Mira's POV
The nightmare always ends the same way—with fire and screaming.
I jerk awake, gasping, my heart racing like it's trying to escape my chest. My hands shake as I push sweaty hair off my face. The dream felt so real this time. I could smell the smoke, feel the heat, hear a woman's voice crying my name.
But that's impossible. I've never been in a fire.
"You're being crazy again, Mira," I whisper to myself, trying to calm down.
Sunlight streams through my tiny bedroom window, making the twenty-three potted plants on my shelves glow green. I count them like I do every morning—one, two, three—making sure they're all still alive. Some people think it's weird that I talk to plants, but they're better listeners than most people I know.
"Good morning, everyone," I say softly, touching the leaves of my favorite fern. For just a second, I swear I feel it lean into my hand, like a cat asking for pets. But that's just my imagination. Plants don't actually move.
Right?
My phone buzzes. A text from Elena: Happy 18th birthday, loser! You're officially an adult. Still a virgin tho lol
I roll my eyes but smile. Elena's the only friend I have, even if she's mean sometimes. Nobody else at community college talks to me. I'm the invisible girl who sits in the back and never raises her hand.
"Mira!" Aunt Vivian's voice cuts through the apartment like a knife. "Stop wasting time with those stupid plants! We have bills to pay!"
My stomach tightens. I hate it when she yells.
I grab the bag of cat food from under my bed—the one I hide so Aunt Vivian won't throw it away—and sneak out to the fire escape. Shadow is already waiting, his black fur matted and one ear torn from old fights. He's the ugliest cat in the neighborhood, and he's my best friend.
"Hey, buddy," I whisper, pouring food into the chipped bowl I keep hidden behind the dumpster. "It's my birthday today. Eighteen. I'm supposed to feel different, but I just feel... the same."
Shadow stares at me with his bright amber eyes, and for a crazy second, I think he understands. His eyes look almost human. Almost sad.
I reach out to pet him, but he backs away like always. In three years of feeding him, he's never let me touch him. Not once.
"Mira!" Aunt Vivian shouts again. "Get in here NOW!"
I rush back inside. Aunt Vivian stands in the kitchen, arms crossed, her face angry. She's wearing her old bathrobe, the one with holes in it. We're so poor we can barely afford food, but she says it's because she spent everything raising me after my parents died.
"I saw you feeding that rat again," she snaps. "How many times do I have to tell you? We can't afford to feed strays!"
"I'm sorry," I mumble, staring at my feet. "I just—"
"You just nothing! That food costs money. Money we don't have!" She sighs like I'm the biggest disappointment in the world. "Sometimes I wonder why I even took you in. Your parents died and left me with nothing but debt and you."
The words hit me like a slap. She's said things like this before, but it still hurts every time.
"I'll pay you back," I promise quietly. "When I get my paycheck from the flower shop—"
"That barely covers your phone bill." She waves her hand like she's swatting a fly. "Just go to class. And don't be late for your shift tonight. Mr. Peterson already complained about you daydreaming on the job."
I grab my backpack and run out before she can yell at me more.
Community college is just as bad as home. I sit in the back of my English class while everyone else laughs and talks with their friends. Elena finds me at lunch, talking too loud about boys and parties I'll never go to.
"You should come out tonight," she says, stealing a fry from my tray. "It's your birthday! Live a little!"
"I have to work," I say.
"You always have to work." Elena rolls her eyes. "You're eighteen and you've never even been kissed. That's actually sad."
My cheeks burn. "Not everyone needs a boyfriend to be happy."
"Sure, weirdo." She grins, but her eyes look strange for a second. Almost calculating. "Hey, has anything... different happened to you lately? Like, weird stuff?"
My heart skips. "What do you mean?"
"Nothing." She shakes her head too quickly. "Just wondering. You seem different today. Like you're glowing or something."
I'm not glowing. Elena's being weird.
But as the day goes on, I notice other strange things. My history teacher keeps staring at me like he's never seen me before. The guy who works at the coffee cart gives me my drink for free and calls me "miss" instead of ignoring me like usual. And everywhere I walk, I feel like someone's watching me.
By the time I get to the flower shop for my evening shift, my skin feels tight and tingly, like I'm about to jump out of it.
Mr. Peterson, my boss, greets me at the door. "You're late."
"I'm sorry, I—"
"Just get to work." He points at the counter. "We have a special customer coming soon. Make sure you don't mess it up."
I spend the next hour ringing up customers and arranging flowers, trying to ignore the weird buzzing feeling under my skin. The shop is almost empty when the bell above the door chimes.
I look up and freeze.
The most beautiful man I've ever seen walks in. He's tall, wearing an expensive black coat, with dark hair and eyes so grey they look like storm clouds. His face is cold and perfect, like he's carved from ice.
But what really stops my heart is the feeling that crashes into me when our eyes meet.
I know him.
I don't know how or why, but I KNOW him.
He walks to the counter, moving like a predator. "One dozen white roses."
His voice is deep and makes my whole body shiver.
"Y-yes," I stammer, pulling out the roses with shaking hands. "That'll be—"
"I know the price." He hands me a black credit card. "I come here every week."
He does? How have I never noticed him before?
When I hand him the roses, our fingers touch.
The world explodes.
I gasp as emotions flood into me like a wave—grief so deep it feels like drowning, rage that burns like fire, and underneath it all, something else. Something that feels like... recognition?
The man jerks his hand back, his eyes wide with shock. For one second, his cold mask drops, and I see fear.
He's afraid of me.
"What are you?" he whispers.
Before I can answer, every light in the shop explodes. Glass rains down as the windows shatter. I scream and duck behind the counter.
When I look up, the man is gone.
But standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the setting sun, is Shadow.
Except he's not a cat anymore.
He's a man with amber eyes and black hair, wearing no shirt, his muscular body covered in scars. He stares at me with an expression so sad it breaks my heart.
"I'm sorry, little spark," he says in a voice I've heard in my dreams. "Your eighteenth birthday breaks the final seal. There's no more hiding what you are."
Behind him, three figures in dark hoods appear, moving too fast to be human.
Shadow—or whoever he is—bares his teeth, and they grow into fangs.
"Run, Mira!" he shouts. "RUN!"
But my legs won't move.
Because my hands are glowing with silver light, and I can suddenly hear voices—thousands of voices—whispering secrets I was never supposed to know.
The last thing I think before the world goes dark is: What am I?