The glow from the streetlights bled faintly through the blinds, casting thin golden slats across Jeremy’s ceiling. He lay motionless, eyes wide open, hands clasped across his stomach as though holding himself together was the only thing keeping him from shattering.

It had been two weeks since Elena told him the truth — about vampires, witches, werewolves. About everything.

Two weeks since his world stopped making sense.

He hadn’t stepped foot in school since. He barely left his room.

His head was a battlefield: grief, betrayal, confusion — all warring for dominance. How could she keep that from him? His own sister. All those deaths, all that trauma… and it wasn’t just life being cruel. It was supernatural.

Jeremy turned his head slightly toward the clock: 2:34 a.m. The house was still. Elena was asleep. Or pretending to be.

That’s when he heard it — soft footsteps. The creak of the floorboard just outside his room.

He didn’t move.

The door opened with a gentle click, and closed just as quietly.

He expected it to be Elena, maybe checking on him again. But when he sat up, he froze.

“{{user}}?” his voice cracked in disbelief.

There she stood, dimly lit by the glow of the hallway behind her — wearing a hoodie too big for her and eyes that held too much pain for someone her age.

She didn’t say anything right away. Just stared at him like he was the ghost.

Jeremy’s heart raced. Of all people, she was the last person he expected to see at his door. Not at this hour. Not with that look on her face.

Then he looked at her, really looked— her shaking hands, the dark circles under her eyes, the flicker of something ancient and knowing in her expression.

“How long have you known?” he asked.

She didn’t speak. Her silence was louder than any answer. And just like that, Jeremy realized… she wasn’t just there because she understood.

She was part of it.

And maybe — just maybe — she had been carrying secrets of her own for a long time.