Until the Blood Runs Cold

The first thing I noticed when I walked into the lecture hall was that everyone was staring at me. Not the usual kind of staring. Not because I was late. Not because I had accidentally walked into the wrong class. It was something quieter than that—something uncomfortable. I stopped at the entrance and looked around. A hundred students, and somehow the entire room had gone silent. “What?” No one answered. Then the professor cleared his throat and looked down at his tablet. “You’re Avery?” “Yes.” His expression changed for half a second. “Sit down.” I frowned but walked toward the nearest empty seat. The second I sat, my phone vibrated. Unknown number. Leave campus. Now. I stared at the message. A second one appeared. Do not go home either. I almost laughed. Someone was messing with me. Probably one of the idiots from my class. I locked my phone and shoved it into my bag. “Everything okay?” The girl beside me was whispering. “Yeah.” “You sure?” “Yeah.” She hesitated before leaning closer. “You really don’t know?” I looked at her. “Know what?” Before she could answer, the classroom door opened. The man who walked in didn’t look like he belonged at a university. He was older than everyone else in the room, dressed completely in black, with the kind of calm that made the room feel smaller around him. He didn’t look at the professor. He didn’t look at the students. His eyes went directly to me. And stayed there. My stomach tightened. I had never seen him before. At least, I thought I hadn’t. He walked toward me without saying a word. I instinctively stood. “Can I help you?” He stopped in front of me. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then his gaze dropped to the small silver necklace around my neck. Something in his expression changed. Recognition. Not surprise. Recognition. He looked back into my eyes. “Take it off.” I frowned. “Excuse me?” “The necklace.” I touched it instinctively. “No.” His jaw tightened. “You don’t understand what you’re wearing.” “And you don’t understand that I don’t take jewelry off because random men tell me to.” A few students looked away, suddenly very interested in their desks. The man leaned slightly closer. His voice dropped. “My name is Cassian.” I waited. Nothing. Apparently he expected the name to mean something. “It doesn’t ring a bell,” I said. For the first time, something almost resembling amusement touched his face. “No,” he said quietly. “I imagine it wouldn’t.” Then he straightened. “Your father should have told you.” My expression changed. “What does my father have to do with you?” Cassian didn’t answer. He simply turned and walked out. I stood there, staring after him. My phone vibrated again. Another message. This time, there was no warning. Just a photograph. It was old. Grainy. Taken at night. I recognized the place immediately. My house. But the people standing in front of it were strangers. Except for one. My father. And beside him stood Cassian. The date in the corner of the photograph was twenty-three years ago. My blood ran cold. I looked toward the door. Cassian was gone. And for the first time in my life, I realized something terrifying. There were parts of my father’s life that he had never told me about. And somehow, Cassian had just walked into mine to collect a debt I didn’t even know existed.