Somewhere deep beneath the city, a man sat in a stone chair that hadn't been carved, it had been grown. Not by time. By ritual.
His name was Caelis.
But even he didn't say it anymore. He'd gone by other names in other languages, some too old for vowels. But Lucan's voice still echoed when he closed his eyes.
That part hadn't died.
That part had never died.
He remembered pain. He remembered being torn in half and not metaphorically, but literally. It was a punishment, a mercy and a lesson. He remembered Lucan's hand, soaked in his blood.
No hesitation.
No regret.
Only precision.
"I loved you," he whispered to no one. The stones didn't answer. They never did.
Something moved in the dark behind him. Not human. Not vampire. Something old.
Something pleased.
It didn't speak with words. But he heard it anyway.
"You were broken.
Now you are empty.
You are mine."
Caelis smiled. His teeth were too white. His eyes didn't match. One silver and one black.
He didn't resent Lucan. Not anymore. Resentment required identity and his had been peeled off like old bark.
Now?
He just wanted to be seen again.
By the one who made him.
By the one who unmade him.
By the one who would either kill him again… Or join him this time.
The entity behind him coiled closer. Not touching. Just breathing. Feeding.
It had borrowed his body. But it let him keep the face. For now.
Soon, it would move again.
Soon, it would find the girl. And through her, it would pull Lucan out into the open.
-----
Amanda didn't want to be at the hardware store. But she needed a replacement for the deadbolt Lucan had shattered the week he arrived.
The clerk behind the counter didn't say much, which she appreciated. He just rang her up, gave her the change, and told her to have a good day without looking her in the eye. Most people in Bon Temps still didn't.
Outside, the sun was too warm for her skin.
She used to like that.
Now it made her feel exposed, like she was being watched from beneath the sidewalk instead of across it.
She crossed the parking lot toward her truck. The box in her hand felt heavier than it should have. Everything had felt heavier lately.
Like her body wasn't just hers anymore.
She reached for the driver's side door when someone screamed behind her.
Amanda spun around.
A man in a gray work shirt staggered across the pavement, eyes wild, mouth open but no sound coming now. His arms flailed for balance, but whatever was inside him had already given up. He collapsed five feet in front of her. No stumble. No brace. Just a straight fall like the strings had been cut.
She dropped the box and ran to him.
People shouted. A couple phones came out. No one else got closer.
His eyes were glassy. His chest didn't move. She reached for his wrist, checked for a pulse. It wasn't there.
But something else was.
It hit her like a surge of cold water. It wasn't a vision or a memory, but a presence that was heavy and intentional. Like something had been waiting for him to die near her.
And the moment he dropped, it moved into her.
She gasped and fell back, hitting the pavement hard.
Hands shaking.
Head spinning.
Her chest ached, and her breath caught like her body was trying to reject the moment. But it was too late. She felt it inside her.
Not a spirit.
Not a ghost.
A message.
The man on the pavement was still dead. But now? His death was anchored to her. Whatever had come through him hadn't left.
It was watching.
Waiting.
And worse.
It knew her name.
-----
Amanda sat on the steps behind her house long after sunset, a cold washcloth pressed against her neck, trying to trick her body into feeling grounded again. It wasn't working. She'd called no one. Not Sam. Not Tara. Not even Sookie.
What could she say? A man dropped dead near me and something used his death like a doorway.
No one would understand. But someone would expect it.
The sound of shoes on dirt told her he was back. Lucan didn't use the front door anymore. He just arrived.
She didn't turn when he came into view.
"You felt it," she said quietly.
Lucan stood behind her for a moment before stepping beside the stairs.
"I did."
She looked up at him now.
"And you waited."
He nodded. "I had to know if you could take it."
Amanda scoffed, wiped her face with the rag. "You're real comforting, you know that?"
Lucan didn't smile. Didn't apologize. Instead, he crouched down and looked at her like she was a weapon still being sharpened.
"It didn't pass through you," he said. "It settled."
Amanda swallowed. "What does that mean?"
"It means whatever sent it knew how you work. And knew you wouldn't reject it."
She stood, pacing now. Frustrated and tired. Scared in a way she was too used to.
"I don't want to be a radio for dying things," she said. "I didn't ask for this."
Lucan followed her with his eyes but didn't move.
"No one asks to be the battlefield. Doesn't change the war."
Amanda stopped pacing, turned to him.
"You came back. So what now? You going to lock me away? Try to seal it off?"
Lucan finally stepped closer.
"I'm going to teach you how to stay open… and not break."
Amanda blinked.
That wasn't the answer she expected. But it wasn't wrong, either.
She nodded once.
"Where do we start?"
Lucan raised a hand, not to her head, but to her chest.
"Here," he said. "Because that's where it wants to live."
He pressed two fingers to her sternum. The connection was instant. The tether flared. And the presence inside her stirred again.
But this time?
It didn't feel invasive. It felt recognized.
Amanda didn't pull away.
Not this time.