The air in Gatlin was thick—thicker than usual. The cicadas had stopped humming. The Spanish moss on the trees sagged low, as if the South itself held its breath. Lena Duchannes felt it first, the vibration along her skin like a storm waiting just outside time. Ethan Wate saw it in her eyes—the subtle tension, the way her fingers curled slightly toward the necklace she always wore.

Something—or someone—was coming.

And he brought shadows with him.

Lena’s breath caught the moment she saw him through the iron gate—Larkin Kent. Not the boy they remembered, no. Something had changed. His once flirtatious grin had sharpened into something colder, and the snake around his neck—scales black and gold—glimmered in the moonlight like a living piece of jewelry.

But he wasn’t alone.

At his side walked a woman Ethan had never seen before.

"You feel it, don’t you?" Larkin spoke, voice smooth as venom. "The pull. The balance tipping."

Lena swallowed. “You shouldn’t be here.”

He smirked. “Then why do I always find myself back in this godforsaken town?”