Void (The Youngest, Book 3.B.)

Chapter 一 (B)

Melissa McCall had woken up at around 2 a.m., feeling the need to use the bathroom. She stood up and walked out of her bedroom, yawning and rubbing her eyes as tiredness washed over her. After going to the bathroom, she made her way back to her room. As she walked down the hallway, a soft giggle reached her ears from her youngest's room. She frowned, her curiosity piqued, and slowly approached, hearing more muttering and laughter trickle out from behind the door. Melissa pushed the door open, and the sounds abruptly stopped.

Upon entering, Melissa's eyes scanned the room, landing on the empty bed where her daughter should have been. Confused, she glanced around until her gaze found Kylie, sitting cross-legged on top of her dresser.

Melissa blinked in surprise. Kylie wasn't tall enough to reach the top of her dresser on her own; her mother always had to help her grab her t-shirts from the upper drawers. How had she managed to climb up there?

"Kylie, what are you doing up? It's two in the morning, honey," Melissa said gently as she approached her daughter.

Kylie didn't answer. She just stared at her mother with a blank expression, her eyes almost unnervingly focused.

Melissa's frown deepened. Something felt off.

"Come on, let's get you to bed," she said, lifting Kylie off the dresser. She walked over to the bed and tucked her daughter in, smoothing the blankets around her.

Kylie watched her mother the entire time, her gaze never wavering, her small face unreadable.

Melissa leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Sleep now. You'll be tired tomorrow if you don't." She tried to smile reassuringly before leaving the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Once her mother was gone, Kylie sat back up, her eyes widening with excitement. A smile spread across her face as she spotted a familiar bug on her ceiling. She giggled softly as it fluttered through the air, its body glowing and casting a gentle light around the room.

This wasn't just any bug—it was a firefly.

Stiles tossed and turned in his bed that night, sweat dampening his brow as his breathing grew erratic.

"Don't... no. Don't let them in. Don't let them in," he mumbled repeatedly, his words almost a whisper, his face twisted in distress.

The feverish muttering went on all night, but his eyes stayed shut until, at last, he jolted awake with a gasp. He blinked and found himself staring into spots of light. But it wasn't the moonlight coming in through his window—he wasn't even in his room. He was enclosed in some small, suffocating space.

Panicking, he pushed, slamming against a narrow door until it burst open. He stumbled out, realizing that he had been crammed inside a locker. A school locker. He blinked around, disoriented, taking in the pitch-black emptiness of the locker room, with only dim, scattered lights illuminating the space. His eyes adjusted just enough for him to catch his own reflection in a cracked mirror above the sink. His face looked pale, haunted.

A faint giggle echoed through the room, followed by a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision.

"Kylie...?" Stiles called out, his voice cracking slightly.

He didn't know why, but it sounded like her—like his best friend's little sister. He left the locker room and moved down the hall, trying to follow the sound. Each step seemed to echo, swallowed up by the surrounding darkness.

A door at the end of the hallway was open, light spilling out. Stiles moved closer, his heart thudding, and peered inside. His eyes widened in disbelief.