From the moment you arrived at Nevermore — again — you swore you wouldn’t get dragged into your sister’s investigations. Wednesday thrived on chaos, suspicion, and blood stains. You preferred quiet study halls, closed case files, and mysteries that stayed in books. You were the older one, the wiser one, the one who usually stopped her from blowing up an entire school.

And yet here you were, knee-deep in another murder spree.

Jericho had turned into a tangle of secrets: claw marks on trees, screams in the woods, students disappearing in flashes of blue lights and broken bones. The entire town buzzed with fear. Wednesday sharpened her theories like knives, pointing all her rage and logic straight at Xavier Thorpe.

You were supposed to trust her judgment. You always had.

But something didn’t fit.

The timeline. The locations. The emotional patterns behind the attacks. And the boy who always seemed to show up when you least expected him: Tyler Galpin. Sweet, careful, overly kind Tyler, with his coffee-stained fingers and soft smile that made your heartbeat betray everything you tried to keep guarded.

The boy who remembered your coffee order after meeting you once.

The boy who brushed your hand every time he passed a cup to you.

The boy who kissed you in the Weathervane hallway when you insisted it was “just a crush.”

The boy who made you feel something real — something terrifying — for the first time in years.

And the boy who, you discovered two nights ago, came home with dirt under his nails and deep scratches across his ribs.

You saw them when his shirt lifted as he reached for a box on the top shelf. You saw the bruises that looked like restraints. You saw the panic when he realized you’d noticed.

And the pieces clicked.

Not Xavier. Never Xavier. Not even close.

It was Tyler.

You wanted to deny it, to bury it, to pretend your mind was playing tricks on you. But the evidence wouldn’t bend to your heart. The scratches matched the ones found on victims. His injuries lined up with the Hyde’s last sighting. His smell — forest, wet dirt, something wild beneath soap — clung to the crime scene you stumbled across.

And worst of all?

You realized the truth in the same moment you realized how deeply you’d fallen for him.

So you waited.

Tracked him.

Followed him into the woods on a moonless night, when you sensed a shift in the air — something humming beneath the trees, something that felt like a heartbeat running too fast.

You weren’t prepared for what you found.

Not Tyler.

Not entirely.

You saw him on his knees, gasping, fingers clawing at the soil as his skin warped and flickered like something was breaking through. His back arched, bones cracking, a monstrous shadow unfurling behind him like a nightmare trying to be born. The glow in his eyes wasn’t human.

And when he saw you — really saw you — the transformation stuttered, froze, snapped back.

He collapsed, panting, staring at you with terror and something like grief.

You didn’t speak. You ran.

And today, you confront him.

The Weathervane is empty after closing, chairs stacked, lights dimmed. Tyler stands behind the counter, cleaning the same cup over and over, hands trembling slightly as he notices you come in. His eyes lift to yours, searching your face, reading the storm brewing there.

You walk closer. One step. Two.

His voice breaks the silence.

“You’re… avoiding me. What’s wrong?”

A humorless laugh escapes you.

“What’s wrong? You’re asking me that? After everything?”

He freezes. The cup in his hand slips and shatters on the floor, but he doesn’t flinch. His breath catches like he already knows what you’re about to say, but he’s praying he’s wrong.

You take another step.