BULLETS AND BLADED HEARTS | 10k

PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

THE dorm room was small but cozy, illuminated by the soft, yellow glow of her desk lamp. Francesca Murphy sat hunched over her textbooks, the scratching of her pen against paper being the only sound in the room. Her laptop hummed quietly beside her, casting a faint blue light that mixed with the warmth of the lamp, creating an odd, almost eerie glow. The clock on the wall ticked softly, marking the slow passage of time.

Outside the window, the city sprawled out beneath a dark, starless sky. Normally, at this hour, the distant hum of traffic and the occasional wail of a siren would filter in, a constant reminder of life just beyond the campus walls. But tonight, the city felt too quiet. It was as if the world had gone on mute, leaving only the sound of her breathing and the ticking clock. The silence pressed against the windows, thick and oppressive, making the air inside the room feel heavy and stagnant.

Frankie glanced up from her work, her eyes drawn to the window. The buildings outside stood like silent sentinels, their lights flickering dimly in the distance. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. The stillness of the night was unnatural, and it set her on edge. Even the shadows in the corners of her room seemed darker, deeper, as if they were creeping closer with every passing minute.

She pushed her chair back and stood, stretching her tired limbs. The air felt colder than usual, the kind of cold that seeps into your bones and refuses to leave. Frankie shivered, wrapping her arms around herself as she crossed the room to the window. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass, scanning the empty streets below. No cars, no pedestrians, just an expanse of concrete and asphalt, eerily deserted.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as a chill ran down her spine. She couldn't explain it, but something was wrong. She turned away from the window, trying to shake off the unease. But it lingered, clinging to her like a shadow.

As Frankie sat back down at her desk, the silence in the room felt more pronounced, more threatening. The world outside might have been still, but something was out there, watching, waiting. She could feel it in her gut, a primal instinct telling her that this quiet was just the calm before the storm.

An urgent banging on her door shattered the silence, startling her from her seat. Her eyes narrowed at the plain metal door, her heart thundering in her chest as she approached.

She looked through the peep hole, sighing in relief at the sight of her best friend's rustic hair. Opening the door, the feeling of dread returned the moment Diah Crowe stumbled through the door and into her small dorm. His usually vibrant blue eyes were clouded, and his skin had taken on an unsettling pale hue. The small lamp on her desk flickered, as if sensing the tension in the air.

"Frankie," He mumbled, clutching his forearm. "Something... something fucked happened."

Frankie rushed to his side, her concern deepening with each step. "D, what's wrong? What happened?"

"I... I was on my way back from the library," Diah stammered, sinking into the plush armchair by the window. "There was this guy, looked like he needed help. I thought he was just homeless, you know? He was sitting by the bus stop, shivering. I went to check on him... and then he just snapped — like a fuckin' animal — and the crazy fucker bit me."

Her heart sank. She dropped to her knees beside the chair, gently taking Diah's arm to examine the wound. It was a deep, ugly gash, the skin around it turning a sickly shade of green.

"Oh my God," she whispered, grabbing her phone. "We need to get you to a hospital."

As her finger hovered over the call button, Diah's hand shot out and gripped her wrist, his strength surprising them both. "No," he begged, his voice raspy. "If Principal Jackson finds out I was out past curfew, he'll call my parents, and—"