Chapter 8 Static in Her Head

The elevator hummed as it descended, floor numbers glowing overhead. Lysandra leaned against the wall, arms crossed, trying to keep herself from spiraling. Her head buzzed like a phone left on silent-vibrating with static she couldn't pin down.

Silvano stood beside her, quiet. Alert. Dangerous in that cool, don't-mess-with-me kind of way. Even here, in a steel box with soft lighting and sleek buttons, he looked like he belonged in a world where problems were solved with bullets or magic.

"You okay?" he asked, not looking at her.

"Not really," she admitted. "Feels like someone turned up the volume in my brain."

"Magic does that," he replied. "Especially when it's waking up."

She didn't answer. Her fingers tightened around the crescent pendant at her chest. It pulsed, warm and rhythmic-like it had its own heartbeat.

Then the elevator lights flickered.

And her vision dropped out.

Suddenly, she wasn't in the elevator anymore.

She was six years old, barefoot on marble floors, running through a hallway lined with red curtains and golden doors. Laughter bounced off the walls. A woman's voice echoed behind her-soft, melodic, not quite human.

"Lysandra, darling, come back here-"

The girl giggled, twirling a silver pendant in her hand. This pendant. The exact same one, even back then. It glowed faintly, just like now.

The light shifted. The hallway twisted. The warm gold turned icy blue.

A man appeared at the far end-dark hair, crimson eyes. Silvano? No. Not him. Older. Sharper. His smile was all wrong.

The woman screamed.

And then the hallway burst into flame.

Lysandra stumbled, breath caught in her throat.

Silvano grabbed her before she hit the ground. "Hey-Lysandra. Focus. You're okay. You're here."

She blinked rapidly. Her pulse raced. The elevator had stopped. They were in the parking garage now, low lighting casting long shadows.

"I-I remembered something," she whispered. "A hallway. A woman. I think she was my mom."

Silvano's expression darkened. "You saw her?"

She nodded slowly. "She looked fae. And there was a man-he had your eyes."

He stiffened. "A lot of people have red eyes. Doesn't mean they're family."

"Yeah, but this felt the same," she said, meeting his gaze. "Same kind of magic. Same pressure in the air. Same heat."

Silvano didn't respond. He just turned and motioned toward the black car waiting in the garage.

She followed, hands still trembling.

Inside the car, silence stretched long. Finally, he broke it.

"There are rumors," he said, eyes on the road, "that the old fae bloodlines never really disappeared. They just... hid. Blended into human society. If your mother was one of them, that makes you-"

"Part fae," she finished.

He nodded. "But not just part. You might be from one of the royal bloodlines. The ones that vanished before the war."

Lysandra's throat tightened. "Why would someone hide me?"

"Because power like yours paints a target on your back," he said. "And if your memories are coming back now, it's not random. It means someone-or something-is stirring it awake."

Outside, the city blurred past in neon streaks. But everything had changed.

Lysandra stared at her reflection in the window. Her fingers traced the pendant as the memory echoed again.

She wasn't just a girl with visions anymore.

She was the secret someone tried to erase.

And that secret was finally waking up.