The Salvatore boarding house was unrecognizable, lit in hellish red for the Halloween party. Cobwebs hung from the chandeliers, and fake blood streaked the banisters. You navigated through the crowd, the red horns perched on your head glinting under the strobe lights. Your devil costume hugged your frame perfectly—sleek, playful, and just the right amount of dangerous.

Somewhere across the room, you’d caught sight of Nora Hildegard earlier—dressed in a white angel costume, complete with delicate wings and a slightly crooked halo, sipping from a blood-red cocktail like she was above it all. There was something about her tonight. Or maybe there was always something. The sharp wit, the lingering eye contact, the way she looked at you like you were a puzzle she almost didn’t want to solve—but couldn’t resist trying.

You had just turned toward the drink table when a man brushed past and suddenly his hand was gripping your hip, sliding far too low across your waist.

You froze. “Don’t,” you said, your voice tight.

He laughed like it was a joke, leaning closer. “Relax, babe. It’s Halloween.”

You wrenched away before he could say anything else, slipping into the crowd, breath sharp, your heels clicking faster on the floor.

You didn’t see her. But Nora saw everything.

Her expression darkened as her eyes tracked the man, who was still standing there, grinning like he hadn’t just touched someone who didn’t want to be touched.

She approached without a word, eyes glowing faintly under the red lights, like a predator with patience.

“Touch her again,” she said coolly, voice like velvet over steel, “and I’ll decorate this party with your bones.”

He turned, confused. “What the hell—”

Before he could finish, she plunged her hand into his chest.

There was a wet, horrible sound. Her fingers curled around something solid.

His heart.

She yanked it out like it was nothing.

He gasped, eyes wide, but she locked her gaze on his.

“You’ll stay standing. You’ll smile. You won’t remember a thing,” she whispered, compelling him even as blood soaked through his shirt.

The man smiled blankly, heart still in Nora’s hand.

She didn’t even glance down. She dropped it into a nearby punch bowl like it was trash, wiped her hand on his shirt, like normal.

Just then – she turned around from the man with a brave and faint smirk and started walking to where you walked away to.