The handkerchief was gone.
When Alexandrov opened his locker the next morning, expecting to find the blood-stained fabric safely hidden beneath his textbooks, all he found was a single piece of parchment.
Old. Fragile. Reeking of sulfur and decay.
The rune that had been carved into the handkerchief was now burned into the page in black ash, surrounded by jagged glyphs that pulsed faintly against the aged paper like a living wound.
Someone had been inside his private space.
Someone with access, precision—and a message.
He reached out, but the moment his fingers brushed the parchment, it burst into flame, disintegrating instantly without heat, smoke, or sound.
Just... gone.
And in its place, written in blood across the inside of his locker door, were three words:
"YOU ARE NEXT."
The bell rang overhead, dragging him back into the noise of the school. Students poured into the hallway, laughing, shoving, oblivious. He closed the locker slowly, his expression unreadable.
But inside, something cold and ancient began to stir.
Down the corridor, Charlotte Gunner watched him from behind her tinted sunglasses.
Her crimson lips curved in a thoughtful smirk.
"You're slipping, Alex," she whispered, slipping the tiny piece of parchment—the original—back into her blazer pocket.
Behind her, Bruno Murray stood with his hands in his hoodie, still bruised from his scuffle the day before. But his eyes weren't on Alexandrov. They were locked on a girl halfway across the hallway.
Amalia.
And they burned with hatred.
Amalia hadn't slept.
Her mind kept circling the rune, the blood, the way Alexandrov had held her wrist—not roughly, but with a quiet, dangerous protectiveness. She hadn't meant to draw him in this far. But part of her had hoped... he'd care enough to get involved.
Now he was.
And that scared her more than anything.
She was halfway through her English Lit class when the paper slipped onto her desk.
Folded twice. No name. No handwriting.
Just one sentence.
"Meet me on the rooftop. Now."
She didn't need to guess who it was from.
Wind whipped her hair around her face as she stepped onto the rooftop ten minutes later. The sky above was slate grey, heavy with clouds that threatened rain. The city stretched beyond the school gates—sharp buildings, dead trees, and the soft glow of autumn fog settling over rooftops.
Alexandrov stood with his back to her, his coat whipping behind him like a cape, hands in his pockets.
He didn't turn when she approached.
"You've been hiding things from me," he said.
Amalia stopped. "So have you."
That got his attention.
He turned—slowly. And when their eyes met, she could almost feel the static crackling between them.
"I found the rune again," he said. "Or rather, someone found it for me. Left me a message. Threatened me."
She stepped closer. "They threatened you?"
He held her gaze, and for a moment, all the power in his body—centuries of blood, rage, and betrayal—trembled just beneath the surface.
"Don't mistake me for someone who fears easily," he said coldly. "But this isn't just a school feud anymore. This is war. And you're caught in the middle."
"I've always been in the middle," she whispered. "You just never saw me before."
The wind howled.
They stood in silence for a long moment, the world pausing around them like time had snapped.
Then, suddenly—he stepped forward.
Close enough to smell the faint trace of lavender on her skin.
Close enough that she could see the faint silver of a hidden scar just beneath his collarbone.
"Tell me what you know, Amalia," he said. "Tell me why that rune made you look at me like you were already mourning me."
She swallowed. Her voice, when it came, was barely a whisper.
"Because I've seen it before. In a vision. And in that vision... you were dead."
Far below, from a third-floor window, Lady Sylvane watched the two of them.
The council had warned her about this. Warned her that Alexandrov's bloodline made him vulnerable to forbidden bonds—especially with girls like Amalia. Soft-spoken. Mysterious. Human. Or not entirely.
Her lips tightened.
They needed Alexandrov focused.
Not tangled in prophecies and soulmates.
Later that afternoon, the tension in the school hit a breaking point.
Bruno snapped.
It happened during gym. One moment, everyone was running laps. The next, Bruno had pinned a freshman against the wall, his claws out, his eyes glowing gold, snarling in a voice that wasn't his.
"I SMELL HIM ON YOU—YOU TOUCHED HER—YOU DON'T DESERVE HER—"
The teachers tried to pull him off, but Bruno's strength was no longer human—or even werewolf. It was cursed.
That's when Alexandrov arrived.
He didn't run.
He appeared like a storm rolling in over still water.
One second, there was chaos. The next, silence.
Bruno turned, teeth bared.
"You think you can take me, leech?"
"I don't need to take you," Alexandrov said coolly. "I just need to remind you who you're dealing with."
And then, for the first time since returning to school—
Alexandrov let his power loose.
It wasn't flashy. It wasn't loud.
But the air shifted. The lights dimmed. Every window frosted over with a breath of winter.
And Bruno staggered.
He dropped to his knees, eyes wide, gasping.
"What... what are you...?"
Alexandrov stepped closer, his voice low and calm and deadly.
"I am the heir to House Blackthorn. Slayer of the Blood Rebellion. Last of the Crimson Line. You are a mutt in my presence."
Bruno collapsed, unconscious.
And the entire gym stood frozen in awe.
Later that night, Alexandrov sat on the edge of the clock tower roof, the city beneath him glittering in the dark.
James joined him silently, two cans of soda in hand. He offered one.
Alexandrov didn't take it.
"You didn't have to go full-royal-blood-mode on Bruno," James said eventually.
"He was cursed. That's not ordinary rage. Someone's feeding him."
"Charlotte?"
"Maybe. Or the werewolves. Or something worse."
James looked at him sideways. "You're changing, you know."
Alexandrov didn't respond.
James leaned back on his elbows, eyes up at the stars. "Amalia's changing you."
Alexandrov closed his eyes. "She's a liability."
"She's your weakness," James corrected. "And that scares the hell out of you."
Alexandrov didn't deny it.
Because it was true.
And he couldn't afford weakness.
Not again.
Far away, in the woods behind the school, Charlotte stood in a clearing surrounded by candles. The parchment burned in her hand, and the rune was now carved into the earth beneath her feet.
The ritual had begun.
She smiled.
Soon, Alexandrov would come to her.
One way or another.
And when he did...
He'd be hers again.
Forever.