Chapter 3 The watchers Gift

It had been three days since she saw the eyes three days of locking her windows twice and pretending she wasn't waiting. Three days of lying to herself that it meant nothing. That whatever had been out there, whatever had stared at her through the darkness, was gone.

She curled into the couch, hoodie pulled low, room swallowed in shadows. The only light came from a small crack in the curtain-just enough to watch the night.

But tonight, there was nothing..No glow.No shadow. No beast.

Only the streetlights blinking like stars that had given up..and yet, her arm still burned.

The scar throbbed every night, especially when the world quieted. At 2:03 a.m., like clockwork, it would come alive-three claw marks that refused to fade, like a secret still whispering beneath her skin.

She winced, brushing her fingers over it..it wasn't infected. It wasn't healing either..it was just... wrong..and weird..and it looks like something was branded into her.

Suddenly, her breath hitched.. the smell came first..smell of Pine..Earth..and something metallic...

She turned slowly. Her chest tightened..and a package sat on the floor, just inside her door..she hadn't heard anything.

No knock..No creak..No sound.

Just a box-small, square, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine, as if it belonged there.

Her hands shook as she reached for it. "What the hell..." she whispered, barely breathing.

She looked around her apartment like it could explain something. Anything. But nothing moved. Nothing spoke.

Her ears strained for movement. Nothing.

She peeled back the paper and found a thick glass jar inside, dark green and heavy. It looked old, like it came from another century.

The moment she cracked the lid, a sharp scent poured out-woodsy, fresh, but edged with iron. She flinched, then spotted a small folded paper under the jar.

"For the burn," it read.

Simple. Clean elegant handwriting...but No name.

Her fingers hovered above the thick ointment. "Oh God... this is insane," she muttered.

She should throw it away. She didn't know who sent it. How it got inside.

Her heartbeat thudded in her ears. But her scar flared again, and something in her bones screamed yes.

"Okay, okay... if I die tonight, I swear," she whispered, dipping two fingers into the jar. "Please don't be poison."

It felt cool and sticky.

She smeared it gently over the wound...instantly, the fire dulled...Not completely but enough to make her gasp.

Relief...Real..Tangible relief...it was Like someone had pressed pause on the pain.

She slumped back into the couch, arms wrapped around herself. "Thank you," she whispered to no one. Her breath slowed. And for the first time in days, her eyes drifted shut.

And she dreamed.

She stood barefoot in the forest, night whispering between the pines. The moonlight was soft. The wind hummed like a lullaby.

And he was there.

The silver one.

He stood still, just a few feet away. His glowing eyes met hers-no growl, no warning, only silence. But it filled her up. Like a pull from somewhere ancient.

She stepped forward. Her hand trembled.

She reached out.

Her fingertips brushed the space just above his chest-

And she woke...Not with terror, but with longing.

Her room was dark again. Cold. Real.

The scar on her arm still burned, but now it pulsed in rhythm with something deeper.

She sat up slowly..and then she saw it...not on the window..On her shelf, just beside where the package had been.

An object. Small. Carved. Twisted like a crescent. Etched with symbols that didn't belong in any alphabet she knew.

It hadn't been there before.

Her breath caught. "No. No, no, no..."

She stood still for a full minute, heart racing, lips parted.

She rubbed her eyes like the object might vanish if she blinked hard enough.

But it didn't.

"Oh God..." she whispered again, voice cracking.

She took one shaky step forward. Then another. Her knees wobbled.

The closer she got, the louder the silence felt. She stared at it-this small thing that now existed in her world. She swallowed hard.

"Why is this here?" Her voice was barely audible. "What do you want from me?"

Then she shut her eyes tight. "You're fine, Nina. You're just tired... It's just a dream."

But when she opened them, the thing was still there.

She reached out.

Her hand shook violently. She pulled back her hand once..Twice.

"Aghh..." she hissed, pressing her palms together to still them. "Screw it."

She touched it.

The instant her skin made contact, the same coolness and relief surge from the ointment flushed through her arm. The pain faded for a second. Her breath caught in wonder-and fear.

There was a folded note behind it.

"To keep watch."

She blinked, lips trembling. "Keep watch... of what?"

The object was carved from something that felt like bone. Her fingertips tingled, and her pulse roared in her ears.

She took a step back.

Then came a sound-sharp. Sudden...Scratch-scratch-scratch..... sound.

"Aah!" she screamed, spinning toward the noise.

A rat darted across the floor near the fridge, claws scrabbling against tile.

"Oh my God!" she cried, stumbling backward. Her foot caught on the rug, and she crashed to the floor. Her knee slammed hard. Pain bloomed fast and hot.

She groaned, limping to the kitchen, eyes darting around. "Where are you? You little demon..."

Her trembling hand reached into the drawer, gripping a kitchen knife with trembling fingers.

"Not tonight. No way."

She returned to her room and locked the door behind her.

Then she sat on the edge of her bed, knife in her lap, knees pulled up.

The apartment was dead quiet now.

But the fear was alive.

Her eyes drifted to the shelf. The ointment jar. The crescent-carved charm. Placed side by side.

Her fingers itched to call her sister. But it was late. Too late.

And how would she even explain this?

So she sat...in the dark...the knife clutched close.

And the weight of something ancient pressing down around her...