into the folds of my jacket.
There is a heavy silence as they all stand there, watching me. I can feel their stares like pressure, making the room feel smaller, heavier. My magic surges again, desperate to escape, but I clench my fists at my sides, trying to hold it in.
"I was just… heading out for some air," I stammer, my voice shaky, unsure of how much they seen, how much they know.
Justin's father steps forward, his gaze flicking between me and Justin with subtle scrutiny. "No need to rush off," he says smoothly, though there is an edge to his voice. "Why don't you stay for dinner?"
My stomach twists painfully, the words leaving a bad taste in my mouth. The idea of staying, of being trapped here with them, makes my skin crawl. I glance at Justin, hoping for some kind of cue, some sign that this isn't as strange as it feels. But he says nothing. He just watches me with that same unreadable look, his expression neutral, but his eyes—his eyes are darker now, watching me closely.
Natalia steps aside, a smile curling on her lips, one that is both warm and knowing. "Stay," she says softly, her voice almost coaxing. "We'd love to have you."
The way she says it makes my skin prickle with unease. And at that moment, I know it isn't a request. It is an invitation—one that carries more weight than I am willing to admit.
My pulse quickens, my breath shallow as the room seems to close in around me. I can't shake the feeling that leaving isn't going to be as easy as I thought. Not with them. Not with this house.
I glance at Justin one more time, trying to gauge his reaction. His face remains neutral, but the air between us feels thick with something unspoken. Something neither of us is ready to voice.
With a slow breath, I step back from the door, trying to ignore the way my heart hammers in my chest. "Alright," I say, my voice low and strained. "I'll stay."
And as soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel a strange shift in the air. It's subtle, like the room has grown even more charged, like something is about to happen—something I can't quite understand.
I follow Justin's parents into the dining room, my mind racing. The pull of the pendant in my pocket is almost unbearable now, like it is drawing me closer to something. To them? To this house?
*****
The inside of the house is nothing like I expected. From the outside, it seemed imposing and cold, a hulking structure that seemed to shrink the space around it. But inside…it's stunning. The dark wood paneling gleams, polished and rich, and the furniture looks like it's been carefully chosen—each piece fitting perfectly into the space. Soft, warm light spills from antique fixtures, creating an ambiance that feels oddly comforting, even as a faint unease lingers beneath the surface. It's as if the house is trying to lull me into a false sense of security.
Justin's mother's lips curve into a polite smile, though her eyes linger on me for a moment too long. "It's lovely to have someone over. The house has felt different lately… like there's… energy stirring."
"Like it's waking up somehow," the man beside her adds, his voice slow and deliberate. His gaze sharpens as it sweeps over me, a silent scrutiny that makes my skin prickle.
I nod, unsure how to respond. "It's beautiful," I manage, my voice sounding thinner than I'd like. The words feel strange on my tongue, because for all its beauty, the house carries an unsettling weight. It's like the walls are listening, waiting for something. Watching me.
As if on cue, the pendant in my pocket warms slightly, a subtle pulse of energy brushing against my fingertips. My hand drifts to it instinctively, and when I glance up, both Justin's mother and the man are watching me with expressions that are too neutral to be genuine.
I force myself to speak. "You're right. The place has a really… unique feel."
She exchanges a quick glance with him, her smile faltering for a moment. "Unique, yes. It has a way of responding to… certain presences. Right Charles?"
Charles gives her a sharp look, as if to caution her, but his eyes stay fixed on me. My pulse quickens. I can't tell if it's because of the way they're watching me or because of something else—something I can't quite place.
"I hope you don't mind me asking," I say, desperate to break the tension. "Has this house always been in your family?"
He hesitates, his jaw tightening before he speaks. "For a long time. It's been… adapted over the years, but its essence remains the same."
The pendant hums again, almost as if in response, and I grip it tighter, the cool metal grounding me. "It must have so much history," I say, my voice trembling slightly, betraying my nerves.
"More than you know," she murmurs, her words soft but weighted. Her eyes flick to my pocket, and for a brief moment, I feel like she knows exactly what I'm holding. That knowledge, unspoken and heavy, makes my stomach twist.
The conversation shifts, but the unease lingers in the air, a shadow that I can't shake off.
As we continue to eat, my gaze drifts again to the photos lining the walls—faded, sepia-toned images of men and women who bear a striking resemblance to Justin and Natalia. Too similar. The hairs on the back of my neck rise, an instinctive warning flaring in my chest.
One photo in particular catches my attention: a man who could be Justin's twin, standing beside a woman in 19th-century clothing. Their eyes seem to follow me, their gazes unnervingly alive.
"Sarah?"
Justin's voice pulls me back to the present. I realize I've been staring, my fingers trembling as they rest on the edge of the table. "Sorry," I mumble, dropping my gaze quickly.
"You seem distracted," he says, his voice quiet but probing. His eyes hold mine for a moment, and I feel that same magnetic pull I've felt since the first time I met him. It's unnerving how easily he sees through me.
"I'm fine," I lie, forcing a smile. But as the pendant hums again, stronger this time, I can't help but wonder if the house, the pendant, and Justin's family are all connected—and what that connection means for me.
His parents exchange a quick, knowing glance, as if they're sharing an unspoken understanding, something I'm not part of. The weight of it makes me more uneasy. I sneak a glance at Justin, but he's avoiding my gaze, as if deep in thought. For a split second, I wonder if he knows something about the pendant—about me—that he isn't telling me.
My pulse quickens, and I grip the pendant tighter, feeling a slight warmth spread through my fingertips, almost like a low current running through it. The sensation is subtle, but unmistakable, and it only makes me feel more exposed, like they can sense the magic in it. Or maybe… in me.
Natalia's eyes narrow slightly, her tone almost too casual. "So… what brought you here?"
"Justin and I needed to work on our paper," I reply, shifting in my seat. My voice feels too high, too forced, and her gaze doesn't waver. "He couldn't meet me at the library, so… he invited me here."
"How convenient," Natalia says smoothly, though there's an edge to her smile.
A flashback of her warning the other night plays in my mind: "You don't know what you're getting yourself into."
"Well, dear, you're welcome anytime. Having you here has definitely brought life back into our home." Justin's mother smiles, her warmth radiating across the table, snapping me back to the present. But as she watches me, her gaze sharpens, the kind that makes you feel like someone is trying to look straight through you.
"Yes, Scarlet is right," Charles adds, his gaze steady on me, lingering just long enough to make me squirm. "You're… different than what we expected."
I blink, my mouth going dry. "Different how?"
He doesn't answer right away. His smile tightens, and for a moment, I think I see something flicker in his expression—something almost predatory. "You'll see," he says finally, his tone light, but the words land heavily.
Justin clears his throat, breaking the spell. "I'll walk you out, Sarah."
As we stand, every nerve in my body feels charged, each step to the door weighted with questions I'm too afraid to ask. I give his parents a polite nod, doing my best to mask my unease, but as we step outside, I can still feel Charles' gaze following me, his eyes lingering a little too long on my pocket.
******
The sky has shifted by the time we step outside. Where the warm hues of late afternoon had bathed the street earlier, the horizon was now a blend of dusky purples and deep grays. The air felt heavier, a cold breeze sweeping past me and raising goosebumps on my skin.
Justin walks me down the steps, his hand lightly pressing against my lower back. I don't pull away.
But I don't lean into it either.
Because no matter how strong the pull between us is—how his voice quiets the chaos in my head or how his eyes always seems to find mine in a crowed—something about all of this still doesn't feel right.
"Everything alright?" he asks, his voice soft, his eyes searching mine.
I force a small smile. "Yeah, just...didn't expect the night to go this way."
"Yeah, me too. Well, thanks for coming over. I know things got a little weird." Justin rubs the back of his neck, glancing toward the house. "My parents… they're just… different. You probably noticed."
"Different how?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He shrugs, his lips pressing into a thin line. "They've got… a lot of history. It's hard to explain."
I don't press him. "It's okay," I say, forcing a brighter smile than I feel. "Tell them I said thank you for dinner. I'll see you tomorrow."
Justin nods, offering me a small smile before walking back up the steps and into the house.
As I turn to walk away, the pendant in my pocket begins to hum faintly, the same low vibration I'd felt before, a pulsing warmth that seems to sync with my heartbeat. My steps falter, and I glance back at the house, half-expecting to see Justin or one of his family members watching me from a window. The shadows seem to deepen, stretching out as though reaching for me, and a chill crawls down my spine.
I shake off the feeling and force myself to keep walking, my heart hammering as the last lingering glances from Justin's family echo in my mind. I can't shake the feeling that they know something—something about me, about the pendant, maybe even more than I do.
Justin's house behind me seemed even darker now, its windows reflecting the faint glow of the streetlights, but offering no warmth. I glanced back over my shoulder, half-expecting to see his father's sharp gaze following me from the doorway, but there was nothing—just the silent, imposing house.
The wind picked up as I walked down the driveway, tugging at my hair and carrying the faintest scent of rain. It was the kind of weather that made you feel watched, like the trees and shadows were alive, whispering secrets to each other.
I wrapped my arms around myself, my thoughts swirling. The house, the pendant, the lingering tension in Justin's father's words—it all pressed down on me, as if I were carrying the weight of something I didn't understand.
I grip the pendant tightly, its heat intensifying in my palm as if it's alive, as if it's warning me. Or calling me back.
By the time I reached the street, the first drops of rain began to fall, cold and sharp against my skin. I quickened my pace, the fading light and gathering clouds closing in around me. The air felt thicker, heavy with an electricity that had nothing to do with the storm. It was as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for something.