JOSS

The sense something follows me grows as the hours pass. Sometimes I catch a glimpse in the corner of my eye, a shadow moving, but when I blink or look around there’s nothing in the room. This could be my tired eyesight, but I'm terrified something will overcome me again.

I don't want to go to that place a second time.

Worse, each time I remember, the fear grows and my mind fogs. Now when the gripping anxiety leaves, I feel less. A lack of anything. Even around Vee, I don't have the same desire for her. It’s as if I’m still trapped in the cage, suffocating.

Ewan and I spoke to Xander and Heath about what happened, and I mentioned to Vee how I'm exhausted and about the encounter I don't understand. When I downplayed how I'm feeling, she seemed confident I'd be okay.

I wish I was.

Our visit to the Collector barely registers with me. We went, retrieved information, and left. Usually I'd question someone a lot more than I did, but I didn't care. Couldn't be bothered. All I want to do is sleep; an exhaustion I haven't felt before. I don't care. I'm tired and just want a break from this shit. I told Vee and Ewan I wanted to lie down, and that's exactly my intention.

I prop my hands above my head and stare at the lampshade above, fighting the drowsiness. The shadows intensify each time I doze off, as does my fear the vision will return with them.

But I’m so fucking tired. My eyelids flutter as I attempt to stay awake. In my semi-conscious state, I dream the shadow grows and drifts around my room. As I’m dragged deeper into unconsciousness, the darkness grows.

The shadow is here and morphs into a tall figure, and the last of my energy drains away.

VEE

I wander from the kitchen towards the lounge room, confusion following me. What do I do now? My intention to lie on the sofa and lick my wounds dissipates as I reach the bottom of the stairs.

I can’t pass.

A dread grips, washing over me, and paralyses every muscle. Demon? No, but something is wrong, a discomfort running through I haven’t felt since the day Ewan was attacked. My heart races and breathing shortens as if I’m about to have a panic attack, and I have to fight the instinct to run from the house. I stare at the steps leading upstairs in front of me.

Joss is up there.

I curl my hand around the stair rail and focus on breathing and channelling out the fear, forcing my power through to squeeze the dread away. What the hell is happening? I slump to the bottom step and struggle to stand again.

Joss.

Pushing away the paralysis as concern for him overtakes the fear for myself, I run up the stairs, two at a time. Joss’s bedroom door is shut, and his room silent. Whatever presence is causing my weird reaction grows as the dread shivers further through me, dragging the paralysis down my spine again. I reach out, but the door handle won’t move. Stepping back, I summon the strength from the War fighting through and smack my shoulder into the hard wood.

The door slams open, hitting Joss’s bedroom wall with a crash.

An incorporeal dark figure sits on Joss’s chest, what look like hands covering his face. Joss doesn’t struggle, or move, and the figure grows in size before my eyes, stretching upwards towards the ceiling, a swirling black mass darkening the room. An intense cold adds more chill to my blood and the dread feeling intensifies.

I’m too stunned to move or speak, unable to form a plan what to do. At the noise, the apparition shifts away from Joss and toward me; the edges mist into an arm shape and reach out.

Red eyes glow somewhere in the centre, but the spectre swirls in and out of shape. There’s no face. No expression. No clue where I should attack.

The shape rushes at me before I can summon any power: I don’t know what would work. Where would I hit it if I took on War? Where’s its heart to target with Death's magic? How can I turn this incorporeal presence into dust using Famine? The options fly through my head, and I’m lost.

I brace myself for an assault, prepared for whatever power will take hold. Instead, the darkness flies by my head and through the bedroom door and my face smarts as if an Arctic wind has hit me.

I whirl around, but there’s nothing in the hallway. Should I hunt whatever it is? But what’s the point when I have no clue how to kill whatever it is? I cautiously approach Joss’s prone figure. His skin has a jaundiced yellow hue, eyes sunken into his sockets and surrounded by dark circles. I place a hand on his forehead, panic returning as I look at his blue lips and the sharp collarbones digging against his shirt and replacing the lean muscle.

"Joss?” My voice is edged with panic, hoarse and tiny in the middle of the horror.

He’s cold. Unmoving.

I take his wrist, but already know the answer. I can’t sense anything from him—no fear, no pain, only emptiness. This tells me exactly what Joss’s non-existent pulse confirms.

Whatever was in the room with us killed him.

And Heath isn’t here.