Page 9 of Wraith

I collapsed onto the stage, trembling. My gaze darted back to my body, to the pool of blood that had seeped into the wooden floorboards, staining them forever. “Why am I still here?” I whispered. “Why didn’t I… move on?”

The silence pressed down on me again, but this time, I felt something else—a pull. It wasn’t physical, but it tugged at my very essence, at the invisible threads that bound me to this world. I closed my eyes, focusing on the sensation. The bond stirred within me, faint and fragile, like threads pulling in different directions. Five threads. Five directions.

My mates.

A sob broke from my throat, raw and guttural. “They didn’t even look back.”

I closed my eyes, focusing on the bonds. I reached for one, my fingers brushing against something unseen. The connection flared, and suddenly, the theater fell away.

Thorne.

His face filled my vision, sharper than memory, more real than a dream. He was in a dimly lit bar, his signature smirk nowhere in sight. He leaned over the counter, gripping the edge so tightly his knuckles turned white. His jaw was clenched, hisbreath uneven as he stared at the glass in front of him. Regret seeped through the bond, sharp and bitter.

The image shifted, the bond pulling me in a different direction.

Kael.

He was outside, the glow of a cigarette illuminating his face. He leaned against the railing of the dorm balcony, his fingers drumming against the metal as he stared into the distance. The usual arrogance in his expression was replaced by something unreadable, his movements restless. He didn’t look at ease, even in his solitude.

Another shift.

Lucian.

He sat in the corner of a crowded room, a drink in his hand as he watched the chaos unfold around him. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were sharp, scanning the crowd as if searching for something—or someone. The bond trembled, a faint echo of unease threading through it.

Aeron.

He was in the library, the faint glow of his laptop screen casting shadows across his face. His usual detachment was gone, replaced by a furrowed brow and restless movements as he scrolled through page after page of something. His fingers tapped against the desk, his frustration palpable through the bond.

The last thread pulled harder, tighter.

Ciaran.

He stood in his dorm room, his hands buried in his hair as he began pacing back and forth. The storm in his eyes was clearer than ever, his emotions crashing into mine like waves. Anger, guilt, confusion—they bled through the bond, raw and unfiltered.

The threads snapped back, and I was in the theater again, gasping for air I didn’t need. My legs gave out beneath me, and I collapsed onto the floor, trembling.

They didn’t care. Not enough to stay. Not enough to help. But somewhere, deep in their hearts, they felt something. Regret. Guilt. Fear.

But it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

Six

The theater groaned softlyas I drifted back to the stage, the pull of the bonds releasing me just enough to return to this forsaken place. It wasn’t a choice—I was anchored here, unable to leave no matter how far I followed the threads of my mates. And no matter how far I tried to flee fromit.

I didn’t need to look. I’d seen it before. Too many times.

But the pull of morbid fascination, or perhaps sheer disbelief, kept dragging my gaze back. There it was—Iwas—still crumpled near the stage, exactly where I’d fallen days ago.

No one had found me.

The thought echoed louder than anything else. This place was supposed to be a secret haven for students, a hotspot for underage drinking and reckless antics. The kind of place that would have at least one careless party stumble upon the broken girl lying in a pool of blood. But the silence of the theater said otherwise. No one had come. No one had even cared enough to check.

My body lay sprawled awkwardly across the floor, the black dress I’d worn now warped and stretched in grotesque ways. The once-clean fabric clung to bloated flesh, bulging unnaturally where gases had begun to collect under the skin. My legs, bent at sickening angles, had started to take on a waxy sheen, the pallor shifting into patches of mottled green and purple.

I hovered near the edge of the stage, my translucent fingers curling into fists as I stared. I thought I’d grown numb to the sight. I hadn’t.

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