"Mr… uh, Black, can I—uh—help you?" The teacher's voice cracked mid-sentence, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. The dude straight-up jumped at the sight of Parker standing there like a ghost. No footsteps, no door creak, nothing. Just—bam—there he was. And the creepy part? Parker didn't even acknowledge him. Not a glance.
His eyes, sharp and cold, swept across the room with laser focus, cutting through the noise and chatter like none of it mattered.
Then his gaze landed on that one damn spot—Naomi's seat. Empty. The chair sat there awkwardly between two other students, both buried in their notes like everything was normal. But her bag wasn't there as well. No phone charger lazily hanging out of the side pocket, no water bottle with the dumb little sticker that always made Parker roll his eyes. Nothing. She hadn't just bounced to the bathroom. She was gone.
"She's not here," Parker muttered under his breath, voice low enough to get swallowed by the buzz of the class. He could've asked, sure. Could've turned to the teacher, or maybe even the students, but what was the point? They'd just confirm the pit already growing in his gut.
Evelyn, just stepping into the hall for another lesson, caught sight of him and froze mid-step. Her eyes narrowed, scanning his face. Was that fear? Parker Black—looking like he just got sucker-punched by life? Before she could even ask, Parker spun on his heel and bolted like hell itself was clawing at his back.
****
The abandoned building was a whole different beast—dark, cold, and stinking of damp concrete and regret. And him? He was pacing like so strung-out maniac, muttering under his breath, eyes darting around like the shadows were out to get him.
"Why the fuck is this taking so long?" The thought scratched through his head like nails on glass. He was running on fus after draining himself just to stay hidden—stalking Naomi like so damn ghost, snatching her from the bathroom, and grabbing her stuff without anyone so much as blinking.
That little stunt had sucked the energy right out of him, left him bone-dry.
Now he was stuck here, biding ti, stalling while he tried to pull himself together. Talking to Naomi, playing nice—ugh, like he gave a shit about small talk—but it bought him minutes to recover while traumatizing his target. Every cell in his body scread to vanish, but karma? Oh, she was a vindictive little whore today.
At least he'd planned for this. He always planned. But then her phone had buzzed. One goddamn ring—and his stomach had twisted. He knew who it was. That smug-ass Blackwood piece of shit. The thought of him made his blood boil.
"Hero Boss? Fucking seriously? Who the hell cos up with that weak-ass na?" His voice tore through the silence, loud, bitter, and dripping with hate when he rembered the contact na he'd seen.
Naomi didn't even flinch. She was just sitting there on the cold floor, still as death, like she'd already accepted whatever was coming. But she was thinking. Why wait? If this was his hideout, why the hell wasn't he making his move? It didn't add up. He was just talking...?
But it wasn't about her, not really.
Then his voice cut through the room again, but this ti it was different—lower, sharp with that ugly edge of satisfaction. "Ah… yes…"
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He could feel it now—the rush, the power crawling back under his skin, burning hot, electric.
His strength was crawling back into him, slow and steady, like thick syrup sliding down a wall. The air around him buzzed with the spark of returning power. Every second counted now. He had to move. Fast. Because if those origin descendants locked onto his scent? Ga over. And he wasn't about to stick around for that kind of shitshow.
"Hurry the fuck up," he hissed, breath shaky, hands twitching. "Let's get the hell outta here before this turns into a goddamn manhunt." He had to vanish before those damn origin brats caught his scent and ca crashing down on him. And they would, oh, they fucking would.
Naomi's breath hitched as she watched him practically vibrating with anticipation. What the hell was he waiting for? And worse—what happens when he's ready?
****
Parker's breath ca fast, every inhale cutting sharp through his chest as his feet slamd against the pavent. His pulse wasn't just racing—it was screaming. Where the fuck was she? Every second felt like an itch under his skin, crawling deeper, gnawing at that cold, calculated part of his brain that usually kept him steady. But not now. Not with Naomi gone.
"Ere." His voice didn't leave his mouth—it echoed through his head, cold and sharp like broken glass.
The response ca instantly. {I'm here.} Ere's voice was smooth as silk but laced with that edge of irritation, like she didn't appreciate being yanked from her peace at the mansion.
"Did you put a Trail on Naomi?" Parker's tone was hard, clipped, leaving no room for bullshit.
{Of course I did. You told to keep tabs on her.} There was that smugness, like duh, she wasn't an amateur.
"Good. Tell where she is—now."
There was a pause—just long enough for frustration to claw at him. {You realize I'm not near the school, right? Directing you from this far? It's gonna be a nightmare burning through my energy.}
"I don't give a damn how hard it is. Just guide . I think she's in trouble"
That did it. Ere didn't argue after that—because she could feel it too. The tension bleeding out of him wasn't just panic—it was sothing worse. That cold, sharp fear that twisted into fury, the kind of fear that didn't break him—it sharpened him into sothing dangerous. And Naomi was soone she had a soft spot in Ere's heart.
{Alright. I can feel her… northeast. It's faint, but it's there—like a weak pulse. Follow the shadow streaks, you'll see them—they're pulling toward her.}
That was all Parker needed. Without wasting another breath, he took off like hell itself was clawing at his back. His body moved on pure instinct, legs burning as the world blurred around him. The shadows on the ground shifted—streaks of inky black that weren't supposed to move on their own. They pulled his focus forward like they were alive, dragging his all attention toward Naomi's fading trail presence.
'Hold on, Naomi. Just hold the fuck on.'
****
Inside the decaying skeleton of the abandoned building, the air felt thick with sothing wrong. Like the walls themselves knew what was happening and just didn't give a shit.
The man stood over Naomi, every muscle twitching with restless energy, like his body was already halfway out the door. He wasn't patient. Patience was for people who didn't have origin descendants breathing down their neck. Every second felt like a clock ticking toward dead.
The bindings around Naomi loosened, her wrists falling limp as soon as the ropes untwined. She wasn't going to just sit there, though. The mont she felt freedom, her instincts roared back to life.
She thrashed. Kicked. Fought like hell, like any ounce of hope ant survival.
But then—his hand touched her forehead.
And just like that, it was over.
It wasn't pain—it was worse. It was like soone flipped a switch inside her skull. Her eyes rolled back, body going slack like a puppet with its strings cut. No struggle. No fight. Just… nothing.
"Fucking exhausting," he muttered, slinging her bag over his back like a shitty souvenir and tossing her limp body over his shoulder. His breath ca quicker now—not fear, but urgency.
His body rippled, shadows bleeding out from his skin like smoke laced with blood. The air around him darkened, his figure warping, shifting—becoming sothing less human. He was no longer just a man—he was a sar of nightmares, a moving void that carried Naomi's unconscious form like she weighed nothing.
Ti's up.
He couldn't risk staying. He could feel the shift in the air, like sothing was hunting him already—coming for him. But running now ant abandoning Naomi, ditching everything he'd worked for. Although Parker's presence couldn't be felt, this man could still feel the scent of the approaching terror.
And fuck that. He will take her with him although it would slow his escape since his energy was still a bit low.
His shadow-soaked form bolted through the broken hallways, every step leaving behind a sar of darkness. His heartbeat wasn't fear—it was strategy. Get out. Now.
He just had to move faster than the storm that was already crashing down behind him.
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