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amber-aura · 3 days ago

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Let us Live since we must Die: Chapter 4: Happy Birthday?

Summary: In 1932, something happened in Mississippi. Something no one could explain. In 2001, a baby was born under a sky that remembered. In 2025, she’s about to find out why. Breana Rae has the power to tear through space, but what she really wants is to connect the pieces of her past. When a rare celestial event reawakens the ghosts of a buried tragedy, Breana is pulled into a mystery far older and far deeper than she ever imagined.

Pairing: Remmick x black!oc

A/N: This chapter was planned to be edited and released 3-5 days ago, but I fell sick so it's late :( But good news! The story officially begins!

Warnings: 18+ comments only. Minors, you can read but do not interact with any of my works. Angst, graphic mentions of blood and gore, eventual smut, slow burn, slurs, mentions of suicide, emetophobia, sexual assault, murder, etc. Will continue adding more as the story progresses for the sake of any new readers.

Word count: 5k

Typing. Typing. Still typing...

Breana had been glued to her laptop for nearly two hours straight, her fingers a blur across the keyboard as she dove deeper into a rabbit hole of research. The hum of the AC in her loft barely registered anymore, her focus razor-sharp as she scanned through articles, forums, archived records—anything that could shed light on 1930s Mississippi.

Her assistants were mildly baffled. Why the sudden obsession with the early 20th century South? Why Mississippi of all places? But they knew better than to pry. Breana had her moods and her muses. Sometimes it was ancient myths. Other times, avant-garde fashion history. This time, it was Jim Crow-era Mississippi. They didn’t ask questions. They just brought her coffee and kept her schedule clear.

Breana didn’t need to start from scratch. She already knew a decent amount thanks to her parents' love of documentaries and her own curiosity about history. But now? Now she needed clarity. Context. Details. She wasn’t just learning—she was piecing something together.

Even so, just reading about that time made her skin crawl.

“Nope,” she muttered to herself, eyes scanning a headline about the rise of white supremacy groups in the 1930s. “Couldn’t have been me.”

The very idea of living back then was a nightmare. No air conditioning. No decent healthcare. No advanced tech. No women’s rights. No rights for people of color—well, not real ones. It was technically illegal to just exist freely if you were the wrong shade of melanin or had the wrong chromosomes. And sure, America still had its systemic bullshit in the present day, but at least she could talk about it without being shot on sight.

“Fair wages? Nonexistent. Racist police? Oh, they been here. The Klan? Running wild like they were police.”

She shook her head and leaned back in her chair, letting out a deep, tired sigh. “And don’t even get me started on that god-awful Mississippi heat. No thank you.”

Her lips curled in slight amusement as her mind drifted to the everyday inconveniences of life back then. Making food from scratch—every single time. Relying on radios for news. Dresses with petticoats and stockings in the middle of summer, no deodorant worth a damn.

“Oh no, they got me fucked up,” she muttered, scrolling past a sepia-toned photo of women in heavy dresses and lace gloves. “I wouldn't wear a damn velvet corset in July. That’s not elegance. That’s a slow bake.”

Still…not everything about the era was a total bust. She had to admit—1930s fashion? S'alright. The silhouettes were graceful, the fabrics had texture, and those sweetheart necklines? Iconic. If she could snatch some of those designs and remix them for a stage outfit, she just might.

But it wasn’t the style that kept her glued to the screen. It was the people. The culture. The pain, the joy, the survival. She wanted to know what kind of world Mary, Elias, and the others had lived in before everything went to hell. What kind of music floated through their windows at night. What kind of dreams they whispered in the dark, even when the world tried to silence them.

She wasn’t just curious anymore. She felt tethered.

Something about it—about them —was pulling her deeper. And part of her didn’t mind being pulled.

Breana clicked over to her notepad document, eyes scanning the bullet points she’d messily typed out while going down this historical rabbit hole. She read them out loud, more to herself than anyone else.

“Alright…if I were to actually be in 1930s Mississippi—God help me—I’d have to know how to play the part. Let’s see…”

She adjusted in her seat, legs crossed, hair tied up in a scarf now to keep it out of her face. She’d pulled it up in frustration an hour ago, and now it kind of matched the vintage vibe she was reading about. Cute. Maybe unintentionally prophetic.

Always use formal titles when speaking to white people. Even if they’re being disrespectful, which they will be, say “yes ma’am” and “no sir.”

Do not look white men in the eye for too long.

Avoid walking alone at night, especially outside of your own neighborhood.

If someone accuses you of something, don’t argue. Just survive.

Breana blinked. “Jesus…”

That last line stung more than it should’ve. But it was true, wasn’t it? That was the law of survival for Black folk back then. Hell, even now sometimes.

She sighed again and kept reading.

Keep your speech “mild.” Don’t sound too educated around the wrong crowd. Don’t draw attention.

Smile when necessary. Stay polite. But never too friendly.

Segregation is the law. Don’t sit at the front of buses, don’t drink from the wrong fountain, don’t use the wrong entrance.

“Don’t breathe too loud. Don’t exist too much. Got it,” she muttered bitterly, highlighting that line just to remind herself it wasn’t hyperbole.

She scrolled further.

Jobs available to Black women: domestic work, sharecropping, laundry, seamstress, midwife if lucky.

Education limited—especially in the South.

Medical care? Almost nonexistent unless you know someone.

Her lips curled in frustration.

And yet, somehow…Mary, Elias, their community—those people had laughed, loved, danced, lived. All while under a system designed to suffocate them.

She didn’t know whether to feel proud or overwhelmed.

Then there were the notes she wrote specifically for herself:

Learn the lingo.

Clothing: Wear dresses. Loose, breathable. Light cotton or linen. Natural look. Wear your hair "short and kept" like the white women (eye roll)

Keep modern expressions to yourself unless you wanna get side-eyed. No slang from TikTok, dummy.

Learn how to cook something from scratch. You’ll need that to earn trust. Or survive. Or both.

Breana leaned back again, staring at the ceiling now. Her eyes were tired, but her spirit felt wired.

This wasn’t just research anymore.

She was prepping for something. Something she didn’t quite understand yet—but her gut said she’d need all of this. Soon.

And if this strange new path was going to demand she walk into someone else’s century?

She’d be ready...not-

But Lord, it better not be during the peak of summer. She could handle trauma, magic, vampires—but she drew the line at sweating through a cotton petticoat.

“Let me go back with common sense and a heat-resistant body, God,” she muttered, stretching her arms with a dramatic sigh. “Please and thank you.”

Then, she saved the file and titled it simply:

“How to Survive the 1930s"

Just as Breana was about to close her laptop and maybe take a break before her brain melted from history overload, there was a knock on her open studio door.

“Hey, Bree?” one of her assistants, Rayna, peeked her head in, followed by Malik right behind her, holding a smoothie like he knew she hadn’t eaten all day.

“Your birthday’s tomorrow,” Rayna said, walking in like it was breaking news. “You need to decide what you wanna do. Party? Dinner? Photoshoot? Private island escape? Aliens-only rave?”

Breana blinked, still a little mentally stuck in 1932 Mississippi. “Uh…”

Malik handed her the smoothie. “At least drink this before you fry your brain.”

She took it. “Thanks.”

Rayna flopped onto the arm of the nearby couch. “So? What are we doin’? The people are gonna be watchin’. This is the first birthday since your EP release and you’ve got followers foaming at the mouth waiting to see you do something glamorous.”

Breana sipped the smoothie, eyes a little glazed. “Can we just…eat some good food and chill? That’s really all I want.”

Malik raised an eyebrow. “Like…chill-chill or your version of chill, which means binge watching Spongebob and somehow getting drunk on ice cream?"

Breana smirked without answering.

Rayna rolled her eyes playfully. “Alright. But for real, you do need to post tomorrow. Instagram, TikTok, all that. Fans are already making edits with your countdown posts.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Breana waved a lazy hand. “I’ll post somethin’. Y’all can take a picture or whatever.”

Rayna side-eyed her. “We are not just gonna take a picture . You’re a brand. Your whole aesthetic is like…soul-deep goddess trapped in a dreamscape.”

“Okay…” Breana replied dryly, sipping again. “Then let me dreamscape in peace tonight.”

Malik laughed. “We’ll let you rest. Just don’t ghost tomorrow. You gotta give the people something. Even if it’s just a selfie with your cat.”

“I don’t have a cat,” Breana mumbled.

“Well…you seem like you should have one. You give cat girl energy.”

Rayna and Malik left, still teasing as they went. Breana stayed seated, smoothie in hand, staring ahead at nothing in particular.

Her birthday was tomorrow.

And something was coming.

Something…

Breana stared down at her notes again, the pages covered in scribbled questions, bullet points—her own chaotic little web of connections.

Logically, there was only one conclusion to draw from all of it. The kind of conclusion that would’ve made her raise her eyebrows if someone else had said it out loud.

Time travel.

That’s what everything was pointing to.

She blinked slowly at the thought, as if waiting for her own brain to catch up to what she’d just admitted.

“I can’t seriously be entertaining this,” she muttered to herself.

But...wasn’t she?

She could already open rifts. That alone threw the rulebook out the window. That day when her emotions surged and the very fabric of reality tore open in front of her—that was the moment the impossible stopped being “impossible.” It was the moment she learned the world wasn’t just weird—it was malleable .

And now?

She had an alignment happening on her birthday—the same rare celestial alignment that last occurred on the day she was born. She’d just met two vampires from 1932 Mississippi , the exact same era her DNA test pointed to when tracking her ancestral roots. The timing was too perfect, too unnerving.

Like she kept saying, none of this was a coincidence. None of it.

The rational part of her brain begged her to calm down. Breathe. But the deeper part—her intuition, her soul—whispered something else.

“Prepare.”

Breana exhaled sharply and tossed her phone from one hand to the other, thinking.

“Let’s just say I do go back in time…” she whispered, eyes scanning her notes again.

Her thoughts drifted to Mary and Elias—two undead souls tethered to the past but walking quietly through the present. They knew that world, the one she was beginning to suspect she’d soon be entering.

Assuming they weren’t too busy—considering, you know, the whole being-vampires-and-can’t-go-outside-during-the-day thing—maybe she could shoot Mary and Elias a quick text.

Just for comfort to check up on them.

Breana sat cross-legged on her bed, staring at her phone like it might bite her back. Her fingers hovered over the group chat and hesitated.

Then, she just started typing.

Breana: good morningggg. hope y’all aren’t sleeping in too much 😅

Breana: i was thinking about our convo from last night. you free to talk again later?

She stared at it for a second, then hit send. She figured if they were still asleep— actually can they sleep? She doesn’t know. Whatever, they’d just get to it when they could.

To her surprise, the typing bubbles popped up immediately.

Mary Mary: Good mornin’ girl ☀️ we’re always up dw, what’s up?

Breana felt a little relieved at the warm response, then quickly followed up:

Breana: nothing deep just had some more questions and i dunno, y’all are chill to talk to. plus it’s my bday eve lol

Mary Mary: Ohhhh! 👀

Mary Mary: I was just tellin Stack you prob got folks lined up for tomorrow. You got plans yet?

Before Breana could reply, Stack beat her to it.

Stack: i told her you was gon’ be booked n busy

Stack: but if you ain’t, we’ll happily steal a few minutes after sunset 😎

Breana grinned a little at that. She replied:

Breana: yeah it might be a busy day but i don’t got plans set in stone yet.

Breana: might just do something chill

Breana: or disappear and hide from the world for 24 hrs, haven’t decided 💀

Mary’s reply came fast:

Mary Mary: Girl that’s valid tbh

Mary Mary: But if you feel like talkin tonight, we’ll be at the usual spot. Just text

Stack: bring snacks

Mary Mary: 🙄

Breana chuckled and was feeling a weird comfort bloom in her chest. These two were something else. Unusual as hell, literally, but familiar in a way she didn’t expect.

But it was good to know someone was out there who could hold space with her in the meantime.

She stretched her arms over her head, rolled her neck, and whispered to herself:

“Okay. I’m not alone.”

Not yet, anyway.

Breana: btw been doing some research this morning

Breana: about your era...

A pause. She watched the three dots flicker under Mary’s name. Then:

Mary Mary: 👀 Oh really now, why tho?

Breana bit the inside of her cheek. She couldn’t say “just in case I get yeeted through a tear in space-time.” So instead:

Breana: idk just been thinking more about stuff you two said

Breana: trying to understand the time y’all came from

Breana: it’s wild to think about how different things were back then and how much hasn’t changed too

Stack chimed in, of course.

Stack: girl it was a whole other planet back then

Stack: no AC, no internet, no rights, and bread was a nickel 😭

Stack: mary used to churn her own butter lmao

Mary Mary: STOP LYING TO THIS GIRL I AIN’T NEVER CHURNED NO DAMN BUTTER

Breana laughed aloud, then replied:

Breana: 😭😭 y’all are ridiculous

Breana: but fr, it’s interesting. learning how folks survived, how they dressed, talked…

Breana: even the little stuff like what people cooked or how they dealt with the heat

There was a pause before Mary responded again, this time a bit more sincere:

Mary Mary: Well, if you ever got questions about how life really felt back then you know we got stories for days

Mary Mary: Not just the bad stuff either

Mary Mary: We laughed a lot, we danced, we loved hard…it wasn’t all pain

That hit Breana deep. She stared at the message for a while, then replied:

Breana: yeah. i’d love to hear more of those stories sometime

Breana: i’ll text y’all tonight after i get some stuff done

Stack: we’ll be up. undead and wide awake 😂

Mary Mary: Behave, Stack

Mary Mary: Talk soon, Bree 💙

Breana smiled down at her screen, then tossed the phone on her bed again and leaned back with a soft exhale.

What time was it now? 11:30—late morning bleeding into early afternoon. Still quiet enough for peace, but just loud enough for distractions. With nothing else urgent pulling at her attention, Breana flopped onto her bed and unlocked her phone.

Might as well check in.

She opened FaceTime, called a few close friends just to hear their voices, share some quick laughs, and pretend—if only for a minute—that everything was just normal. Then came the scroll. Instagram. TikTok.

Tik...

Tok...

Her thumb stopped on a video with her name in the caption. Birthday posts. A handful of them, actually—fan edits, countdowns, even an astrology TikTok theorizing about what each planet means for your life according to your zodiac for tomorrow’s planetary alignment.

She didn’t even blink. She’d liked so many spiritual and astrology videos that her fyp had flooded.

At first, the news unsettled her.

But not anymore.

No more anxiety, no more questioning. She'd decided: whatever life had planned, it was gonna do it anyway. Might as well face it with her chin up.

A couple of minutes later, her assistants popped in, practically buzzing with excitement.

“Okay, quick reminder,” one of them said, clipboard in hand. “Tommorows your birthday gathering. Just a small thing. Parents, friends, your fave stylists, and us.”

“And yes,” the other chimed in, “we’ll be posting. Everyone’s gonna wanna see what you’re up to tomorrow, so we’re spreading it across Insta and TikTok, don’t fight it.”

Breana just nodded, letting herself smile a little. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

They didn’t need to know what was looming in the back of her mind. They didn’t need to know she was halfway convinced this was her last normal birthday.

Let them have their fun. Let the posts go up.

If tomorrow really changed everything…then tonight? Tonight she’d have her cake. And she was damn sure gonna eat it too.

Today had officially become tomorrow.

Breana's birthday had arrived.

She sat quietly in a velvet-backed chair, legs crossed at the ankles, while her hairstylist gently tugged and twisted her hair into one of her favorite styles—an intricate criss-cross rubber band braid pattern at the crown, with the rest of her hair was loose and full. The stylist’s fingers moved with care and precision, like an artist touching up the final strokes of a masterpiece.

Breana held her phone up and captured a few shots in the mirror—angles, lighting, a little lip gloss pop—before uploading the final look to her Instagram story. She tagged her stylist with a glitter emoji and a heart. Grateful, always.

Once her hair was finished, her assistants ushered her back into her room, chatting excitedly about the day’s schedule and what would be posted when. Together, they helped her slip into her outfit for the party—a dress she had chosen weeks in advance but still gasped at when she saw herself in the mirror.

It was a black and white, off-shoulder bow-tied stunner, perfectly hugging her form while still giving her the freedom to breathe, to move, to feel . She paired the dress with sheer transparent tights and tall, sharp black stilettos.

Then came the descent down the hall to the living room.

The second she stepped into view—

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!”

The room erupted with voices, flashes of phone cameras, and a collective energy so warm it made Breana pause for a moment, just to soak it in. For a second, the air felt slower.

She almost cried.

There they were—her parents. Her friends. Her inner circle. All gathered just for her. She hadn’t seen her parents in nearly two months, which made their presence that much more emotional.

“Mom! Dad! ” she beamed, practically running toward them, heels clicking across the hardwood floor with power and precision—because yes, Breana was that girl who could run in stilettos and not fall once.

“Hey, darlin’! Happy 25th birthday!” her dad said with a voice full of pride as he embraced her.

“Hey baby, we haven’t seen you in a minute! Ooooh you look beautiful ,” her mom chimed in, pulling her into a hug like she was still fourteen.

They laid their gifts on the table—among many others from friends and colleagues—wrapped in everything from sleek matte black paper to glittery, rainbow explosion chaos. It was a corner of love and celebration.

The party buzzed around her with the sweet comfort of soul food scents drifting through the air—collard greens, baked mac and cheese, fried chicken, candied yams, cornbread—the works. It had been catered by a high-end Black-owned spot Breana personally requested, and the flavor alone felt like coming home.

Then came the cakes.

Yes— cakes.

The first one? A classic vanilla layered masterpiece, made just for Breana by her parents.

At the top, in blue frosting and yellow letters, it read:

“What’s funnier than 24? 25. Happy birthday!”

Breana burst out laughing. “ Y’all are too much! ” she said through giggles. Spongebob was one of her favorite cartoons of all time, and this was peak humor.

The second cake, much larger and meant for guests to share, was a red velvet cake adorned with edible flowers and gold flakes.

Photos were taken nonstop—candid moments, selfies with her besties, and formal poses with her family. Her assistants worked behind the scenes, uploading clips, tagging everyone, managing posts across Instagram, TikTok, and Twitter.

Breana didn’t bother checking her phone. Not yet.

Right now, all she wanted to do was laugh, eat, hug everyone in the room, and hold onto this little oasis of love as tightly as she could.

The laughter in the living room echoed behind her like a sweet chorus, champagne glasses clinking, music humming low beneath the hum of conversation. Someone had just made a joke and everyone erupted, including her parents. It was a perfect moment.

Too perfect.

Breana’s smile faltered just slightly as something pulled at her gut. A tight, cold little thread that hadn’t snapped since the moment she opened her eyes this morning.

She blinked once, twice.

The alignment…

She didn’t say it out loud. She didn’t have to. That thought alone made her mouth go dry.

“Oh crap,” she said softly, just enough for her assistant to hear. “I forgot something—I left it in my room, just give me one sec.”

Before they could even respond or follow up, she turned with a casual wave and headed back down the hallway. Her heels clicked a bit faster this time, but not enough to raise concern. Her heart, however, was pounding.

Once in her bedroom, she shut the door gently—no slam, no theatrics. She was calm… enough.

Until she checked her phone.

The screen lit up with a burst of notifications.

Instagram DMs. Comments. Story tags. TikTok mentions. Duets of fans singing her songs. Edits of her best performance moments. Birthday tributes, fanart, memes—even one dramatic video of someone pretending to faint at the thought of meeting her.

“Happy Birthday, Breana!!! QUEEN ENERGY!!”

“She’s 25 and still not aging?? How??”

“Hope this is your best year yet!!”

Her finger hovered above a video of her laughing earlier at the cake. Her assistants had already edited and posted it. She smiled at her digital self.

Then a new banner appeared at the top of the screen:

Mary Mary & Stack 💙:

Happy birthday, Bree. Don’t get too drunk, see you tonight or tomorrow -Mary Marywhat she said. hope it’s a good one young blood. 🥂 -Stack

She smiled. But the warmth didn’t last.

Because that gut feeling returned—stronger now.

She quickly opened her search bar and typed without fully thinking:

“Celestial Alignment Time May 7th, 2025”

The top result loaded instantly:

“The peak alignment will occur at approximately 1:47 PM PST…”

Breana glanced at the time on her phone.

1:44 PM.

Her breath caught.

She stood there, frozen, as the realization punched through her chest like a bass drop.

“Three minutes… ” she whispered out loud.

Then panic set in.

“Okay—okay okay okay okay okay,” she mumbled, backing up a little, gripping the phone like it was an anchor and she was already being pulled out to sea. Her breathing quickened. She felt a burn behind her eyes. Her hands started to sweat.

Forget her earlier nonchalance. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready.

Breana inhaled deeply—once, then twice—holding the breath in her chest like it might glue all her nerves back in place. She checked the time again. 1:46 PM.

One minute.

She set her phone down on the nightstand. No more looking. No more spiraling.

Just go back out there.

She shook her arms out, forced her best I’m-not-panicking smile, and opened the door.

The second she stepped back into the living room, the atmosphere swallowed her whole again. Jazz music played now, something her stylist picked, smooth and classy. Her parents were dancing together by the windows, her friends chatting by the champagne table. Someone had popped open another bottle.

“There you are!” one of her assistants called out.

“Come on, come on, we’re about to cut the big cake!” another friend shouted, holding up her phone to record.

Breana nodded, moving toward the table, blending back into the birthday rhythm. She accepted hugs, opened a gift or two, and even let one of her friends convince her to take a sip of mimosa (non-alcoholic, thank God—her nerves didn’t need help).

“Alright, make a wish!” her dad announced with a proud grin, already holding up his phone.

The candles flickered, glowing warm and golden against the frosting.

One minute left…

Breana stared at the flames.

She didn’t make a wish.

She just closed her eyes and thought, Please…not yet.

Then she blew them out.

Cheers erupted. Everyone clapped, and someone from the back yelled, “TWENTY-FIIIIIIIVE!” like it was the age of legend.

The party pressed on.

The house had gone quiet.

The party guests were gone. Empty champagne glasses littered the kitchen counter. Wrapping paper lay crumpled in a pile beside the couch. Her parents had already gone to bed in the guest room. Her assistants had gone back to their hotel after helping her change and unwind.

Now it was just Breana. Alone in her room. Back in her pajamas, her makeup wiped clean, her hair in a bonnet.

She sat cross-legged on the edge of her bed, staring out the window.

The moon hung heavy and silver above the city skyline. The sky was too still. Like the world was holding its breath again.

Her phone sat quietly beside her.

Breana exhaled, a hand resting on her knee. She hadn’t expected to have time to see Mary and Elias tonight, but it looked like she just might. Her fingers hovered above the screen, ready to text—

And then she looked out the window.

There they were.

The planets. Aligned.

It was stunning in a haunting kind of way. A string of bright pearls suspended in a velvet-black sky. She’d seen the predictions, the mockups, the TikToks claiming this was it —the moment the world would shift. And now…here it was. Real. Tangible. No turning back.

She wasn’t about to check any news headlines about the “effects” either. If she didn’t have powers, she would’ve dismissed all the online panic: memory loss, time displacement, emotional distortion… Like, girl please...

But as she's known ever since she was eighteen, nothing was impossible anymore.

And she was grateful— relieved, even—that the day had gone by without incident.

Until—

BrrrrrNNGGG—!!

A shrill, splitting hum cracked through her skull.

“Ah—!” Breana’s hands flew to her head. Her eyes slammed shut, her chest seized up, and her heartbeat started hammering like a war drum. The air shifted. Thickened. Her whole body trembled as the sky outside took on a strange glow—celestial, yes, but tinged with something uncanny. Ominous.

Her ears rang.

No— screamed.

The sound wasn’t normal. It wasn’t human. It wasn’t here. It was coming from…somewhere else. Inside?

She stumbled back from the window, breath hitching. She needed her intuition to say something , anything. But her mind was static. A broken signal.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Her knees buckled.

She hit the floor.

Gasping.

Eyes wide and unseeing.

Her powers stirred. Not gently. Not the way they usually did. This was violent. Chaotic. She felt her chest thrum like an amplifier as a soft bluish-purple light began to glow from beneath her skin.

“No—no, no, no—” she whispered.

She glanced down, trembling.

Her whole body was glowing now, pulsing brighter and brighter like a living beacon. Her fingers twitched. She couldn’t move her hands from her head. Couldn’t open a rift even if she wanted to. Her powers were acting on their own, building toward something she didn’t understand.

She needed something to anchor her.

Her phone. Her memories.

She forced her eyes open and spotted it—just out of reach, where she’d left it near the window.

“C’mon,” she rasped. “Please…”

She crawled—every muscle heavy, like moving through water. The light around her body swelled, warping the shadows in the room, distorting the walls just slightly like heat haze.

Her fingers brushed the phone.

She snatched it with a shaky hand and shoved it into her pants pocket. Her other hand scraped against the floor, trying to find grip to push herself up. She glanced toward her desk, where her laptop and notebook sat—pages of the notes she had taken earlier.

Too far.

No time.

The glow surged again, and the room vibrated softly like a low hum of thunder before a storm.

Breana staggered to her feet.

Fucking hell, why—

Breana didn’t even get to finish the thought.

Her mind went blank.

Still glowing, still trembling, her body began to lift. Slowly. Unnaturally. Her feet left the ground like she was weightless, suspended in a cocoon of pulsing violet-blue light.

Above her, the ceiling shimmered. Then— crack.

A rift opened.

Not one of her own.

This one wasn’t drawn by her hands, wasn’t triggered by her focus. It opened like it had a will of its own. It pulsed—once, twice—like a heartbeat, warping the ceiling into a glowing spiral of nothingness.

Then, just as suddenly, it snapped shut.

And Breana crashed to the floor.

Hard.

The air left her lungs in a harsh gasp as she landed, light still pouring from her body in surges.

She groaned, barely able to process what had just happened. A rift opened…without her? That wasn’t supposed to happen. Her power always needed her focus, her will. This felt like something—or someone—else had pulled the thread instead.

Then came the knocking.

Knock knock knock.

“Breana?” her mom called out, her voice tinged with concern. “Sweetheart, are you okay in there?”

Another knock. Firmer. Sharper.

“Breana?”

Then her father’s voice joined, worried and commanding.

“BREANA?!”

But Breana couldn’t answer. Her mouth opened, but no words came. Just a pained, breathless sound.

“Ah…”

She clutched her chest, shaking, drenched in sweat as the light from her skin flickered erratically.

Their voices faded.

Not because they stopped talking.