Shelby and I pulled into the IceHouse parking lot just as the sun began to set below the tree line, sending long shadows across the broken pavement. The neon sign over the entrance flickers like it's trying to remain alive and buzzes slightly in the warm evening air.
I am so hungry I could eat an elephant. Or, at most, a massive pizza.
We're hardly parked when another car comes up a few places down. A sleek black vehicle polished to a brilliant shine. The engine purrs softly, as if it is keeping back something frightening.
Evan's automobile.
Wait—what?
My eyes sharpen as I turn to Shelby. "I thought you said they'd already be here."
She shrugs too casually. "I invited them." "I did not say they'd beat us here."
I stare at her, mistrust building like steam. "Shelby…"
She avoids my sight, suddenly drawn to her cuticles. "Don't get mad. I just thought it would be more fun if we all came together. "You know, like fate."
I roll my eyes, but before I can respond, Evan's car's passenger door opens—and the world tilts.
He steps out slowly, as if he is emerging from another dimension. Tall and broad-shouldered, he wears a dark button-down shirt and fitting pants that make him appear both relaxed and menacing. His hair is as black as ink and unkempt, as if he has just stepped out of a hurricane. But it's his eyes that turn me cold.
Blue.
His eyes are not just blue; they are ice blue, a color that seems unnatural for a human face. The type of blue that chills oceans and silences halls. They focus on mine the moment he stands, and I swear the air between us crackles.
My breathing is irregular. My heart stutters.
That's him.
The man of my dreams.
Not the best sort, either. Not the kind when you wake up smiling and wish you could go back to sleep. No, he is the man from the nightmare that's been bothering me for weeks. That's him.
So many thoughts bombard me. For starters, he is kneeling near the ruins of my car, smoke curling into the sky like fingers. He's the one who leads me to a doorway that pulses with light, both horrifying and familiar. The one who speaks of buried memories, and whose eyes—those ice-blue eyes—speak volumes.
He wants me to remember.
Stepping through.
He wants me to become the person I had forgotten.
My chest tightens. My field of view becomes narrower. I can feel the cold, sharp edges of a panic attack forming.
"Oh my," Shelby whispers near me. "Is it too late for me to dump Evan and take the cousin?"
She grabs my arm, her nails pressing in a little. I swear she was just purring.
I cannot move. Can't breathe.
This cannot be happening.
He is not supposed to be real.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, the sound loud and unpleasant. I fumble for it, glad for the distraction.
Mom: Are you OK?
Of course she is aware. She always knows.
I type fast, fingers trembling.
Me: Yes. Don't worry. I was just surprised by something. I am fine. Thx. Love you, L8TR.
I slip the phone back into my pocket and attempt to breathe normally. My mother's intuition is really accurate. She's always had a sixth sense when it comes to her children, but with me, it's as if she's connected to something deeper. Something ancient.
I return my gaze to the man, who appears to be Evan's cousin, and he continues to stare at me.
Not in a casual, 'Oh, you must be Angela' type of way.
No. This is different.
His stare remains unwavering. Intense. As if he's attempting to recollect anything. Or perhaps confirm it.
I feel like I'm being watched. Measured.
Shelby nudges me while looking between me and Evan's cousin. "Are you okay?" "You look like you saw a ghost."
I swallow forcefully. "Yeah. Just... déjà vu."
She raises an eyebrow but does not press. Thank the Gods.
When Evan and his cousin walk up to us, Shelby immediately begins making introductions, as if she were hosting a reality show.
"Angela, this is Evan's cousin, William Enyalius—"
The name is barely recognized before the air shifts. My grasp on Shelby's arm tightens—to the point where I may leave a mark. She looks at me again, then at Will, her eyes narrowing as she notices something I can't quite articulate.
"What the heck is wrong with you, Ang?" Shelby murmurs beneath her breath, her tone low and piercing.
I mentally fought off the apprehension while Shelby extended her hand, smiling as if nothing was wrong. "Hey, how are things going? I'm Shelby. You've probably heard everything about me."
Will's smile is lopsided and unforced. "It's only Will." "And yes, Evan has mentioned you once or twice."
His voice is dangerously low, warm, and sharp enough to cut if you aren't careful. Every word has a subtle authority that makes you want to test it and see what happens. It swirls about you like smoke, full of promise and terror. This voice resembles the kind found in smut romance novels that our mothers kept hidden in their nightstands or tucked away in the dark back corners of their closet shelves, which we tried to ignore but couldn't help sneaking a peek at when no one was watching.
Then our eyes make contact again—ice blue, acute, and endless—and for a little moment, I forget how to breathe. It's as if he looks right through me and hears every thought I have.
Wait. Did I speak it aloud?
No. No, I did not. I'm certain I didn't.
"Hi. I'm Angela. Or Ang. It's nice to meet you, Will. Evan mentioned that you're from Greece?
There. My voice is back. The world is beginning to right itself, but only slightly. But his eyes are still on me. He continues to hold me in place, as if an unexpected current had caught me.
He holds out his hand.
I hesitate.
Then I slowly take it.
Something clicks when our flesh connects.
A thrill goes through my fingertips. The sensation is not painful; rather, it's shocking. Like static. It doesn't feel particularly painful or overwhelming.
It's more like a lock rotating.
A door opens.
Behind that, something is waiting.
His eyes expand slightly—only for a second—but that's plenty. He felt it, too.
"Hello, Angela," he murmurs softly now. "Please, the pleasure is entirely mine. Yes, I am from Santorini."
I try to pull my hand back and act normal. "Nice to meet you."
He nods and says nothing. He refuses to look away. Does not wink. He then puts my hand to his lips, lightly brushing them with a kiss across my knuckles.
I am absolutely blushing. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks, and Shelby can see it too. Her brow arches just a little. She's caught the moment. The connection. The spark.
I'm still standing there, stuck in it.
Shelby notices the tension and claps her hands. "Great! Let's eat. I'm starving."
We begin to walk inside, the music blaring through the flooring and the aroma of fried food and beer thick in the air. Shelby and Evan lead the way, already laughing over something. Will walks beside me, silently.
I sneak a look at him.
He scans the room as if he were memorizing exits. He seems to be expecting something—or someone—to emerge.
I'm not sure what's going on.
But I know one thing for certain.
This night has changed everything.