Amanda hadn't left her house all day.
Lucan knew. He'd checked. Not by scent, not by glamour. Just observation. He stood far enough from the house to stay unseen, but close enough to feel the weight of what clung to her walls.
The death-tether was no longer subtle. It pulsed now gentle, but steady. Like a slow drumbeat buried in the soil beneath her floorboards.
And she still had no idea what she was carrying.
By dusk, the town had already begun to turn. Lucan had seen two teenagers dancing in the street, barefoot, hands covered in something red. They smiled at him like he was their favorite song.
He waited until the sun had fully set before approaching Amanda's porch.
No light inside, but she was awake. He could hear the pacing, it was measured, anxious.
He knocked once. Not loud. But final.
A pause.
Then footsteps. Slow and steady. The door opened three inches, chain still on.
Amanda stared through the gap. Hair messy. Eyes sharp.
Lucan met her gaze and said nothing. No glamour and no charm.
Just presence.
She didn't speak. Didn't ask who he was. She remembered him.
The bar. The lot. The pressure.
Now he was at her door, and she didn't know if she should run or invite him in.
Her voice was low, cautious. "You're not here for directions."
Lucan's head tilted slightly. "No."
"What do you want?"
"To see what happens when you stop pretending you're ordinary."
She blinked. Didn't open the door, but she didn't close it either.
Lucan's tone didn't shift, it didn't need to.
"You've been feeling it. The wrongness. The eyes. The silence that moves like it's alive."
Her hand tightened around the doorframe. She didn't confirm it, didn't have to.
Lucan took a step back, not in retreat, but to give her space.
"I'm not here to hurt you," he said. "But you need to understand something."
She held his gaze, unmoving.
"You're standing in the middle of a storm that wants to use you. And you're letting it."
Her voice cracked for the first time. "I didn't ask for any of this."
Lucan nodded once.
"Neither did I."
The chain slid free and the door opened. Amanda didn't step aside, not exactly, but she moved enough that Lucan could pass. He didn't speak as he entered. Didn't look around. He already knew everything he needed to know about the house: quiet, stripped down, practical. A place someone lived in, not someone lived through.
He stood in the center of the living room, waiting.
Amanda closed the door behind him and crossed her arms, staying near the wall.
"You gonna tell me what the hell's going on?"
Lucan looked at her, not at her face, but through her.
"You've always felt it, haven't you?" he asked. "The pull. The wrong things that don't go away."
She didn't answer. Didn't deny it.
Lucan continued. "You were born near the dead. Not in a graveyard, but in the space between where things cling."
Amanda's brow furrowed. "That supposed to mean something?"
"To you? Not yet."
"To you?" She countered.
Lucan's voice was even. "It means you're the first thing in five hundred years that's made me pause."
That landed heavier than she expected. Amanda looked away, then back.
"What are you?" she asked.
Lucan turned toward her. The lamplight hit his face just enough to pull the sharpness from his profile, his stillness more unsettling than any threat.
"I'm the one who listens when things die screaming."
She swallowed.
He stepped closer, not looming, but deliberate.
"You're tethered," he said. "You don't know how, or to what, but it's there. Something clings to you."
She took a half-step back, instinctive.
"I'm not crazy."
Lucan's gaze softened. Just slightly. "I didn't say you were. But if you keep pretending none of this is real, you won't live long enough to go crazy."
Amanda didn't move. Her voice dropped. "What's coming?"
Lucan looked past her, toward the dark window.
"Something that breaks people with joy."
She didn't understand it, but she understood how he said it. Like someone who knew.
Silence stretched. Then, quietly:
"Why are you telling me this?"
Lucan didn't answer right away.
"Because I hate repeating myself. And you're going to ask again if I don't."
He turned toward the door.
Amanda didn't stop him, but she said, "If I'm what you say I am… what happens next?"
Lucan stopped, hand on the doorframe.
"You'll feel something call to you."
"And?"
"When it does, don't answer."
He stepped out into the night.
Lucan walked until he was deep enough into the trees that the lights from her house faded behind him. He didn't like lingering near Amanda's house too long. Not because he feared being seen. He didn't care about that.
It was her.
The way she watched him go, like she was weighing him, not as a threat, but as something else. Something she hadn't decided on yet.
He moved without sound, deeper into the woods, following no path but instinct. He could still feel Maryann, like a splinter beneath his skin. Still feel Amanda, like something waiting to be lit.
And that's when he felt him.
A different presence.
Colder.
Taller.
More familiar.
Lucan didn't turn around. Just said, "You've always had a flair for showing up late."
Behind him, Eric's voice came sharp.
"And you've always had a talent for leaving when you're needed most."
Lucan turned.
Eric stood a few paces away, posture casual, expression anything but. He wore that look Lucan remembered too well, the one he used before war, or heartbreak, or betrayal.
Lucan took one step closer.
"Is this where you finally pretend to be brave?"
Eric's jaw clenched. "Is this where you finally admit you're interested in more than watching people die?"
They stood there, both still. Neither moved first.
Eric broke the silence. "You went to her."
Lucan said nothing.
Eric stepped forward. "The girl, Amanda."
Lucan's eyes narrowed. "You're following me now?"
Eric smirked. "No. I just know how you think."
Lucan shook his head once. "No, you don't. You know how he thought. You've always tried to be Godric's shadow."
That one landed. Eric's face twitched.
"I didn't call you here to fight," he said.
"Then you picked the wrong tone."
Eric exhaled slowly. "There's not much left of this town. I don't know what Maryann is, but she's tearing into people without lifting a finger."
Lucan's expression didn't change. "And?"
Eric stepped closer. "And I need your help."
Lucan studied him. The words clearly cost Eric something to say. And that made them mean something.
"You're the oldest thing in this state," Eric said. "You've seen things I can't name. If anyone knows how to kill a god pretending to be a priestess, it's you."
Lucan tilted his head. "And if I don't?"
Eric's voice was ice. "Then maybe I watch you fall for once."
The woods were silent. Even the insects were waiting. Lucan stared at him for a long moment, then turned away, eyes scanning the dark.
"She made a move tonight," he said. "Left me a gift."
"What kind?"
"The kind with no eyes."
Eric didn't ask for details. Didn't need to, he understood the weight of the words.
Lucan looked back at him.
"I'll help," he said finally.
"But only because I'm curious."
Eric raised an eyebrow. "About what?"
Lucan's voice was low.
"About what I'll become if I don't stop her."