Seraphina’s POV

"Ugh. It’s so bright," I groan.

Morning light burns through my eyelids like punishment from the universe itself. I groan and roll over, burying my face deeper into my pillow, hoping—stupidly—that if I ignore the light long enough it will go away.

It doesn’t.

Instead, the silence of the room presses in around me.

Too quiet.

My hand drags across the nightstand, blindly searching for my phone. Books shift, a pencil clatters to the floor, and finally my fingers close around smooth glass.

The screen lights up and my stomach drops.

Ten minutes late.

My alarm sits there on the screen in silent betrayal, smug and useless.

“Crap.”

The word barely escapes my mouth before I’m scrambling out of bed.

The blanket tangles around my legs as I lurch forward, nearly face-planting onto the hardwood floor. My heart is already racing—faster than it should for something as simple as being late for class.

Because it isn’t just that.

It’s the dream. The image clings stubbornly to the edges of my mind.

A door of black iron, cold to the touch and seems ancient.

There was something behind it whispering my name.

Seraphina.

My skin prickles.

I shake my head hard as if that alone can dislodge the memory.

“It was just a dream,” I mutter.

But my voice sounds less convinced than I’d like.

I yank open my closet.

Clothes hang in a chaotic mess—hoodies, jeans, dresses I never wear, and the occasional thing I bought during a moment of optimism that I’d somehow become a different person overnight.

Today is not that day.

I grab the first things I see. A black knit sweater and ripped shorts.

Good enough.

I drag them on quickly, hopping on one foot while trying to shove my leg through the second short. My reflection stares back at me from the mirror—brown hair in complete chaos, dark circles under my eyes, and an expression that screams barely functioning human being.

Another night of restless dreams.

Another morning pretending everything is normal.

I run a brush through my hair, wincing as it snags.

“Great,” I mumble. “Fantastic start.”

My backpack goes over one shoulder as I bolt out of my room and down the stairs two at a time, struggling to buckle the strap on my boot as I go.

“Mom?” I call.

The living room answers with silence. When I step into the room, I see her immediately. She’s asleep on the couch, still wearing her hospital scrubs.

Something in my chest tightens at the sight.

Her brown hair is messy, and one arm is draped across her face like she collapsed mid-breath. A half-empty mug of coffee sits on the table beside her, long gone cold.

She’s been pulling double shifts again.

I move closer, careful not to wake her.

“Mom,” I whisper.

She doesn’t stir.

Her breathing is slow and deep, the kind of exhausted sleep that comes from pushing yourself far past your limits.

I lean down and press a light kiss to her forehead.

“I’m heading out,” I whisper.

She doesn’t wake.

For a moment I just stand there, watching her. Guilt settles in my stomach like a stone. Mom works herself half to death just to keep things together. And Dad…

My grip tightens around the strap of my backpack.

For weeks now his “business trips” have been getting longer. His explanations thinner. The way he avoids eye contact when he finally comes home. Even thinner.

I know something’s wrong. I just don’t know what. And honestly, I’m afraid to find out.

I push the thought away.

I can’t deal with that right now.

I slip out the front door and close it behind me. Cold morning air hits my face. And right on cue—A bright red sports car screeches to a stop beside the curb.

The passenger window rolls down. Paige leans across the seat with a grin that looks dangerously close to criminal.

“Get in, loser,” she announces. “We’re racing the clock.”

Despite everything, I laugh. Only Paige could make near-tardiness sound like a sport. I jog over and slide into the passenger seat just as she slams the gas. The car rockets down the street.

“Whoa!” I grab the dashboard. “You’re going to kill us!”

“Relax,” Paige says. “I drive better under pressure.”

“That doesn’t inspire confidence!”

She shoots me a quick grin before glancing sideways. “Rough morning?”

I rub my temple. “You could say that.”

“Nightmares again?”

I glance at her.

Paige always knows. We’ve been best friends long enough that she can read me like a book.

“Yeah,” I admit quietly.

She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “You know you’re not alone, right?”

My chest softens a little. “I know.”

The drive is short but chaotic, filled mostly with Paige’s animated storytelling. Apparently, she tried baking cookies last night and nearly burned down her entire kitchen.

“I swear the oven just exploded,” she insists.

“You set the timer for two hours,” I point out.

“It said two!”

“It said two hundred degrees.”

Paige waves a dismissive hand. “Details.”

By the time we pull onto campus, I’m actually laughing.

Osyluth University rises before us like something pulled straight out of another century. Tall gothic towers pierce the morning sky. Dark stone walls stretch across sprawling green lawns.Massive arched windows stare down like watchful eyes.

Even in daylight, the place feels old. Ancient, like the buildings have seen far more than they should have.

Paige pulls up beside Cerberus Hall.

“Try not to get cursed in art class,” she says.

“No promises.”

Before I can say anything else, she speeds away. I watch the red car disappear before turning toward the building. Cerberus Hall looms above me. Massive stone doors. Carved pillars. The kind of architecture that makes you feel small.

The hallway inside swallows the sound of the door closing behind me. My footsteps echo across the stone floor. I pull out my schedule; Intro to Drawing Fundamentals, room 214.

I start down the hallway and that’s when I see it. A wooden splintered around the edges. It doesn’t match anything else in the building. Everything here is stone and steel. This looks… forgotten.

Across the center, carved deep into the wood, are two words.

KEEP OUT

My stomach tightens. I should ignore it, go to class, and be normal. But something deep inside me stirs. An intense pull. Curiosity mixed with something harder to name. Before I realize what, I’m doing, my hand closes around the rusted knob.

The door creaks open and cold air spills out. A staircase descends into darkness.

My pulse pounds in my ears.

I pull out my phone and turn on the flashlight.

“Just a quick look,” I whisper to myself.

The stairs groan under every step.

The deeper I go, the colder the air becomes. My breath fogs. At the bottom sits another door with a large pentagram carved into its center. Faint orange light flickers beneath the crack.

My instincts scream at me to turn around.

Instead—I open it.

The door groans inward. And I step into a place that looks like hell itself. Chains stretch across the stone chamber. Torches flicker along the walls. The air smells like smoke and iron.

At the far wall—Something moves.

My breath stops.

A man is chained to the stone. But not a man.

Not completely.

Massive golden horns curve from his forehead. His bare chest rises with each breath; muscles tense beneath scarred skin.

Red-hot shackles bind his wrists to iron rings in the wall. The chains glow like molten lava.

Then his head lifts.

Golden eyes snap open. They lock onto mine.

And suddenly—I can’t breathe.

Something passes between us, deeper and dangerous.

“Wait.” His voice is rough. Low like gravel dragged across velvet. “Don’t leave.”

Every instinct in my body screams at me to run.

Instead—I take a step forward.

“Please,” he breathes. The word sounds painful. “I’ve been here… a very long time.”

My heart pounds violently. “What are you?”

A faint smile touches his lips. “Not what your world would call safe.”

Something in his voice sends a shiver down my spine. Yet I keep walking. The iron shackles glow against his skin.

Dangerous. Deadly, even.

I should walk away.

Instead—I grab the first shackle.

Agony explodes through my palm. But I pull anyway. The metal screams. Then snaps. The first chain crashes to the floor. His shoulders slump slightly. Relief flashes across his face. I free the second and final shackle falls.

For a moment he doesn’t move.

Then, slowly… he stands.

And gods—He’s huge.

Towering over me. The air around him feels heavier somehow. He studies me with unsettling intensity. Then he steps closer.

Too close.

“You freed me,” his voice lowers. “Do you have any idea what that means for you?”

I swallow. “No.”

“You will.” He tilts his head. “What is your name, brave little human?”

“Seraphina.”

He repeats it. “Seraphina.”

My name sounds different in his voice almost reverent.

“I am Lucas,” he says. His golden eyes darken with something ancient. “Lord of Pride.”

The title hangs in the air like thunder.

My heart stumbles.

“Are you a devil?”

“Among other things.” He steps closer.

I should be terrified. Instead, my pulse flutters for an entirely different reason. His gaze drifts down my face as if studying and calculating me.

“You are either incredibly brave,” he murmurs, “or dangerously naive.”

“Maybe both.”

That earns his low and sinful laugh.

“I like you, Seraphina.” His hand lifts, fingers gliding over my cheek.

My skin burns where he touches me. It wasn't painful, just something far more curious.

“You freed me,” he whispers. “That makes you very important to me.”

My watch buzzes.

I glance down and panic explodes.

“Oh no.”

Lucas raises an eyebrow.

“I’m late for class!” I sling my backpack over my shoulder and sprint toward the stairs.

Behind me, Lucas chuckles. “You think you can run away from a devil you’ve just freed?”

I reach the top of the stairs and glance behind me.

"The devil is gone." I sign with relief.

But as I step into the hallway, warmth curls along the back of my neck.

“I will be seeing you soon, Seraphina.” He whispers in my ear.

A chill slides down my spine. Because somehow… I know he’s telling the truth.

I spin around.

He's gone.

Yet my shadow on the stone wall… moves a second too late.