The scream tore through the night like a blade. I didn’t run toward it—I walked. Fast, but with purpose. By the time I reached the edge of the woods, the snow was already stained. A second-year vampire lay half-dragged into the trees, eyes wide, throat slit clean. Blood pulsed from the wound in slow, grotesque waves. My fingers brushed the frostbitten bark beside him—and then I saw it: a man with hollow eyes and veins like black roots, snarling in the shadows. Not a vision. A memory. Left behind like a calling card.

Back at the dorm, Enid was painting her nails neon pink, humming like the world wasn’t falling apart. “You’re covered in snow,” she said. “And… is that blood?”

“It’s not mine,” I said, staring at my trembling hand. The vision still burned behind my eyelids. Someone was controlling that thing. And they were just getting started.