Skylar's POV continues
"What a nice farewell gift, Devon."
The words didn't just appear; they curled in my skull like a wisp of smoke, then blossomed into a sharp, uninvited presence.
That voice again—her voice—it was like biting into a ripe, sweet cherry only to find a hidden shard of glass inside. Sweet. Sharp. Utterly unapologetic.
This wasn't merely overhearing a stray thought, like catching a snatch of conversation from a distant room. No. This was an invasion. This was something more profound, more unsettling. This was possession. Her thoughts were not just in my head; they were part of my mind, unfolding right now.
"Sky," Micha's voice broke through the intensity, clipped and tight behind me. "You okay?" His worry was a tangible thing, a subtle pressure against my back, a heat pulse in the cold air.
I couldn't answer him right away. I was trapped, caught in the echo chamber of her mind. Her words resonated, blooming with a strange, intoxicating glee.
"This is better than revenge. This is Gold."
It wasn't just what she thought; it was how she thought each of them. Her mind had a distinct flavor, a vibrant energy. It moved with a playful, dangerous rhythm. Most humans think like a cow chewing—it's slow, dull, a constant, circular grinding of familiar worries. Regret. Repetition. Fear. An endless loop of petty concerns.
But this girl? She didn't just think; she wielded her thoughts like weapons dipped in glitter, each one a small, sharp, sparkling defiance.
I squeezed my eyes shut, a desperate attempt to sever the connection. I tried again, pulling at the familiar shroud of silence, summoning my gift.
Nothing.
The silence wouldn't come. She was still there, a vivid, inescapable presence.
"Skylar." Micha's voice was sharper now, closer. The concern was clear, a tangible thread between us. "You heard something."
"I didn't," I snapped, the words coming out too fast, too defensive.
He took another step closer. I could feel the ripple of his worry, a heat pulse spreading through the cold air. Micha wasn't truly paranoid, but he was incredibly sensitive. His mind was always a little too open, a receiver for the chaotic signals of the human world.
"You went still," he observed, his voice calm, knowing. "Your pupils dilated. That means something hit you. Something you felt."
I turned away from him, my gaze drawn toward the gentle slope behind the trees. The deer were gone now, vanished into the snow-dusted underbrush, their simple minds a distant echo. And yet—I couldn't make my feet move in their direction, toward the hunt we'd come for. My body was anchored, pulled by something else.
"I thought I smelled something," I lied, the words tasting flimsy even to me.
"Blood?" he pressed, his nose twitching, already scanning the air.
"Sort of." A partial truth. It was the best I could offer.
He squinted, his eyes narrowing, studying my face for any tell. "Animal or human?"
"I don't know yet." That part, at least, was completely true. The scent was there, subtle, but I couldn't place its source.
Micha let out a frustrated huff and ran a hand through his dark curls. His fingers were twitchy—a clear sign that his empathy, his constant connection to the minds around him, was starting to overheat.
"Can we just find the damn deer, drink something warm, and get out of here?" he muttered, the strain evident in his voice. "My head is starting to fill with cafeteria drama. And someone nearby is stress-eating crackers. I can taste it."
I almost smiled. The image of stress-eating human and cafeteria gossip was almost enough to break the strange spell. Almost.
But then—
"God, I hope she walks out and sees this. I hope she chokes on it."
The voice sliced through again, stronger this time, more insistent. A raw, visceral hatred mixed with pure, unadulterated triumph.
My jaw clenched, a muscle jumping in my cheek. I blinked hard, trying to clear the image. And I started walking—past Micha, away from the slope, away from the deer, away from the logical path.
"Where are you going?" he asked, his voice laced with confusion.
"Just... let me check something." My words were clipped, an unshakeable urgency pulling me forward.
He didn't follow. I could feel his gaze on my back, a silent weight of confusion and slight hurt. He was used to my odd behavior, to my sudden shifts, to the unexplainable things that went on inside my head. But it didn't make it any easier for him.
I never explained what went on in my head. Especially not when it was this loud, this insistent, this… seductive.
"Thanks again Devon."
The name echoed again. Not once, but twice now. Not like a passing thought, a fleeting image. More like a phrase caught in a loop, stuck on a broken film reel, playing over and over. The voice was so clear, so real, it didn't feel psychic anymore—it felt spoken. It felt like someone whispering directly into my ear.
I stared through the thinning trees, but I wasn't seeing forest. I wasn't seeing the snow-dusted branches or the quiet underbrush.
I was seeing her.
Not her face. Not her body. Not even a sense of her presence in the physical world
Playful. Vengeful. Brighter than anything I'd heard in decades. Her thoughts snapped with heat. Sass. Bite. Like sparks from a live wire...Like a girl smiling with a lit match held carelessly between her teeth.
"This is better than a mere car scratch."
She was still speaking, her thoughts a relentless current in my skull. Not aloud, just in her head. But I could hear her. Every single syllable. Every glimmer of cold satisfaction. Every delicious, spiteful ounce of triumph.
I didn't know who Devon was. I didn't know what scene she was watching, what act of "Golden" was unfolding before her.
But I wanted to. With a dangerous, unexpected urgency.
And suddenly, my feet were moving with purpose, a silent, almost involuntary command.
"Sky."
Micha's voice again. Distant at first. Then closer, his footsteps quickening behind me.
"Skylar, where are you going?"
I didn't answer. My boots crunched through frost-covered moss as I veered sharply off our established hunt path, heading north, directly toward the edge of what I knew was the school zone. The trees began to thin, giving way to open sky. Power lines stretched over the clearing like thin, dark veins against the pale afternoon.
"Hey," Micha said, his voice now right behind me, picking up speed to match mine. "What's going on? You said you smelled blood."
"I did."
"Animal or human?"
I hesitated for a moment, my steps faltering just slightly.
He narrowed his eyes, his gaze piercing. "Sky. If you're hearing someone—"
"I'm not." The denial came too fast, too sharp.
Micha's face tightened. His brows drew together, his expression focused, like he was trying to filter the noise flooding his own head, trying to isolate the disturbance.
Then, his eyes, so sensitive to the chaotic hum of human thought, suddenly changed. I saw the shift, the faint flicker of disturbance, as a new thread wove its way into the messy tapestry of his own mind. He heard it too. The same sharp, bright echo. Her voice, not as clear as it was for me, but definitely there, cutting through his usual wall of static.
"You're not hearing someone." His voice was soft, laced with a new kind of fear, tinged with a dawning horror. "You're hearing one person."
I didn't answer. There was no need.
"Who is it?" he asked, his voice low, urgent, almost a plea.
"You never hear them. So who the hell broke through?"
I didn't look at him. I couldn't. I just kept walking, drawn by an irresistible force.
There was a strange tug in my chest, a sensation unlike anything I'd felt beforeNot desire. Not instinct. Just... gravity. Like she'd anchored something inside me. A winding tension, wrapped around my ribs like a wire, pulling me forward.
"God, I hope she sees it. I hope she walks out here and dies on sight. Not die, literally. "
The voice sharpened this time, picking up speed like wind through trees...becoming a gale. I could feel the laughter behind her words, the absolute, unbridled satisfaction. She was watching something, someone, and her whole mind lit up like a fuse line igniting, burning bright and destructive.
She wasn't afraid. Not in the slightest.
She felt...alive.
The nearer i got to the direction of the voice, I didn't just hear her anymore.
I felt her.
That was the difference. The terrifying, exhilarating difference.
Micha had stopped walking now. He stood at the tree line, a lone, still figure, watching me drift farther and farther, pulled by the insistent tug of something neither of us fully understood.
"Sky," he said quietly, his voice almost like a prayer, a desperate plea carried on the cold air. "Don't go near her."
"I'm not," I murmured, the lie tasting like ash on my tongue.
But I was already crossing the fence line, leaving the protective cover of the woods behind.
Already tasting the air for blood.
Already wondering what her eyes looked like when she smiled that hard inside her head.