𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇 ; 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙣 𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧

Twenty-five years. That's how long it had been since Azazel first set his sights on her family, since her parents had struck the deal that sealed her fate. And tonight, he'd return. She'd known it for as long as she could remember-he always came on her birthday, checking in like a shadow she could never shake.

The memories of his visits haunted her: a glint in his yellow eyes, a smile that held promises she didn't understand as a child but now felt suffocating her every breath. She knew something was different this year. Azazel had been patient, watching, waiting. But now... now it felt like the end of that patience.

She pressed her hands into her knees, her palms clammy, the anticipation gnawing at her insides. The years spent with Daniel Elkins had given her the skills of a hunter, the instincts to survive. But none of that could prepare her for what she was - what she'd been avoiding. The witch blood in her veins, the power she kept buried deep because she knew the danger it carried.

The old man had warned her: "The second you use that power, you give them a way in. Don't let the darkness take hold."

But what if it already had? She could feel it now, humming beneath her skin, like it had been waiting for tonight as much as Azazel had.