Lisa’s POV
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
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I tossed and turned beneath the soft covers. I was staring at the ceiling as my mind raced. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that painting again–the one of me as a child. My locket. My smile. The innocence in those painted eyes. And now, that tattoo on Alpha Fenric’s wrist.
The same symbol that appeared on my skin the day my powers awakened.
It was a triangle with a crescent moon inside it.
Sierra was restless too.
You saw it too, right? I asked her in my head.
Yes.
That tattoo on his wrist… it was just like mine.
Exactly the same, she said. The shape, the lines… everything.
I pressed a hand to my own wrist, where the strange mark had appeared when I had used my powers. It had always felt important, but I never knew why. Now I was even more confused.
What does it mean? I whispered.
I don’t know, Sierra said. But it’s not a coincidence. There’s a connection between you
him, Lisa. I can feel it.
My stomach twisted. I sat up in bed, the covers falling from my lap.
and
Something was off. Very, very off. This place felt too calm. Too perfect. The people were too kind….too helpful.
Katherine called him Dad. But she never mentioned her mother. What if… what if none of this
is real? I asked.
Sierra didn’t answer right away. Then she whispered,
We need proof. Something solid.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed.
That painting of me… it had to come from somewhere. Maybe there are more. Maybe there
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are answers in that art room.
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I remembered something then. When I was searching through the drawers earlier this week, I had come across a flashlight. I hurried to the dresser and opened the second drawer from the top. I pushed aside some folded scarves and gloves, and there it was–small, black, and cold in my hand.
Perfect.
I tiptoed to the door, slowly turned the handle, and peeked out into the hallway.
It was empty.
Not a sound.
The house was asleep.
My bare feet made no sound on the floorboards as I crept along the hall. My heart thudded with every step. I kept glancing over my shoulder, expecting someone to appear.
But no one did.
I climbed the stairs, each one groaning slightly beneath my weight. I winced, holding my breath every time the wood creaked.
Finally, I reached the second floor.
The art room was at the end of the corridor. I walked fast but carefully. I was clutching the flashlight tightly. My fingers were sweaty around the grip.
When I reached the door, I hesitated.
Please don’t be locked, I prayed.
I turned the knob.
It clicked.
The door opened.
Yes.
I slipped inside and quietly shut the door behind me. The room was pitch black. I didn’t dare turn on the main light switch. Someone might see from the hall or the windows. I clicked on the flashlight and shined the beam across the room.
The soft circle of light danced across half–finished paintings, easels, paint jars, and messy
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palettes.
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I moved toward the pile of canvases near the corner; the same ones I had seen earlier that
day.
One by one, I lifted them and leaned them aside.
There were landscapes, wolves, people I didn’t recognize and abstract shapes.
Then I found it.
My painting.
The one of me as a child.
I stared at it again, holding the flashlight steady.
It was the same locket.
But there was no signature for the artist. I could not find any initials.
Katherine said her parents painted, I whispered silently.
Yes, but that doesn’t mean this was theirs, Sierra replied. Someone else could have painted it. Someone who knew you.
I hugged myself.
I kept looking through the other canvases.
More people. Animals. Some strange, surreal art that made my skin crawl.
I moved around the room. It felt even bigger in the dark. Like the shadows were alive.
That’s when I saw it.
A large canvas propped against the far wall.
It was covered with a white cloth.
I swallowed and walked toward it. My fingers trembled as I reached out and slowly pulled the cloth down.
The painting was dark and shadowy. It was painted in heavy and cold colors.
There were two coffins.
One on each side.
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And in them…
I gasped.
It was my mother.
Althea.
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I would recognize her anywhere. Her face, peaceful and still. Her long hair spread around her
like a halo.
And the other…
Aaron, Sierra whispered.
Yes. Aaron. My father.
I had only seen him once in the Seer’s vision, but I knew his face. His features. It was him.
They were lying side by side.
Dead.
The brushstrokes were so detailed, so lifelike.
I don’t understand, I whispered.
Sierra’s voice was low.
This was painted by someone who saw it happen. Or someone who planned it.
I backed away slowly.
Someone here knew about my past.
And they weren’t just guessing.
They knew everything.
I was breathing hard. My pulse was loud in my ears.
Katherine. Her dad. The tattoo. The painting. The stories. None of this is a coincidence.
Then I heard it.
Voices.
Male voices outside the door.
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“You go that way.”
“I’ll check over here.”
My blood turned to ice.
They were patrolling.
Looking.
Were they looking for me?
Sierra hissed in my mind. Go. Now.
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I switched off the flashlight and ducked behind the easel for a few seconds. I waited, heart pounding, praying they didn’t come inside.
The footsteps moved away.
Now.
I slipped out from the easel, tiptoed across the room, opened the door slowly, and peeked
out.
Empty.
I ran.
Down the hall, down the stairs, through the corridor.
I reached my room, opened the door, and shut it behind me as quietly as I could. Then I locked it. Twice.
I leaned against the door, gasping.
What the hell is going on? I asked Sierra.
There are secrets here, she said. Deep and dark ones. And you are right in the middle of
them.
I moved to the window and looked out at the dark trees surrounding the house.
I didn’t feel safe anymore.
Not even a little.
And I knew one thing with certainty.
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I needed to find out the truth.
Before it was too late.
