Eli barely remembers how he got back inside. One moment, cold fingers and burning words; the next, the echo of his own footsteps as he stumbles down empty stairwells. He doesn't stop until the rooftop door slams shut behind him, cutting off the taste of frost and ash.
The corridors feel too narrow, too bright. His pulse drums in his ears like a warning bell. Every flicker of a passing student makes him flinch — as if Khyro's hand might close around his throat again, or Zyren's voice might purr from some hidden corner.
He finds a forgotten alcove behind the library stacks and sinks down, knees pulled to his chest. He presses a palm over the mark under his collarbone — it burns beneath his touch, like a coal lodged in his skin.
He thinks of Khyro's eyes — empty winter. Zyren's grin — wildfire promising ruin.
He doesn't know which one frightens him more. Or which one calls to him more.
He doesn't hear the footsteps at first — too wrapped up in the hammer of his own heartbeat. But the hush of whispers and a sudden shadow makes him look up.
Celeste stands there, half-bent between the dusty shelves. Her usual clumsy warmth is gone; her face is all sharp edges and worry.
"You're terrible at hiding, Eli," she says, voice soft but unyielding.
He tries to look away but she drops down beside him, her bag thunking onto the stone floor. She nudges his knee with hers until he finally lifts his head.
"They were on the roof, weren't they?" she asks.
Eli swallows, but doesn't lie this time. "Yeah."
"And you didn't run?" There's no judgment in her voice — only disbelief, maybe a little sorrow. "Not even when you knew they'd come for you?"
"I did run," Eli whispers. "Just not fast enough."
Celeste exhales and leans her head on his shoulder. She smells like old books and too-sweet perfume. For a moment, they're just two students hiding from the world — no monsters, no marks, no ancient courts clawing through the veil.
"You know we'll fight them, right?" she says. "No matter what they are."
Eli lets his eyes flutter shut. He wants to believe her — wants to believe in the Fourfold's pact. But in the dark behind his eyelids, he sees fangs bared and claws waiting.
Between the two of them, the mark pulses like a promise.
Somewhere far above, unseen by mortal eyes, Khyro watches from a shadowed rooftop. His breath frosts in the air as he stares at the library's stone walls.
Zyren lounges beside him, perched on the ledge like a cat waiting for a bird to flutter too close.
"You didn't take him tonight," Zyren teases, voice dripping sugar and venom.
Khyro doesn't glance at him. "It's not time."
Zyren hums a laugh that curls like smoke. "Careful, prince. If you wait too long, I might just steal him out from under your cold nose."
The vampire's eyes narrow, and for a moment, the night feels too tight — too sharp, too dangerous.
Below them, Eli shivers — caught between the threads that bind.
Celeste stays with Eli until the lamps flicker on in the old library, shadows pooling between shelves like secrets too heavy to lift. They don't talk about the mark. They don't talk about Khyro or Zyren. Instead, they sit pressed shoulder to shoulder, legs tangled under the tiny study table, pretending that the world outside doesn't exist.
But it does.
And it wants Eli.
Jace finds them first. He appears at the end of the aisle, all sharp lines and rolling eyes, flicking an invisible speck of dust off his coat sleeve.
"You two are pathetic," he drawls, voice echoing off the dusty books. "Huddled like scared kittens in here. You know this place is basically a ghost trap, right?"
Celeste shoots him a glare but doesn't move. Eli tries to stand but Jace plants a palm on his shoulder, pressing him gently back down.
"Sit. Talk," Jace orders. "Or I swear I'll drag you to the Headmaster myself and let him exorcise that smug rune off your chest."
Eli winces. "You'd really rat me out?"
Jace flashes a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "In a heartbeat, Serrano. If it keeps your idiot heart beating."
Liam appears behind Jace, silent as always. He tosses a paper bag on the table — cheap coffee and sandwiches, still warm enough to steam in the cold library air.
"You need to eat," Liam says simply, no room for argument.
Eli's stomach twists — hunger, dread, relief. He peels back the paper and takes a shaky bite. For a moment, the mark under his collarbone stops burning, as if acknowledging the tiny mercy.
The Fourfold settle in — Jace perched backwards on a chair, Liam hunched over his phone, Celeste fussing with Eli's hair, poking at the bruise blossoming under his jaw where Khyro's cold fingers lingered too long.
They look normal. They feel normal.
But above them, tucked into the library's highest window, a pair of cold eyes watches. A flicker of silver hair, a flash of a fang in the moonlight.
Khyro doesn't step inside. He doesn't need to. His gaze alone is enough to tighten the mark on Eli's skin — an invisible chain tugging at a boy too stubborn to run.
And in the shadows near the library garden, Zyren waits too. He hums under his breath, carving tiny runes into the frost-bitten bench with a clawed fingertip. Every line shimmers and vanishes, seeding the earth with whispers that only demons hear.
Back at the table, Celeste finally breaks the quiet. "We need a plan."
Jace snorts. "Plan? Against what? A vampire prince who could bleed us out without blinking? A demon heir who plays with fire for fun?"
Celeste glares. "We've beaten worse."
"Have we?" Liam's voice is gentle, but the question slices through the hope in her tone. He locks eyes with Eli. "Tell us, El. What do they want?"
Eli hesitates. The words taste like poison — like confession and betrayal rolled into one.
"They want me," he whispers. "Or… whatever's inside me."
Jace's fist slams the table so hard Celeste jumps. "Then they'll have to claw through us first."
Outside the window, Khyro's mouth curves — a ghost of a smile. Zyren's laughter curls through the night like smoke.
Between them all, the threads pull tighter.
The cold settles in Eli's bones long before they leave the library. The Fourfold stay until the staff flick the lights on and off — polite, silent threats that they're overstaying their welcome. Jace flips the nearest lamp off with a dramatic flourish before they shuffle out into the courtyard, shoulders brushing, breath misting in the night air.
For a heartbeat, it feels like nothing's changed. Like they're just four students too stubborn to sleep, killing time with cheap coffee and each other's secrets. But the mark under Eli's collarbone pulses — steady, hungry — a reminder that some secrets don't stay buried.
They reach the dorm gates when Liam stops, head cocked like he's listening to something only he can hear. Celeste freezes beside him, her fingers brushing the dagger she keeps tucked in her boot — a habit no one questions anymore.
Jace rolls his eyes but slips his hand into his pocket, knuckles brushing cold steel. Even Eli feels it — that tightening in the air, the way the shadows seem to breathe.
"Tell me you feel that," Liam murmurs.
"I feel it," Celeste says. "Like the ground's humming."
Eli swallows. It's not the ground — it's him. The mark burns brighter now, as if whatever waits in the dark is calling to him through his own skin.
From behind the old fountain, a shape moves — tall, sharp-shouldered, unmistakable. Khyro steps out of the gloom like the night itself opened a door for him. Moonlight drips over his pale hair, catching on the faint glint of silver at his collar.
Celeste bristles. Jace mutters a curse under his breath, stepping in front of Eli before he can even think to move.
Khyro doesn't flinch. He just watches — eyes pinned to Eli, ignoring the others like they're shadows cast by a single flame.
"You're following me," Eli says, voice raw with exhaustion and something else — something traitorous that trembles under his ribs.
"I'm watching," Khyro corrects, tone soft enough that only Eli hears. "You wander too close to things that want you broken."
Celeste laughs — brittle, angry. "And you're not one of them?"
Khyro's eyes flick to her, then back to Eli, dismissing her with a coldness that makes Jace's fists tighten.
"You should be resting," Khyro murmurs to Eli, softer now, like a lullaby carved in ice. "You're not ready for what's coming."
"And whose fault is that?" Eli spits back. "You marked me. You dragged me into this."
A flicker — regret or something like it. Khyro doesn't answer.
Jace steps forward, shoving Eli behind him so fast Eli stumbles.
"You don't get to touch him again," Jace snarls, voice low but shaking with rage. "Next time you do, you'll lose that pretty face of yours, bloodsucker."
Khyro tilts his head, amused — if he's threatened, it doesn't show. But before he can speak, a slow clap echoes from the dorm's iron gate.
Zyren leans there, lounging like a serpent coiled in silk and shadow. His grin slices through the dark like a blade dipped in honey.
"Play nice, prince," Zyren purrs, voice curling around Eli's name like a promise. "We wouldn't want your precious mortal too bruised before the fun starts."
Jace snarls something Eli doesn't catch — because all he hears is Zyren's laugh, Khyro's silence, and the way the mark under his skin flares — hot, hungry, alive.
Between the Fourfold, the Crimson Court, and the Infernal Triad — the threads tangle tighter.
And Eli? Eli feels every pull.
Eli's world narrows to the space between Khyro and Zyren — frost and fire in a tug-of-war with his heartbeat as the prize. The courtyard, the lamps, the cold wind rustling through iron gates — they fade until all that's left is the mark burning beneath his collar.
Celeste steps closer, slipping between Eli and Zyren like a living shield. Her small hand fists around the hilt of her boot knife, eyes burning with a rare fury that makes even Jace pause.
"Touch him," she snaps at Zyren, voice trembling but unbroken, "and I swear I'll gut you like the stray dog you are."
Zyren's grin widens — fang-tip glint, voice honey-sweet. "Such sharp little teeth, princess. Does your mortal prince know you'd bleed for him this much?"
He takes a lazy step forward — but Jace is already moving, half a breath ahead, slipping between Zyren and Celeste with a snarl. Liam's hands hover over Eli's shoulders, steady, silent — a promise of unspoken magic coiled tight beneath his calm.
Khyro's gaze never leaves Eli. He says nothing while the Fourfold bristle, while Zyren's laughter dances across the stones. His silence says more than words: Choose.
But how can Eli choose when every part of him feels split open — fangs gnawing at one side of his soul, claws raking the other? How can he choose when all he wants is to shut his eyes and wake up in a world where none of this is real?
"I won't go with either of you," Eli says suddenly. The words taste like iron, scraping past fear. "I don't belong to you."
Zyren clicks his tongue, mocking disappointment. "Sweetheart, you never had a choice."
Khyro steps forward — slow, deliberate, boots crunching over dead leaves scattered by the wind. He stops so close Eli can taste the chill radiating from him.
"Your friends can't protect you forever," Khyro says quietly, not a threat but a promise carved in frost. "The veil is thinning. The mark will pull you through. And when it does—"
"He won't be alone," Celeste cuts in, voice fierce as steel. "Not while we stand."
Khyro looks at her — really looks — and for a heartbeat, something cold and ancient flickers behind his eyes. Respect. Or maybe regret.
Zyren lets out a bark of laughter that breaks the spell. "Touching. Truly. I almost want to let you keep pretending this mortal fight matters."
He sweeps his gaze over the Fourfold — dismissive, hungry, curious all at once. His eyes linger on Eli last. Too long. Like he's tasting him from the inside out.
Then Zyren steps back, shadows curling around his boots like black mist. He lifts two fingers in a mock salute.
"Keep him warm for me, little heroes. I like my mortals tender."
He fades into the dark — not walking, not running — just gone, like smoke blown off a candle flame.
Khyro doesn't follow. He stands there a moment longer, eyes locked on Eli's. Cold meets warmth. Hunter meets heartbeat. For a breath, the courtyard holds its breath with him.
"Stay alive," Khyro says — just two words, soft and cold as falling snow.
Then he too turns, coat sweeping behind him like a dying star's shadow. And he's gone — leaving only frost where his boots touched stone.
The Fourfold stand together in the courtyard's hush, breath misting in the cold night air. Jace still has his hand half-raised, Celeste's knife is trembling in her grip. Liam's steady presence is the only thing anchoring them to now.
Eli's mark flares once — sharp, searing — then goes quiet.
He wonders which is worse — the monsters in the dark, or the monsters waiting in his chest.