My feet shuffle forward, carrying me through the endless gray. Every step feels mechanical, driven by an instinct that isn't entirely my own. But somewhere within this hollow shell, more fragments of who I was stir, like echoes reverberating in an empty chamber.

  The memories come in flashes, sharp and unforgiving. This one begins with Charlie’s arm stretched out in front of me, his palm pressed against my chest. “Isabel,” he murmurs, his voice low, pleading. “You don’t need to see this.”

  “Get out of my way,” I rasped, barely recognizing my own voice. My hands shook as I pushed against him. He held firm for a moment, his jaw tightening, before sighing and stepping aside. His head dipped low, as though he couldn’t bear to look me in the eye.

  My legs carried me forward, following the trail of scuffed concrete and streaks of crimson. The marks pulled me closer to the truth I didn’t want to face. The corner loomed ahead, and with it came dread, thick and suffocating, pressing against my chest. I rounded it, my breath catching in my throat as my worst fears solidified into reality.

  There he was. John.

  He was sprawled on the pavement, his arms reaching out as if he had been crawling, dragging himself toward salvation that never came. His head was twisted to the side, resting in a slick pool of blood that seeped into the cracks of the sidewalk. The face I knew so well—the face I had memorized in countless stolen moments—was pale and slack, streaked with red that ran like tears.

  "John…" His name escaped me in a whisper, as if saying it softly could make this less real. My legs buckled, and I collapsed beside him. Pain shot up through my knees as they struck the concrete, but I barely noticed. The only thing I could see, the only thing that mattered, was him.

  His jacket was soaked through, the dark fabric sticky with blood. The jagged wound on his neck drew my eyes, grotesque and impossible to ignore. It was a bite—no mistaking it. The edges were torn and raw, as though someone had ripped into him like a rabid animal.

  My hand reached out on its own, trembling as I brushed the hair back from his forehead. His skin was still warm, feverishly so, and for a brief, fleeting moment, hope flared in my chest. Warmth meant life, didn’t it? He wasn’t gone. He couldn’t be.

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  "John," I whispered, leaning closer, my tears falling freely now. "It’s okay. I’m here."

  Then, against all odds, his eyelids fluttered. His breath was a wet, rattling gasp, and his lips parted to form words that sounded like they had to fight their way through blood. "Isabel…" His voice was faint, almost a sigh, but it was his. It was him.

  "I’m here," I said, clutching his face between my hands. "Stay with me, okay? We’ll get you help. We’ll fix this."

  His eyes met mine, but something in them wasn’t right. The vibrant blue I loved was already fading, replaced by a sickly yellow hue that sent a chill through me. His lips moved again, forming fragmented words. "They… couldn’t… not this side…" His voice was bubbling, drowning in his own blood. His body convulsed beneath my hands, his chest arching upward as if in agony. "I… I’m sorr—"

  And then he stilled.

  The breath caught in my throat, my hands freezing in place as I stared down at him. His eyes, glassy and lifeless, were fixed on the overcast sky. Whatever spark of John had been there was gone, snuffed out in an instant. My mind screamed against the reality, but my heart knew the truth.

  "John…" The word tore from my lips, raw and broken. I shook him gently, desperately, as if I could rattle him back to life. "Please…"

  The crunch of gravel behind me pulled me out of my spiral. Charlie’s voice was sharp, almost panicked. "Isabel, get away from him!"

  I turned back to John, and that’s when I saw it. His body twitched, just once, but it was enough. His hand shot out, grabbing my arm with an unnatural strength that wasn’t his. His eyes snapped to mine, golden and empty, no longer John’s.

  "Charlie!" I screamed, struggling against the iron grip that dragged me toward him. His teeth snapped together, bloodied and eager, as I pushed against his shoulders with all my strength. He was strong—too strong.

  "I’m here!" Charlie’s knife flashed in the corner of my vision. He moved fast, his blade plunging into John’s—no, the thing’s—temple. The grip on my arm released instantly, and I fell back, gasping for air. John’s body slumped to the ground, truly lifeless this time.

  I stared at him, my chest heaving, my hands trembling in my lap. Charlie knelt beside me, his voice tight with urgency. "Isabel, did he bite you?"

  I shook my head, barely registering the words. "No. He didn’t." My voice sounded hollow, detached. "He didn’t bite me."

  Charlie let out a shaky breath, wiping his blade clean. "That was too close," he muttered, his tone tinged with anger and fear. He stood, offering me a hand. "Come on. We need to go."

  I don’t know how long I stayed there, kneeling in his blood, the world around me blurring into nothingness. All I could see was him. All I could feel was the weight of his loss, crushing and unbearable.

  I hesitated, looking down at John’s body—what was left of him. My fingers brushed against his blood-stained jacket one last time. "That isn’t John anymore," I whispered. The tears came freely now, but I forced myself to stand. I forced myself to move.