Morning came too soon. Marty squinted at his phone, blinking against the early light filtering through the blinds. The sharp light made his headache throb. His hand fumbled for the phone, the familiar weight of it grounding him, but he remained groggy, like he was still trapped in some half-remembered dream.

  The screen lit up.

  A text.

  Erik: Dude, we must’ve had a wild night. I can’t remember anything after we were skipping rocks. You guys remember? Everyone’s pretty out of it.

  Marty stared at the message, his stomach twisting, the knot of dread settling deeper. They didn’t remember. They didn’t know what had happened. How could he explain it? His fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitation freezing him in place. How could he even begin?

  Finally, he typed back:

  Marty: Yeah, man. It was… weird. Meet up later?

  His thumb hovered over the send button for a moment longer, as though trying to weigh the consequences of even sending the message. He pressed send and watched as the little bubbles popped up on his screen almost immediately, the responses coming in one after the other.

  Brad: For sure.

  Seffie: I was so out of it, I don’t even remember the ride home. Let’s meet up at the diner.

  Erik: Fred's Diner at 10? The vibe is off.

  Marty exhaled sharply, feeling a mixture of relief and unease. They didn’t remember—at least, not like he did. The world felt more like a dream than reality, and yet the weight on his chest wasn’t imaginary. It felt real.

  He tossed the phone aside, pulled himself out of bed, and struggled into his clothes. The morning air bit at his skin, sharp and cold as he hurried downstairs, trying to shake the thoughts from his head. His mom’s door was closed, the soft sounds of her snoring coming through the thin wood. She was still asleep, and Marty couldn’t bring himself to disturb her. Not now.

  The drive to the diner seemed to take twice as long as usual, miles of pavement heavy with uncertainty. When Marty finally reached Fred's Diner, the familiar bell above the door chimed as he stepped inside. He slid into the booth, barely hearing the chatter of his friends around him. His mind was far away, still haunted by the events of the night before, the dream that felt like it had bled into reality. The reality of Thor’s power still lingered within him, vibrating like a hum in his bones. He couldn’t shake it. Something within him had changed.

  Brad, Erik, and Seffie were talking about something, but their words didn’t quite reach Marty. The physical space between him and them was insignificant, but emotionally, he was on another planet.

  Then, his gaze drifted to another booth by the window, and his breath caught in his chest.

  The woman and the man who had knelt beside the fallen Thor, the two mysterious helpers from the previous night, were just sitting there, like normal customers.

  Her piercing gaze was fixed on Marty, unwavering, like she knew him in a way he could barely comprehend. The man sitting beside her, his eyes darting between the diner and whatever lay outside, scanning the streets with a sharpness that made Marty’s stomach tighten. Marty knew them both, not only from the encounter at the pond, but they had been in his dream.

  His heart hammered in his chest.

  His friends were oblivious, chatting away as if everything was normal. But Marty knew it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Not with them here.

  Then the man moved. It wasn’t much—barely more than a breath—but Marty saw it. His hand drifted toward something beneath his coat, fingers twitching with practiced instinct. His posture had gone rigid, like a bowstring pulled taut.

  The woman hadn’t even turned, but her expression had changed too. Her eyes, already sharp, narrowed with slow, surgical precision.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Marty didn’t know what they saw or felt, but the hair on his arms stood up, every nerve in his body was on edge. The way animals sense an earthquake before it hits.

  And then the bell above the diner door jingled.

  A gust of cold wind swept in, cutting through the warmth like a blade. Marty turned his head toward the entrance, his stomach tightening into a knot. A group of strangers stepped through the door, and immediately, the atmosphere in the diner shifted. The air seemed to grow heavier, charged with an unnerving energy.

  They were pale. Their skin glowed faintly, like moonlight reflecting off the snow. Their eyes, bright, glowing with an intensity that made Marty shudder.

  The group of strangers didn’t look like normal people. They were dressed in simple, clothing somewhat out of place for small town in Idaho—yet they fit into the diner as if they belonged there. But something about them was wrong.

  Marty’s breath caught in his throat. As the pale strangers moved into the diner, he caught sight of the dark-haired woman moving quickly. She had clearly sensed the threat as well.

  As they moved through the diner, their eyes scanning the room, their movements predatory and slow. Marty’s eyes widened as he saw one of them—an impossibly tall woman with silver-white hair—glance directly at him. Her lips curled into a faint smile, but it wasn’t a friendly gesture. There was a hunger in her gaze, something unsettling.

  Without a word, the dark woman moved closer to Marty’s table, her body shifting in front of the group of friends like a protective shield. She raised a hand, quietly whispering words that Marty couldn’t quite understand. The diner’s noise thinned, like cotton shoved in his ears. The pale woman’s gaze slid past Marty’s booth—missed it—then snapped back, confused. The chatter of the diner fell into muffled whispers, and the pale stranger’s piercing eyes, which had been fixed on the group, suddenly lost their focus.

  Marty’s stomach churned. He could still see the pale strangers through the haze of whatever she had done, but they couldn’t see him. Their hunger—their need—was palpable, but for now, Marty and his friends were cloaked in some sort of shadow, protecting the others from what was about to unfold.

  "Marty," Seffie interrupted, "are you okay, you look sick, and I think you are sweating?"

  Without thinking, Marty leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper. “Guys, something happened last night. Something big. I— I can’t really explain it all, but I need you to trust me. It’s not just… normal.”

  Erik’s brow furrowed, and he shot Marty a confused glance. “What are you talking about, Marty?”

  Marty didn’t know how to answer him. He didn’t have the words. But before he could find them, the man moved.

  He approached the table with a purposeful stride, his expression unreadable. There was something in the way he moved, something… ancient. Marty’s breath hitched. It was like he was being pulled into a storm, caught in something far bigger than himself.

  The man stepped forward, he gripped Marty’s arm, his voice a low, urgent whisper. "You and I are leaving. Now."

  The words were a command, not a suggestion. Marty froze. His friends continued to chatter, oblivious to the tension that had suddenly gripped him. But Marty wasn’t confused. Not anymore. He could feel it—something had shifted, and they were no longer in the same world they had been before.

  The man raised his hand—not abruptly, not forcefully, but with the quiet certainty of someone used to being obeyed.

  Marty blinked. A vacuous glaze had settled over his friends’ eyes, as if someone had yanked the soul right out of them and left the shells behind. His breath came in short gasps, too loud in the sudden stillness. The rush of blood in his ears was deafening—his own body rebelling against the unnatural calm.

  He stood. He wasn’t sure why—his legs just moved. Every instinct screamed at him to get away.

  As he stumbled toward the door, his heartbeat thundering in his chest, he cast one last glance over his shoulder.

  The pale strangers hadn’t moved far. They stood just inside the entrance, watching with an intensity that pinned him like an insect to glass. They didn’t seem interested in the others at all—only in the one thing they were looking for. Marty.

  Their presence pressed down on the room like a stormfront: not yet striking, but promising something violent just over the horizon.

  The door slammed shut behind him with a soft jingle, and Marty was pulled farther away from the diner, out into the street where the early morning sun hadn’t quite managed to chase away the chill.

  But before he could say anything, the man’s voice broke through the thick fog of his thoughts. “You don’t understand, do you? They’re not here for food. They are looking for you… for Thor.” He paused and looked over his shoulder. “And they can smell it on you already.”

  Marty’s breath came in short gasps. “Thor? Me?”

  He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder, his eyes flashing with an intensity that made Marty want to hide from the intense scrutiny.

  The woman had moved to the door of the diner, watching him. She met his gaze, her expression unreadable, but there was a quiet understanding in her eyes—a quiet certainty that whatever had happened last night had irrevocably changed everything.

  As they moved farther away from the diner, Marty couldn't shake the weight of those glowing eyes on him. He shuddered at the memory of their hunger, the pull they had on him.