Chapter 3 The girl with a mysterious past

Zariah Nightborne leaned against the counter at Timeless Relics, the antique shop's stillness wrapping around her like a worn blanket. The neon sign buzzed faintly outside, casting a weak glow through the window. She'd stayed late again, sorting a crate of tarnished rings and cracked vases, the scent of old books and Miriam's incense thick in the air.

Her fingers brushed the silver pendant at her neck- the only thing she'd had nine years ago when Miriam found her, a scratched-up eleven-year-old stumbling barefoot on the town's edge, no memory, no name but "Zariah Nightborne" etched in elegant script on the crest. No one had claimed her-police searched, posters faded, nothing. Miriam, with her sharp tongue and softer heart, had taken her in, raised her among relics and dust. She yawned, stretching her arms, and caught her reflection in a chipped mirror behind the counter. Pale skin, a tangle of silver curls-wild, like always. She'd grown into her frame-curvy, strong-but tonight she felt off, lighter somehow, like her bones were shifting. Probably just tired. She glanced out the window, and her breath hitched. A black SUV sat across the street, lights off, engine silent. It'd been there yesterday too, hadn't it? Watching. Her gut twisted-paranoia, sure, but it clung like damp cloth. "Get a grip," she muttered, grabbing her jacket. She locked the door, the chime jangling sharp in the quiet, and stepped into the night. The city hummed distantly-cars, laughter-but her usual alley shortcut was a void, shadows pooling too deep. She'd always seen better in the dark-picked out cracks in the pavement, a glint of glass-better than anyone she knew. As a kid, she'd dodge trouble before it found her, outrun boys twice her size without breaking a sweat. Miriam called it luck. Zariah stopped asking. A rustle snapped her head up. Nothing-just wind, maybe. She walked faster, boots scuffing pavement. The dreams had been worse lately-glowing eyes in the dark, a voice calling her name in a tongue she couldn't place, blood slick on her hands. Last night, she'd seen a mountain under a silver sky, a shadow moving closer. She'd woken gasping, sweat soaking her shirt, that hunted feeling clawing her chest. It wasn't new-years of it-but it was louder now, sharper. A low growl rumbled from the alley's mouth. She spun, expecting a stray dog or a drunk muttering curses. Nothing but black. The air pressed heavier, her pulse kicking up like a drum. She shook it off-imagination, that's all-and turned the corner. Three men stepped from the shadows, dressed in black, moving with eerie grace. Their eyes glowed sickly yellow under the streetlights, predatory and wrong. Terror bolted through her, sharp as a blade. "Miss Nightborne," one purred, voice silk over steel, stepping forward. "We've been looking for you." She didn't wait. She ran. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she tore through the alleys, legs pumping faster than they had any right to. She leaped a fence in one bound, landed hard, and kept going-trash cans clattering, her breath ragged in her throat. She'd always been quick-cuts healed in hours, bruises faded like smoke-but this was survival. They were close-too close-footsteps a whisper behind, unnatural and relentless. Not human. Not possible. Pain seared her shoulder, claws slicing deep. She cried out, stumbling forward, blood splattering the pavement. The air shifted-thick, wild, like a storm breaking open. The men faltered, one inhaling sharply, yellow eyes widening. "She doesn't know," he murmured, almost awed. Know what?! Zariah pushed on, pain burning but her legs steady. Blood dripped, warm down her arm, yet the wound already felt less raw-stitching itself, like always. She rounded a corner, chest heaving, alley walls blurring, when a hand grabbed her wrist. She twisted, fist cocked, ready to swing-but it was Miriam's wrinkled face staring back, eyes wide with urgency. "Come with me," the old woman whispered, grip iron despite her age. "Now." Miriam hauled her through a hidden back door into Timeless Relics, the creak of the floorboards a lifeline as Zariah's hands shook. She'd grown up here-sorting relics, learning their stories-after that day nine years ago when Miriam found her, lost and scratched on the outskirts, the pendant her only tie to a past she couldn't grasp. The police had searched-missing posters, dead-end calls-but no family came. Miriam had, though, claiming her with a gruff "You're mine now, kid," and a spare room above the shop. "What the hell's going on?!" Zariah demanded, voice raw, blood staining her sleeve. The claw mark throbbed, but the bleeding had slowed-too fast, again. Miriam didn't answer. She rummaged in a locked drawer, hands trembling, and pulled out a yellowed card, setting it on the counter. A single emblem gleamed in the lamplight-matching the crest on Zariah's pendant, sharp and familiar. Zariah stared, breath hitching. "What is this?" "A way home," Miriam said, voice heavy with something ancient, worn. "Home?" Zariah's laugh was sharp, brittle. "This is home." Miriam's tired eyes met hers, carrying secrets she'd never shared. "No, child. You weren't meant to stay here. Nine years ago, someone hid you-left you where I'd find you, out of sight. They're either dead now or coming for you." Zariah's pulse roared in her ears. Those dreams-glowing eyes, blood, that voice-had chased her for years, waking her with a hunted ache she couldn't shake. The claw mark itched, healing under her jacket, and she clenched her fists. "So what do I do?" Miriam slid the card closer, fingers lingering on its edge. "Take this. The address on the back-go there. It'll look like nothing-a wall, a ruin, a dead end. Touch it. The veil will open." "A veil?" Zariah's voice cracked, disbelief warring with fear. "A door between worlds," Miriam said, soft but firm. "One only you can cross." Zariah's chest tightened, her hand curling around the pendant, warm against her skin. "And if I step through?" "No coming back," Miriam said, lips pressing into a thin line. Stay and face whatever hunted her-yellow eyes, claws, shadows-or leap into the unknown. Nine years ago, a war had raged somewhere, sealing her fate. She felt it deep, a pull she couldn't name, like the voice in her dreams. Her shoulder ached, a reminder of what waited if she stayed. She'd find out why they wanted her. And what she didn't know.