preciousmunach21

Some souls never stay buried. And some hearts never forget.

Seventeen-year-old Lina Cross never believed in fate—until a strange boy with haunted eyes saves her from a shadow that wasn’t supposed to exist.

Adrian isn’t normal. He doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t age. And he knows things about Lina’s past that she’s never told anyone… things even she doesn’t remember.

When a violent creature begins stalking her across the city, Lina is forced into a hidden world of bloodbound oaths, ancient enemies, and cursed memories that stretch across centuries. Adrian claims he’s protecting her. But his silence runs deep—and the way he looks at her feels like a wound trying to heal.

As Lina begins to unlock fragments of a life she never lived, she realizes her soul is older than her skin—and so is her connection to Adrian.

But falling in love with a vampire already at war with himself might be the most dangerous memory of all.

Because in this story, the past isn’t done with them.

And midnight always comes slow..

midnight is a slow song

When she did drift off, her dreams were all messed up—her hands caught in cello strings, cliffs falling apart under her, a face hiding in the dark whispering her name but never actually saying it.

By morning, the storm was over, but the sky was still gray, like the world wasn't sure if it wanted to cry some more. The air felt clean, but also off, like someone had moved things around while she was out.

She walked around the house with no shoes on, her skin getting cold on the floor. The painting was still leaning against the wall—still quiet, still odd. The man in the mist looked a bit clearer now.

Or maybe she was just making that up.

She went back to the café around noon.

João smiled when she came in. Still standing after all that rain?

Just barely, Lina said, sitting down at the booth by the window. Do you ever see anyone walking near the cliffs at night?

Inês, who was fixing muffins, looked up. Not unless they want to die. Those paths get slippery.

João and Inês looked at each other.

He's a loner, João said carefully. Keeps to himself. Lives past the woods in that old glass house. No one sees him unless he wants them to.

Inês chuckled. Not unless you hate moody people.

He plays the cello, Lina said, more to herself.

João coughed. Haven't heard that cello in ages.

It used to float down from the cliffs some nights, Inês said. Sad, like something was grieving. Then it just stopped one day.

Lina stirred her tea slowly. I heard it last night.

Later that day, Lina was walking the cliffs again. She brought her sketchbook, but didn't use it much. She kept looking at the trees, hoping to see him again.

Instead, she walked farther down the path until it went into the pines. The air felt heavier, and it got darker. The wind didn't get through the trees. Even the birds were quiet.

She saw the house before she knew it.

It was at the end of a long dirt road, hidden in the trees like it didn't want to be found. A house made of glass and black stone, with vines growing all over it like time had tried to kill it.

It looked… old and futuristic at the same time.

Lina walked closer, her heart racing.

The cello was playing softly from inside. It wasn't a song—it was a voice, without words but full of memory. She touched the gate. It was iron and warm.

She didn't know how she knew, but she did.

That night, she was in the attic.

She didn't mean to be. But something pulled her there.

The painting hadn't changed. But she had.

She lit a candle and looked at it again.

The painting looked like her—hair blowing in the wind, eyes full of something she hadn't felt yet.

She touched the edge of the painting.

And a whisper, soft as breath, went into her ear.

Lina gasped, jumping back and hitting her leg on a box.

She turned. The attic was still empty.

Chapter Four – The Man With the Rain in His Eyes