Chapter 3

The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of my hotel room, painting the walls in soft hues of gold. I stretched lazily, the events of last night lingering in the back of my mind like a half-remembered dream.

After a quick shower, I made my way down to the café where Sarah had insisted we meet for breakfast. She was already there, glowing as usual, a steaming cup of coffee in her hands.

"Raven!" she called, waving me over with a grin.

I smiled, sliding into the chair across from her. "Morning, Mrs. Xavier Hawthorne."

"Ugh, don't say that yet," she groaned, though her eyes sparkled. "I'm still getting used to it."

I laughed, stirring sugar into my coffee. "You've been destined to marry Xavier since high school. I think you've had plenty of time to prepare."

Sarah sighed, her expression softening. "You're not wrong. I always knew he was the one, you know? The way he looked at me back then—it was like he already knew our future."

"I remember," I said, smiling faintly. "The two of you were inseparable. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time before he proposed."

She leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand. "And you… I always thought you and Alaric would end up together."

I froze, my spoon clinking against the side of my cup. "That's ancient history, Sarah."

"I know," she said quickly. "It's just… I hoped for you, you know? I wanted you to find someone who makes you feel the way Xavier makes me feel."

I forced a smile, but the conversation tugged at something deep inside me. Alaric had been a part of my life for so long, but he'd never been mine. And now, he never would be.

Sarah must have sensed the shift in my mood, because she quickly changed the subject. "So, tell me more about your art. How's the gallery deal coming along?"

"It's… exciting," I admitted. "But also terrifying. Moving to California was a big step, and now I have to deliver. I need fresh inspiration, something that really speaks to me."

"Is that why you came here?" she asked, her brow furrowing.

I nodded. "Partly. I wanted to be here for your wedding, of course. But also… Brooklyn started to feel suffocating. I needed a change. New people, new places, new art."

She reached across the table, squeezing my hand. "You'll do amazing. You always do."

After breakfast, I grabbed my sketchbook and headed back to the beach. The memory of last night lingered in my mind—not just the man, but the way the ocean had seemed alive, pulsing with an energy I couldn't explain.

The beach was quiet when I arrived, the waves lapping gently at the shore. I set up my easel on a flat patch of sand and began to sketch, letting the rhythm of the ocean guide my hand.

I lost track of time, completely absorbed in the play of light on the water. Then, a voice broke through my focus.

"That's… surprisingly good."

I jumped, my charcoal pencil streaking across the paper. Spinning around, I found myself face-to-face with him.

He stood a few feet away, his golden hair catching the sunlight, his piercing blue eyes fixed on my sketch. He looked less intimidating in the daylight, though no less otherworldly.

"You again," I said, narrowing my eyes. "Come to lecture me about trespassing?"

He crossed his arms, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Not this time. Consider this an apology for last night."

I raised an eyebrow. "Really? The mysterious, brooding stranger knows how to apologize?"

"I do when I'm wrong," he said, his tone almost teasing.

"Well, thank you, Picasso," I said, gesturing to my art.

His brow furrowed. "Who's Picasso?"

I blinked. "You're kidding, right? You've never heard of Picasso?"

"Should I have?"

"He's only one of the most famous artists in history," I said, incredulous. "Abstract shapes, bold colors, weird faces? Ring any bells?"

He shook his head, clearly unimpressed. "Sounds strange."

"Strange but brilliant," I shot back. "Picasso revolutionized the art world."

"I prefer your work," he said simply, gesturing to my sketch.

That caught me off guard. "You… like it?"

He nodded, his gaze meeting mine. "It feels alive."

For a moment, I didn't know what to say. His compliment, though unexpected, felt genuine.

"Well," I said, clearing my throat. "Thanks, I guess."

He tilted his head, studying me like I was some kind of puzzle. "You're different."

"Different how?"

He didn't answer, his expression unreadable. Instead, he glanced at the waves, his features softening. "You see the world differently. That's rare."

I stared at him, unsure whether to be flattered or annoyed. Before I could respond, he turned and began walking toward the water.

"Wait," I called after him. "What's your name?"

He paused, glancing over his shoulder. "Caspian."

And just like the night before, he stepped into the waves and disappeared, leaving me with more questions than answers.

Later That Day

By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in strokes of amber and violet, the headache had started. At first, it was just a dull throb behind my eyes, something I could ignore. But as the evening wore on, it grew sharper, radiating through my skull like someone hammering against my temples.

I rubbed my forehead, willing it to go away as I sat on the balcony of my room. The gentle crash of the waves below did little to soothe me. The day had been strange enough, and now this.

The last thing I remembered was standing to get some water. The pain surged like a tidal wave, and my legs gave out beneath me.

When I opened my eyes, I wasn't in my room. I was standing in a sunlit meadow, surrounded by wildflowers that swayed gently in the breeze. The air was warm, carrying the faint scent of lavender, and a sense of peace settled over me.

Then I saw them.

My grandmother and grandfather stood a short distance away, their arms wrapped around each other. They looked younger than I remembered, their faces free of worry and their eyes alight with love. My grandmother's laughter rang out, soft and musical, as my grandfather twirled her around.

"Grandma?" I called, my voice catching.

She turned toward me, her smile brighter than the sun. "Raven, my darling girl," she said, her voice warm and familiar. "You're here."

Tears pricked at my eyes as I ran toward her. She opened her arms, pulling me into a hug that felt like home.

"You look just like your mother," she said softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

I wanted to say something, to ask her a million questions, but the words caught in my throat.

The peaceful scene began to shift. A chill swept through the meadow, the warmth vanishing in an instant. Dark clouds gathered overhead, blotting out the sun.

"Grandma," I whispered, my voice trembling.

Her expression changed, her smile fading as her grip on me tightened. "Raven, listen to me. There's no time."

The shadows gathered, swirling and coiling like living things. From their depths, a figure emerged—a tall, menacing form cloaked in darkness.

"No," my grandmother whispered, stepping in front of me.

The figure lunged, but my grandmother raised her hand, speaking words I couldn't understand. A blinding light erupted from her palm, and the shadow recoiled, retreating into the darkness.

Before I could breathe a sigh of relief, the scene shifted again.

I was no longer in the meadow. The air was colder, the sky darker. I stood frozen as I watched my mother running, her face pale with terror.

"Mom!" I screamed, but she didn't seem to hear me.

The shadow was chasing her, faster than I thought possible. My mother turned, her lips moving, but no sound came out. Her hands clawed at the air as if she was trying to summon the same light my grandmother had used.

But she couldn't.

I turned to see my grandmother, bound and gagged, her eyes wide with panic. She struggled against her restraints, but the shadow only laughed—a deep, guttural sound that made my blood run cold.

My mother tripped, falling to the ground. The shadow loomed over her, its form shifting and twisting.

"No!" I screamed, running toward her, but it was like moving through water. My legs refused to cooperate, and the distance between us stretched endlessly.

The shadow struck.

I woke up with a gasp, my chest heaving and my body drenched in sweat. The headache was gone, but the weight of the dream lingered, pressing down on me like a physical force.

My grandmother's words echoed in my mind. I didn't know what they meant, but one thing was clear: this was only the beginning.