“Hands up!” a man’s voice barked, cold and commanding. “Turn around. Slowly.”

Every muscle in my body tensed, but I obeyed, turning slowly to face the source of the voice. A man stepped out from behind a tree, his rugged face partially hidden beneath the brim of a worn hat. The barrel of his gun was steady, trained on me with unnerving precision.

“Anne?” he said suddenly, his tone shifting as recognition flickered in his eyes. He lowered the gun slightly.

My brow furrowed as I stared at him, my mind racing. “You... I’ve seen you before,” I whispered, realization dawning like a distant echo. “You’re from my dreams. You are Alistair, right?”

His eyes narrowed, studying me intently. “The little girl brought you here, didn’t she?” he asked, his voice wary.

I nodded, unable to form words.

He sighed and motioned for me to follow him. “Come with me. Quickly.”

I hesitated, glancing around, but there was no other choice. Reluctantly, I trailed after him. The trees gave way to a clearing, where a small, weathered house stood, nearly swallowed by the forest. The man ushered me inside, drawing the curtains and motioning for me to sit.

The room was sparse but tidy, with a small table, a worn armchair, and a kettle steaming on the stove. He poured a cup of tea and handed it to me. “I know why you’re here,” he said, settling into the armchair. “Ask your questions, one at a time.”

My heart thundered in my chest. “Why did I see you in my dreams?”

His expression darkened, and his grip tightened on the armrest. “Dreams? So she found you earlier than I thought.”

“She?” I pressed, leaning forward. “Who are you talking about? The little girl?”

He nodded grimly. “She’s... connected to you in ways I don’t fully understand.”

I swallowed hard. “Then, do you know who I truly am?”

The weight of the question hung between us, heavy and suffocating. He sighed, the lines on his face deepening. “What I can tell you is this: you’re an arcanios.”

The word felt foreign on my tongue. “Arcanios?” I repeated, confusion knitting my brow.

“In this world, arcanios are those born with special powers,” he explained, his eyes sharp, studying my reaction.

A wave of fear and excitement surged through me, clashing within like a storm threatening to consume me. My breath quickened, and my hands clenched involuntarily at my sides as I locked my gaze onto him. I searched his face for any sign of deception, any crack in the facade that might give away a lie. His expression remained composed, but the intensity in his eyes hinted at the weight of something monumental, something I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.

The silence between us stretched thin, taut with unspoken truths. Then, as if summoned by the tension, a faint whisper stirred in the back of my mind. It was the same eerie echo I had felt during the invasion of the Red Fox lair—a fleeting voice threading through the chaos, impossible to ignore.

The memory prickled at my senses, sharp and unrelenting, as the whisper grew clearer, more insistent. The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them, unbidden and raw.

“Is Dale your son?”

The question hung in the air like a crack of thunder, electrifying the space between us.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. His expression flickered—shock, pain, and something deeper flashed across his face before he quickly schooled it into neutrality. But it was too late; the truth was already written there.

He inhaled sharply, a sound that spoke volumes. “How did you—” He broke off, his words halting mid-sentence as realization dawned in his eyes. “So, you’ve awakened your akiham.”

The confirmation sent a chill down my spine. I swallowed hard, the weight of the moment pressing down on me.

“At first, I didn’t understand it,” I admitted, my voice trembling as the words tumbled out. They felt fragile, as though speaking them aloud might shatter something inside me. “Everything was chaos—so much noise, so much pain. But once things calmed down... I realized I could read minds.”

I glanced up at him, searching his face for any sign of judgment, but his expression remained unreadable.

The memories surged forward, unbidden and vivid. “It started after the Red Fox raid,” I said, my voice quieter now. “Seth’s... Seth’s torture. It broke something inside me. He pushed me so far, I thought I wouldn’t survive. And maybe... maybe I didn’t. Not completely.”

I hesitated, taking a shaky breath. The words were difficult to form, but I needed to say them. “Something else awakened that night. Something I didn’t understand. I couldn’t even begin to process it—there was too much happening, too much trauma clouding my senses.”

The room felt stifling, the memories pressing down on me like a weight I couldn’t shake. I gripped the armrest of the chair, my knuckles white. “It wasn’t until I was safe in Harold’s mansion, when everything finally slowed down, that I started to notice it. The whispers.”

His brow furrowed, but he said nothing, letting me continue.

“They weren’t voices, exactly,” I explained, struggling to put the sensation into words. “More like... echoes. Silent, but there. At first, I thought I was imagining things. I told myself it was the trauma, my mind playing tricks on me. But it wasn’t.”

I met his gaze, my own filled with a mix of fear and wonder. “I’ve been trying to come to terms with it, to understand what’s happening to me. I thought I was losing my mind, but I wasn’t. Those whispers... they’re real. They’re thoughts. Other people’s thoughts.”

The silence that followed was thick, heavy with unspoken emotions. Slowly, I unclenched my hands, forcing myself to breathe, to steady the trembling in my chest. “This is my new reality,” I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. “And I’m still trying to figure out how to live with it.”

He nodded, his expression softening into something that looked like sorrow—and pride. “Yes,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Dale is my son. But I haven’t seen him since he was five. Our oath to protect you meant he had to watch over you, from a distance.”

His words sent a fresh wave of confusion crashing over me. The pieces were beginning to fall into place, but the picture they formed only raised more questions.

“Why do I need protection?” I asked, my voice tinged with frustration. “Who are we hiding from?”

His expression shifted suddenly, urgency replacing the calm. “It’s time for you to wake up,” he said, his voice sharper now, more commanding.

Before I could react, he reached out and shoved me.

The world spun violently, and when I blinked, the room was gone.

I stumbled forward, catching myself on what felt like scorched wood. The air around me was thick with ash and smoke, and the acrid smell of charred timber stung my nostrils. I was standing in the remnants of a burned-out house, the walls blackened and crumbling.

“Anne!”

The voice startled me, and I turned sharply, my heart hammering in my chest.

A man stood there, tall and imposing, with blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. He wore a sheriff’s uniform, the badge on his chest gleaming faintly in the dim light.

“Who are you?” I asked, my voice trembling with equal parts fear and confusion.

His eyes met mine, steady and unwavering, as he took a step closer. “I’m Sheriff Donovan Hale,” he said simply, his voice calm but firm.