Marcus
Something felt off.
Not in the loud, obvious way my nightmares did.
Not like the dreams that left me gasping in bed or the flashes that made the world tilt under my feet.
This was quieter.
Subtle.
Like stepping into your room and realizing someone had moved something by an inch.
Small enough that no one else would notice.
Big enough that you couldn't ignore it.
I felt it the second I stepped onto the field.
The cold January air bit at my face, sharp enough to sting my lungs, but that wasn't what made me stop.
It was the stillness.
The bleachers were empty, dusted with a thin layer of snow. A few guys were already out on the turf, kicking the ball around and laughing like always. Their voices carried easily in the open air.
Everything looked normal.
So why did it feel like something was wrong?
I adjusted the strap of my bag and scanned the field again.
The goalposts.
The benches.
The tree line beyond the fence.
Nothing.
And yet, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
Like eyes were on me.
Watching.
Waiting.
I let out a slow breath and forced myself to move.
"You're tired," I muttered under my breath. "That's all."
But even as I said it, I knew I didn't believe it.
Because the feeling didn't fade.
If anything, it grew heavier with every step.
"Yo. You good?"
Noah's voice cut through my thoughts.
I looked up.
He was leaning against the locker beside mine, already changed, towel slung over one shoulder like he was starring in some sports ad.
But his expression wasn't teasing.
His brows were pulled together slightly.
Like he'd been watching me longer than I realized.
"Yeah," I said, maybe too quickly. "Why?"
He shrugged, but his eyes stayed on me.
"You've been weird all day."
I snorted softly and pulled my jersey over my head.
"I'm always weird."
"Not like this."
Something in the way he said it made me pause.
Noah wasn't the type to push unless he meant it.
For half a second, I thought about telling him.
About the dreams.
The bracelet.
The thing in the woods.
Instead, I forced a grin.
"Relax, captain. I'm fine."
He looked like he wanted to argue.
But Coach Reynolds saved me.
"Field. Now!"
Noah gave me one last look.
Then shook his head.
"Fine. But if you collapse, I'm not carrying you."
"You couldn't if you tried."
He scoffed. "Rude."
For a second, I almost laughed.
Almost.
Practice started like it always did.
Warm-ups.
Stretching.
Coach barking instructions like oxygen personally offended him.
At first, it helped.
The familiar rhythm of it.
The sting of cold air in my lungs.
The sound of cleats cutting across turf.
The weight of the ball at my feet.
For a little while, my body took over.
Run.
Pass.
Move.
Breathe.
It grounded me.
Anchored me in something real.
Then—
Heat flared across my wrist.
Sharp enough to make me jerk.
The ball clipped the side of my foot and rolled past me.
"Cole!" Greg called from across the field. "You sleepwalking?"
A couple guys laughed.
"Yeah," I called automatically, though my voice sounded tight even to me.
I bent slightly, pretending to adjust my sock.
But really, I was staring at my wrist.
The bracelet.
It looked exactly the same.
Dark metal. Plain. Familiar.
Nothing special.
And yet—
The skin beneath it felt hot.
Not warm.
Burning.
Like the bracelet had come alive against my pulse.
My throat tightened.
Slowly, I rubbed my thumb across the metal.
The heat faded.
But not completely.
It was still there.
Lingering.
Like it had reacted to something.
Or someone.
A whistle blew.
Coach shouted at us to reset.
I swallowed hard and forced myself back into position.
It's nothing.
You're imagining it.
That's what I told myself.
That lasted all of ten minutes.
Because the second time—
Was worse.
We were halfway through passing drills when the heat came back.
Violent this time.
A sharp, searing pulse shot through my wrist and up my arm.
My breath caught.
My vision flickered.
And suddenly—
The field was gone.
In its place:
Darkness.
Chains.
Massive black chains, thick as tree trunks, stretched across a void I couldn't understand.
Wrapped around something.
Something huge.
Something moving.
A low metallic groan echoed through the dark.
Like whatever was chained there had just shifted.
My heart slammed painfully against my ribs.
Then—
The whistle blew.
And the world snapped back.
The field returned in a rush of sound.
Cold wind.
Shouts.
The smell of grass and sweat.
I stumbled backward, nearly losing my balance.
"Marcus."
Noah was already moving toward me.
I held up a hand before he could reach me.
"I'm fine."
The lie came automatically now.
But this time, even I could hear how weak it sounded.
Noah's face tightened.
"You don't look fine."
"I'm just dizzy."
"Then sit out."
"I said I'm good."
The edge in my voice surprised both of us.
Noah blinked.
Then nodded slowly.
"Okay."
But the way he looked at me said he wasn't letting this go.
Not later.
Not ever.
Coach called practice early because the temperature was dropping too fast.
Normally, everyone would've cheered.
Today, I barely heard him.
My focus was on one thing:
My wrist.
The bracelet wasn't burning anymore.
But it didn't feel normal either.
It felt…
awake.
That was the only word for it.
Like it was waiting.
For what, I didn't know.
I grabbed my bag and headed toward the parking lot.
The sky was already turning gray, the sun sinking behind bare trees.
My breath came out in sharp white clouds.
And then—
That feeling came back.
Stronger than before.
I slowed.
Every instinct in me screamed that something was wrong.
Cars lined the lot.
Students climbed into backseats or yelled goodbye across rows of parked cars.
Everything looked ordinary.
But the air felt thick.
Heavy.
Like the whole world was holding its breath.
I wasn't alone.
I knew it.
"Marcus."
I spun at the sound of my name.
Callie stood a few feet away.
Hands tucked into the sleeves of her coat.
Snowflakes caught in her hair.
For one strange second, the pressure in my chest eased.
The noise around us faded.
It was just her.
"Hey," I said, trying for normal.
"You're leaving already?"
She nodded toward the field.
"Practice ended early."
"Too cold."
She smiled faintly.
But her eyes—
They weren't on me.
They were locked on my wrist.
My stomach tightened.
"You okay?" she asked softly.
The question sounded heavier than it should have.
Like she was asking more than she was saying.
"Yeah," I said.
Lie.
Her gaze lifted slowly to mine.
"You should be careful."
The words hit harder than the cold.
"Careful of what?"
She hesitated.
I saw it happen.
That split second where she almost told me something real.
Then she stepped back behind the wall she always hid behind.
"Nothing," she said with a small smile. "Things have just been… weird."
Weird.
I almost laughed.
That was one word for it.
Before I could answer—
The bracelet burned.
Hard.
A gasp tore out of me before I could stop it.
My hand clamped over my wrist instantly.
This wasn't heat.
This was fire.
The parking lot warped.
The air twisted.
The edges of the world darkened like someone had poured ink over reality.
And then—
I saw him.
Across the lot.
At the far edge near the trees.
Tall.
Still.
Watching.
Red eyes glowing like embers in the dark.
Locked on mine.
Every part of me went cold.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Like some buried part of me already knew exactly what I was looking at.
Then—
The world snapped back.
The cold slammed into me.
Car doors.
Voices.
Snow.
Everything returned at once.
My breath came in sharp bursts.
My hand still gripped the bracelet so tightly my fingers hurt.
"Marcus!"
Callie's voice sounded far away.
Panicked.
I looked up.
The spot near the trees was empty.
Nothing there.
No figure.
No eyes.
No proof.
But the feeling stayed.
Heavy.
Certain.
This time, there was no denying it.
No pretending.
No convincing myself I imagined it.
Whatever was out there—
It was real.
And it was getting closer.