The Police Precinct

The interrogation room door slammed open so hard the thin glass in the observation window rattled. The sudden sound cut the stale air, slicing into the hush that had settled over Detective Ann’s desk. She looked up from her pad to see who had burst in.

A man filled the doorway — impossibly groomed, a blue Italian suit sculpted to his frame, hair the color of pale wheat falling just past his collar. He moved like someone accustomed to being obeyed. When his eyes fixed on Jade, his face folded into a storm.

“Say no word!” he barked, pointing a long-fingered hand at her.

The room smelled like him before she could see him fully: a clean, expensive cologne that carried lemon and cedar, a scent that seemed to smooth the edges of the precinct’s institutional odor. Detective Ann felt it at the back of her throat, like a promise she didn’t want to accept.

“You brought in my client under false pretenses to question her and then booked her under arrest!” the man snapped, his voice sharp with outrage. “Drop the charges now, or I will sue the department.”

Detective Ann folded her arms, keeping her face a neutral mask, but the man’s presence forced the room into a different temperature. He introduced himself without waiting for permission.

“Barrister Kelvin Billy,” he said, the title rolling off his tongue like a flag. “You will release Ms. Billy at once.”

Ann’s jaw tightened. The Dean had called, she’d been told. The body had been discovered in another dorm; witnesses placed Jade with Luke the night before. Procedure compelled questions. But she’d also been briefed on the Billys. Wealth, influence — and a lawyer who did not bluff.

“Ms. Billy is not under arrest for murder,” Ann said slowly, keeping the official cadence. “She’s a person of interest — to be interviewed regarding Luke Anderson’s death. We’re just asking routine—”

“Routine?” Kelvin laughed, a brittle sound. “You haul my client in, humiliate her in a holding cell, and call it routine? Let me make something very clear: charge her if you must, but I will sue you, Detective Ann Cole. I will pursue every legal remedy until your precinct is ruined.”

Ann watched the man speak. He radiated assurance, an aura backed by bank accounts and a family name. Even the officers in the hall peered in, curiosity and caution warring across their faces.

Lucy’s number, on Jade’s emergency contact thread, had lit the family’s phone screens already. Even from halfway across the country, Jade’s parents moved like a tide; they could not come, but they could send leverage — and lawyering in force.

Detective Ann rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Ms. Billy,” she said to Jade, softer now, “you’re free to go.”

Kelvin didn’t let her go. He rounded the table in three long strides and planted himself between Jade and the exit, voice low and thudding.

“That’s not good enough,” he hissed. “This case is dead on arrival. Drop everything or I’ll make you regret it.” He leaned closer to Ann, and for a moment the cold edge of a threat showed. “You and your generation will pay for this.”

A beat of silence. Even the ticking wall clock seemed to pause.

Ann released the tension in her shoulders. “Crystal clear,” she said at last, and she let the detained file slide to the side.

Kingston College

A black limousine glided up to the iron gates of Hillary Dormitory with all the quiet arrogance of something that knew it belonged. Students glanced up from their phones, curiosity snagging at them, but the vehicle swallowed its presence like a shadow.

As Jade stepped from the limo, the leather of her skirt whispering against her thighs, Kelvin’s hand stayed on her elbow, a possessive weight. He hissed, “Speak to no one. Say nothing.”

She forced a smile that did not meet her eyes. Her chest still ached from the cold snap of grief. Luke — missing, then dead — and her name tangled into the same headline in the space of a night. She felt unreal, stitched to the world with thread too thin to hold her.

The sun was a flat disc behind clouds, and the campus smelled of rain and cut grass. Students passed in groups, heads bent like little islands. As she walked, her phone buzzed in a frantic rhythm in her hand. She glanced down, a small, fragile hope flaring in her chest.

“Mummy?” she whispered into the receiver when she answered. Her mother’s voice erupted down the line, sharp and immediate.

“Is this the way you speak to your mother?” Mrs. Billy scolded, but there was warmth buried under the scold. “We are worried.”

“Sorry, Mum,” Jade said, pressing the phone tighter to her ear. “My heart is… it’s heavy.”

“We can fly you home,” Mrs. Billy offered. “Your father and I—”

“No,” Jade cut in, voice steady with resolve. “I need to find out what happened to Luke. Classes start tomorrow. I can’t just—”

“Be careful,” her father said when he took the line. His voice had the same tempered steel she’d heard in Kelvin’s words. “Don’t do anything reckless. I’ve spoken with the Dean. We’ve arranged for a private investigator to look into this.”

A private investigator. The words sounded like a tether thrown to someone drowning. Hope thrummed in her chest. “When?”

“Sometime next week,” her father replied. “We’ll keep you safe. Call us if the police bother you.”

Jade promised she would. She ended the call and slid the phone into her bag. The campus seemed too quiet as she mounted the concrete steps to Dorm 25. Her footsteps met cold stone and echoed, a hollow percussion that amplified the emptiness.

Hillary Dormitory, usually a hive of gossip and laughter, felt forsaken. Doors that should have been open were shut; the usual clump of students at the foot of the stairs was gone as if the building had exhaled and held its breath. The hall lights hummed but the sound had no warmth. It was as if the campus had been scraped clean of life.

She paused, scanning for movement. “Where did everybody go?” she murmured, answering herself with the old tape of last night — the whisper, the vanish, the scar on her thigh. Every step she took felt like going deeper into cotton; her legs were heavy, each one harder to lift.

Halfway up the stairs, a figure slid into her vision. At first she thought it an apparition from last night: an old woman floating rather than walking, her hair a curtain of white that hid the face, a long gown trailing like fog. The woman’s fingers were papery, hooked like dried vines.

Jade’s breath caught. The weight of the air changed, thicker, colder. Her mouth dried. She tried to take another step and her feet clung to the concrete as if welded. Panic rose like bile.

A wind brushed the stairwell, a sound like a tired animal sighing, and a voice threaded through it. “What are you doing here? You don’t belong here,” it intoned, crisp and unblinking.

Jade spun, eyes darting in every direction. The figure stood a few paces away, but the voice was not from that mouth; it seemed to come from the walls themselves. Before she could gather speech, another whisper scraped her ear: “Stop stepping into the veil. You don’t belong here.”

Her throat constricted. Everything thinned to the sound of her own pulse and the old woman’s presence. “Talk to me,” Jade said aloud, more to prove she hadn’t lost her mind than with any expectation of an answer. “What is happening to me?”

The old woman laughed, a thin, dry sound that scattered like ash, and then vanished into a curl of smoke.

She was alone — and not alone. The world tilted and the air pressed in. Jade’s fingers clawed at her ribs, searching for purchase.

A voice like Luke’s brushed her ear then, and for one maddening second the world stitched together: he stood at the bottom of the steps, hand outstretched, a small, sad smile on his face. “I’ve missed you,” he said.

Tears brought a flood. She took two hurried steps down the stairs toward him, and his hand reached farther still, always a breath away.

“Come to me, and you will be with me forever,” he coaxed.

“If you were dead—” she began, throat raw, “what is happening? The police said you are—”

“Whom do you believe?” Luke asked, face paling like paper in a breeze. “Me, or the lying pigs?” His eyes shimmered with an ache that pulled at her.

A refined voice, softer than a silk sheet, came close to her ear: “Don’t believe everything you see here.”

She ignored it and moved closer to the phantom. Each step seemed to bring her deeper into a dream she hadn’t consented to. The stairs lengthened beneath her feet, the campus stretched like a painted backdrop. Like a moth fixated on heat, she followed Luke blindly.

They moved together through a corridor that became a path, then a road, the dormitory dissolving behind them. The smell of cut grass gave way to the damp, loamy scent of the woods. The underbrush whispered with movement. Leaves gathered in spirals at her feet.

They had walked for what felt like kilometers when Luke halted in a clearing rimmed with trees. Night nested in the branches like clasped hands. His face suddenly twisted with rage so sudden it startled her.

“You did this to me!” he exploded. The words shredded the air, and the sound of his accusation rolled like stones.

The leaves crunched under her sneakers — a weird, loud sound out of sync with reality. The wind rose, a cold, directive thing that pushed at Jade’s hair and skirt. She opened her mouth to argue, but before a word could form, a force lifted her bodily from the ground.

Panic tore through her. She thrashed, a puppet jerked on invisible strings. “Luke, what is going on?” she cried, the syllables thin and high.

“The wrath of the universe is on you!” Luke snapped, each word a hammer. The more he raged, the higher Jade rose, as if accused by gravity itself.

A voice roared back from the trees, resonant and authoritative: “She’s not the cause of your death! You brought this upon yourself!”

Something unseen slammed into Luke. He rattled against the trunks like a rag doll, fingers loosening from where they gripped her. The force tossed him into the dark, wood splinters cracking as his body collided with bark. Jade dropped, breath leaving her like a popped balloon.

When she could stand, her eyes landed on a figure stepping out from between the trunks — Barrister Kelvin, immaculate and composed despite the chaos. His suit was without a crease. He moved like a man who could command the air. With a single, deliberate motion, he hurled Luke aside as one would flick a bothersome fly.

Kelvin turned to Jade, eyes serious. “This is no place for you,” he said. He made a small, precise motion, and the world lurched. Jade felt the ground shift under her feet and then, with the mild disorientation of someone stepping between trains, she found herself standing on the stairwell outside Dorm 25 again. Students milled about, voices and laughter filling the air — ordinary campus life rushing back to reclaim its stage.

She fumbled for her phone and dialed Kelvin. It rang and rang until voicemail answered in that authoritative, slightly smug tone: “This is Barrister K. You know what to do after the beep.”

She cursed under her breath. He had slipped away.

She pushed the dorm door open with more force than necessary and slammed her key down on the table. The room smelled of detergent and something faintly sour, the everyday scents of student life. She turned and nearly collided with Kelvin, who sat as if he’d been waiting, composed on the sofa beside the window.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” she muttered, heart thudding with residual fear.

“We have much to discuss,” Kelvin said, rising to his feet. “Sit.”

She hesitated and then lowered herself onto the bed. “If Lucy sees you here—” she started.

“Relax, no one sees me but you,” Kelvin said, an odd smile curving his mouth.

“Scientifically impossible,” she scoffed, though her voice betrayed the tremor in her hands.

“Magically possible,” he countered. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, the seriousness returning to his face. “How do you explain the things you’ve seen? The marks, the voices, the vanishings?”

“I’m not mad,” she said. “I need help. I should be in a ward.”

“If that’s what you think,” Kelvin murmured, “then permit me to explain.”

He straightened and folded his hands behind his back, giving himself the posture of a man about to lecture. “You are very powerful,” he began.

Footsteps at the door made both of them lift their heads. It was Lucy, humming to herself, then stopping short as she took in Kelvin’s presence. The doorknob giggled as if with its own secret. Kelvin’s eyes flicked to the door and then back to Jade.

“We need somewhere more private,” he whispered, voice low. He took her hand before she could protest and a white light burst at the edges of the room. The light wrapped around them like silk.

When the brightness faded, they were no longer in the dorm. Kelvin’s office stood before them: floor-to-ceiling books, a heavy desk with paperweights, the faint aroma of old leather and citrus. Jade’s stomach dropped with the shock of sudden movement.

“Magic,” Kelvin said with a small smile, as if revealing an old family recipe. “And you, my dear, are a descendant of Kora.”

The name landed in Jade as if someone had placed a warm stone on her chest. Kora. She’d heard the name in fragments — an old story whispered by grandmothers, a mythic woman of power and fear. To have it spoken plainly made her insides race.

“You’re joking,” she whispered. “Kora? A witch?”

Kelvin’s expression softened. “Yes. Magic is real, Jade. And your blood remembers more than you do.”

For a long moment she sat, the office around her spinning with new axes. Answers had arrived as sudden as thunder. The mystery deepened and widened together: Luke’s death, the voice that told her she would die, the scars mapping palm-shaped warnings, the girl who called her witch. All of it was braided into something older than grief — a legacy she had never asked for.

Kelvin’s hands were calm in his lap, reassuring as he watched her unravel and try to stitch herself together. “We’ll begin at the beginning,” he said. “But first, you must understand: there are layers to this world you can’t see yet. And there are people who will try to pull you under. We start with what you know, and we go from there.”

Jade swallowed. Her throat was dry. The room felt small, the books like witnesses. Outside, campus life moved on, indifferent. Inside, a quiet war was beginning, and she had been slammed into its center.

The silence in Kelvin’s office was suffocating. The room, lined with thick bookshelves and dimly lit by a single Victorian-style lamp, seemed to absorb Jade’s breathing. She sat stiffly on the edge of a leather chair, her eyes darting across the strange arcane symbols etched into the wooden floor beneath her feet.

“A descendant of a witch?” she echoed in disbelief. “You’re joking, right?”

Kelvin stood with his back turned, facing a cabinet lined with ancient scrolls and metallic charms. His fingers grazed the spine of a thick leather-bound grimoire, his silence louder than any denial.

“Do I look like someone who jokes about magic?” he finally said, turning to face her. “You are the last known bloodline of Kora, one of the Seven who sealed the Veil between realms centuries ago.”

Jade furrowed her brows. “The Veil? Realms? I don’t even know what that means!”

Kelvin sighed and walked toward her, the floor creaking beneath his polished shoes. “The world you know is only one part of reality. The Veil was created to separate the mortal realm from others—the Ethereal, the Infernal, the Forgotten... each one inhabited by beings that should never touch our world.”

“Like that old woman?” Jade asked, her voice trembling. “The one who floated down the dorm steps with hair over her face?”

Kelvin nodded solemnly. “That was a Wraith—guardians of the Veil. They appear only when a breach has occurred... or when a soul is crossing over without permission.”

Jade’s mouth parted. Her thoughts spiraled. Luke. His ghost. The levitation. The voice that told her she didn’t belong. “Is that what happened to Luke? He crossed the Veil?”

Kelvin hesitated. “Luke’s death was no accident, Jade. He was lured into the threshold by a Shadow Caller. They prey on people close to witches’ bloodlines—especially when the witch is unaware of her powers.”

The floor beneath her felt like it was shifting. “Are you saying he died... because of me?”

“You were the target,” Kelvin said softly. “He was collateral damage.”

Tears welled in her eyes. Her hands clenched into trembling fists. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because you weren’t ready,” Kelvin said. “You had to awaken on your own. The mark proves it.”

“Mark?” Jade asked, looking down at herself.

Kelvin extended a hand. “May I?”

She nodded, reluctantly lifting her left sleeve. There, etched into her forearm like a faint birthmark, was a twisting sigil—half moon, half flame, surrounded by a circle of ancient runes.

Jade gasped. “That wasn’t there before.”

“It appeared after your first encounter with the Veil,” Kelvin said. “The mark of Kora. It means the bloodline has reactivated. You’ve been chosen.”

“Chosen for what?” she whispered.

“To either repair the Veil… or watch the realms collide.”

A sudden knock thundered through the air, loud and violent, shaking the very walls. Jade flinched.

Kelvin’s expression darkened. “They found us.”

“Who?” she asked.

“The Kik,” he said. “Ancient witches bound in dwarf form. In their true state, they’re hideous, but they’ve learned to disguise themselves. They serve the Cracked Realm—where time doesn’t move forward or backward.”

Another knock followed, this time accompanied by a whisper so shrill it pierced Jade’s skull.

“Give her to us, Kelvin. She is ours!”

Kelvin grabbed a wooden staff from the wall and slammed its butt to the floor. A barrier of golden light erupted around the office.

“You need to go,” he said urgently. “They can’t breach this shield for long.”

“I’m not leaving without answers!” Jade shouted.

“You want answers?” Kelvin reached into a locked drawer and pulled out a black envelope, sealed with a wax symbol identical to the mark on her arm. “Go to the chapel on campus. Midnight. Alone. Burn this letter at the altar.”

“What will happen?”

He looked her dead in the eye. “Your mother will answer.”

“My mother?” she stuttered. “I’m adopted!”

Kelvin didn’t answer. He handed her the envelope and pointed to the back exit. “Go, now!”

Jade darted through the narrow mysterious hallway—a path created by Kelvin for her escape as the barrier trembled behind her. The knocking grew into pounding. She could hear chanting—ancient, dark, relentless.

She didn’t stop running until she reached her dorm. Lucy isn’t here, thankfully. She slammed the door shut, locked it, and collapsed onto the bed, gasping for air.

Her fingers trembled as she held the envelope. What did he mean her mother would answer? She knew nothing about her adoption—not even a hint from her parents she lived with. But the truth? She was adopted as a baby from a remote village. Her adoptive parents never told her any of it, and until now, she never had a reason to ask.

Jade tucked the envelope into her bag. No matter what, she had to reach the chapel.

Midnight – Kingston Chapel

The campus was eerily silent as Jade approached the chapel. The iron gates creaked open on their own. The chapel, built in 1887, was rarely used. Most students called it haunted and avoided it altogether.

Jade stepped inside, the heavy wooden doors closing behind her. Candles flickered along the pews, though no one had lit them. The air smelled like burnt myrrh and old tears.

She walked to the altar and placed the envelope in a brass bowl. Her heart thundered in her chest.

She struck a match. “Here goes nothing,” she whispered.

The flame caught. As the letter burned, a soft hum began to vibrate through the room. Symbols began to glow on the floor beneath her feet. The air warped. The pews flickered out of existence.

Suddenly, she wasn’t in the chapel anymore.

She stood in a vast void filled with crimson mist. Before her stood a tall woman in a black veil, her hands outstretched.

“Jade…” the woman whispered, her voice echoing like a thousand whispers in one.

“Are you... my real mother?”

The woman removed her veil. Her face mirrored Jade’s—but older, more regal, with eyes that pulsed with moonlight. “I am Kora. One of your ancestress.”

Jade dropped to her knees. “Why me?”

“Because the Veil is cracking,” Kora said. “And only my blood can mend it. You were hidden, protected. But now… the shadows know you live.”

Jade rose to her feet. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Three things,” Kora said. “Unseal your full power. Find the Three Keys of Binding. And do not trust—”

A shadow swept through the mist, cutting Kora off mid-sentence.

“Kora!” Jade shouted.

“Do not trust the—”

The mist collapsed. The woman vanished. She was hoping to see her real mother. Nevertheless, it’s worth it—seeing her ancestress—Kora.

And Jade found herself back in the chapel, alone.

But she wasn’t truly alone.

Behind her, a figure stepped out from the shadows.

Kelvin.

Only... his eyes were glowing red.

“K-Kelvin?”

He smirked. “Did you meet her?”

“What... what just happened?”

“Oh, you’ve only just begun to wake up,” he said with a chuckle. “But I’m afraid this is where the game changes.”

He lifted his hand—and from her bag, the envelope she had burned flew back into his palm, untouched by fire.

Jade’s eyes widened in terror. “What are you?”

Kelvin’s smile widened unnaturally. “A servant of truth... and its destroyer.”

Then the chapel doors slammed shut, and the candles extinguished one by one—until only darkness remained.