Crossing the threshold felt like dragging a heavy shadow. It was like a wounded animal, bitter and too slow to forget. My body ached with tension, each step a quiet battle. This pain wasn't something you could bandage. It was deep, sharp, and silent, lodged in the heart.

In the kitchen, Dylan was cooking. The smell of Bolognese sauce wrapped around me like an old childhood blanket. I didn't ask how he knew I'd left. Of course, he felt it. Sometimes, I think he senses my pain before I'm even ready to admit it to myself.

I sat, and he placed a plate in front of me with a soft touch. "I know what you're thinking," he said. Then he shrugged. "Actually, I don't." His brows rose in genuine confusion.

"But if I heard it through your thoughts—that's not spying."

At least he admits it.

"This isn't the first time he's hurt you, Amilia. When will you trust yourself the way the rest of us already do?"

His words sank into me like someone else had spoken aloud what I'd been trying to suppress. Why do I always trust... only to end up hurt?

Before I could answer, Sierra rushed in. Her eyes scanned me with worry. "Are you okay? I heard what he did."

"Yeah," I nodded. "Just... drained." I pushed my mug away.

"We need to teach you how to protect yourself," Dylan said in a calm voice.

"That's a great idea," I muttered. "But, truthfully? Jace fought Oliver because of what he did to me."

"At least someone stood up for you. Even if it was with fists," Dylan said, bitterness in his smile.

But inside me, something twisted. How am I supposed to feel when one of them protects me—while the other keeps hurting me?

And still, despite everything, I feel a small part of me drawn to him. And hates itself for it.

"And who won?" Dylan asked.

"Jace made Oliver bleed."

Sierra furrowed her brows. "How is that possible? Jace is human. Oliver's supernatural—he should be stronger."

I lifted a shoulder, surrendering. A shiver ran through me—not just from the thought, but from something more profound. The idea of Jace turning violent... it felt like a sign.

And then, without warning, it happened.

The air slowed. A tremble climbed my spine. My stomach clenched. And like someone had flipped a hidden switch—

The vision erupted.

My head spun. My heart pounded. The scent of metal scorched my nose. My body tensed, every cell bracing for war.

I saw a boy of Jace's age with brown hair. Eyes fractured between fear and guilt. My heart recognized him before my mind did.

An old love that refuses to fade.

We were arguing—about something important. His voice cracked, not from anger but from pain, as if he were fighting for more than both of us.

Then my family appeared. Others, too. A deep voice echoed, commanding everyone to gather. Behind them, a faded school sign, scarred as if time itself tried to erase it.

Ten people appeared—eight bore weapons like soldiers. Two stood apart—a couple. The woman's coat was a violet I had never seen before, bright and endless like a galaxy. The man's eyes glowed frozen gold. His stare was strange... and familiar.

This wouldn't be the last time I saw them.

And she—she carried an ancient magic, older than my world.

I felt like I had dreamed of them before. Or would dream of them again—when it was already too late.

One of them looked straight at me. Even though this was a vision, it felt real.

And then a question cut through me like a blade:

Why me?

A shiver raced down my spine. This wasn't just a vision. It was a prophecy. And prophecy doesn't wait for you to be ready.

If something happens to him because of me—because I don't stop it in time... how will I ever live with myself?

The world shook. My lungs constricted. Reality snapped back, leaving me trembling, torn between what I had seen and what was still coming.

"Who are those people, Amilia?" Dylan asked.

I grabbed the edge of the table. "I don't know... but I think it's going to happen at school."

"You had a vision," Sierra said.

I nodded. "Yes. And everyone was there. You. Jace. And others."

Sierra frowned. "What are they doing there? It feels like something too old... came back to life."

Her voice shook—not with worry, but with fear. Maybe she recognized something I wasn't ready to face.

"Well," she said in a gentle tone, "tomorrow we'll talk to the principal." We'll figure out how to prepare—how to stop this."

Dylan stayed quiet, then placed a hand on my shoulder. His voice softened. "This won't happen. We won't let it happen. And I'm not leaving you alone with this."

His eyes were sincere. Warm.

But deep down, I knew—even the best intentions can't rewrite fate.

So no one believed me. And this time... even the innocent—maybe especially me—will stand at the heart of the storm.

This time, there will be no turning back.

The question was never whether I could stop it.

But whether I could survive it—and still be me.