The Alphas and the Girl Who Sees Death

Cassia's POV I hated my life. There wasn't a single part of it that I could honestly say I enjoyed anymore, and if someone had asked me what I wanted most in the world, my answer would have been painfully simple. I wanted to die. I wanted everything to end so I could finally stop pretending that I belonged in a world that had never once made room for someone like me. Every morning I woke up wishing I hadn't, and every night I closed my eyes hoping I wouldn't have to do it all over again the next day. If ending my own life had been my choice, I would have made that decision a long time ago, but fate was cruel enough to deny me even that. It kept dragging me forward whether I wanted it to or not, forcing me to continue living among humans and supernaturals while carrying a curse that made me more of a monster than either of them. They all had their strange gifts and abilities, but mine was different. Mine didn't save lives. It only reminded me that death was always waiting, and as if that wasn't enough punishment already, my father had somehow found a way to make my miserable life even worse. He knew better than anyone how much I hated change. I hated unfamiliar places, unfamiliar faces, and conversations that lasted longer than necessary. He knew all of that, yet the moment he finally married the woman he'd been cheating on my mother with for years, he didn't hesitate. His new wife wasted no time convincing him that I didn't belong in their perfect little family, and instead of acting like a father, he packed me off to my maternal grandmother's house several states away without asking what I wanted. Just like that, my life was uprooted, and my final year of high school, which should have been spent somewhere familiar, was now going to happen in a place I'd never been before, surrounded by strangers who would undoubtedly try to talk to me. The thought alone made my stomach twist into painful knots. I stood outside the massive gates of Blackthorn Academy, staring up at the towering buildings that stretched into the sky. The school looked more like an expensive university than a high school. The brick walls were spotless, the windows reflected the sunlight, and students walked through the courtyard laughing with friends as though life had never given them a reason to be miserable. Too bad I couldn't relate. My backpack suddenly felt heavier than it had a few seconds earlier, and I let out what was probably the longest, most frustrated sigh of my life. My grandmother had tried encouraging me before dropping me off, insisting that a fresh start might be exactly what I needed, but there was no such thing as a fresh start for someone like me. My curse didn't care where I lived. It didn't disappear just because I crossed state lines. Death would always find me, and I would always find death. Walking into a classroom full of strangers sounded terrifying enough already, but that wasn't even what scared me the most. People assumed quiet girls like me were simply shy or lacked confidence, but that wasn't true. I wasn't afraid of being laughed at or bullied, and I wasn't really scared of embarrassing myself. What terrified me was making eye contact because looking at someone for even a second carried the risk of seeing something I could never unsee. Death. That was my curse. Whenever someone was close to dying, I saw it. Not as a person carrying a scythe or wearing a black cloak like the stories claimed. What I saw was far worse. It was a living shadow that clung to people like smoke, feeding on the light around them until nothing remained. Sometimes it was faint, almost transparent, meaning death was still far away, but other times it was thick and hungry, wrapping itself around its victim as though counting down the final hours. When I was younger, I thought my ability was a blessing from the gods. I believed they had chosen me because they wanted me to save people, so I spent years trying. I warned strangers, begged people not to travel, cried until my throat burned, and even lied when I had to if I thought it would keep someone alive, but none of it ever worked. Death didn't negotiate. It didn't care how much I screamed or how desperately I prayed. Ten years ago, I saw that horrible shadow standing behind my mother while she smiled at me across our kitchen table. I remembered every detail as though it had happened yesterday. The shadow had slowly wrapped around her shoulders while the warmth disappeared from her eyes bit by bit. I had cried so hard that day, clinging to her clothes and begging her not to leave the house. She thought I was simply having a childish tantrum. She kissed my forehead, promised she'd be home before dinner, and drove away. She never came back, and after that day, I stopped believing my gift had any purpose beyond making me suffer. Another sigh escaped me before I forced my feet to move. Standing outside wasn't going to change anything. The sooner I got through the first day, the sooner I could go back home and lock myself inside my room. I adjusted my backpack, lowered my head, and walked into the school building without looking at anyone around me. That had become my survival method over the years. Keep my head down, don't make eye contact, and don't give death the opportunity to show itself. Before classes began, I'd already been emailed everything I needed to know. My locker number, my class schedule, my teachers, and even a digital map of the building. All I had to do was find my locker, collect the books waiting inside, and head straight to my classroom without accidentally seeing something that would ruin my entire day. It sounded easy enough, but nothing in my life had ever been easy. I counted each locker number under my breath while staring only at the metal doors in front of me, refusing to glance at the students walking through the hallway. Their conversations mixed together into meaningless noise until suddenly everything stopped with a painful thud. My forehead slammed into something solid. The impact made me stumble backward while a terrible ache spread across my head. I rubbed the sore spot with one hand before slowly lifting my eyes, and standing directly in front of me was a boy who looked like he'd walked out of some fantasy novel. He was ridiculously tall, easily towering over me by more than a foot, with broad shoulders that stretched the fabric of his school uniform. His dark hair fell carelessly over his forehead, and his face was unfairly handsome in a way that almost didn't seem real. What caught my attention the most, though, were his eyes. One was a deep, striking red while the other was a bright, icy blue. Heterochromia? I had never seen anyone like him before. For one brief second I completely forgot how to breathe, but then I noticed it. The shadow. It was hanging over his head like thick black smoke, darker than any I'd seen in years. It curled around his body with terrifying hunger, reaching toward him as though it couldn't wait to claim him. The light around him seemed weaker than everyone else's, disappearing little by little every second I stared. My chest tightened so painfully that I almost forgot where I was. No. No, no, no. This wasn't supposed to happen on my very first day. Judging by how aggressive the shadow looked, he didn't have long. Hours at best, but definitely less than a day, and the realization made my stomach drop. He frowned down at me, obviously confused by the way I continued staring. "Are you planning on standing there forever," he asked, his deep voice pulling me back to reality, "or are you going to move?" I blinked several times before my brain finally started working again. "S-sorry," I muttered awkwardly, immediately stepping aside. My cheeks burned with embarrassment while I watched him walk past me without another word. I should have let him go. That was what I'd promised myself before entering the building. Mind my own business, ignore whatever I see, and live quietly. Every single time I tried warning someone, they either laughed at me, insulted me, or looked at me with pity before dying anyway. Nothing ever changed, and I knew that better than anyone, yet my feet refused to stay still. I stared at his back as he disappeared farther down the hallway, and before I could stop myself, I started running after him. He walked so fast that my shorter legs struggled to catch up. Students moved aside as I squeezed past them, earning several annoyed looks that I ignored completely. By the time I finally reached him, I was breathing so heavily my lungs felt like they were on fire. I hurried around him and planted myself directly in his path, and he stopped immediately, looking down at me with an expression that mixed confusion with obvious suspicion. I probably looked insane. My hair had fallen into my face, my breathing was uneven, and I was standing in front of a complete stranger after chasing him halfway through the hallway. Even I would have thought I was crazy. He opened his mouth, probably about to ask what my problem was, but I didn't give him the chance. "You're going to die." The words escaped before I could stop them, and silence settled between us almost instantly. His eyebrows pulled together, and whatever confusion had been on his face a second earlier turned into complete disbelief. "What the hell are you talking about?" I squeezed my hands together so tightly that my nails dug into my palms. This was exactly why I hated opening my mouth. Nobody ever believed me, they never saw what I saw. They only heard a random girl making insane predictions. I should have walked away, I should have apologized and pretended I'd lost my mind, but instead, I looked directly into his mismatched eyes and forced myself to say the words I already knew I would regret. "You have less than twenty-four hours left to live," I whispered, my voice shaking despite every effort to keep it steady. "And... your death is going to be brutal.”