There is nothing stranger than an ordinary day. I know what I'm talking about. Nothing extraordinary ever happens on an unbelievably normal day.
Days slipped by, then weeks, then months. Since December I hadn't seen Jackson, Cleo, Riven, or Rickie. I had resigned myself to another dull afternoon when my phone buzzed. A text from Cleo: "Golden Milkshake Bar in twenty minutes? We're all here."
I practically jogged the whole way. The moment I stepped inside, the air hit me like a sweet, icy wave—ripe strawberries, sharp lemon zest, warm vanilla, and the faint smoky edge of burnt sugar. The place was packed. Laughter bounced off the glossy walls, spoons clinked against thick glass, and the turquoise-and-pink neon lights painted everything in a soft, dreamy glow. The vinyl booths squeaked under shifting bodies.
I scanned the crowd, lost, then pulled out my phone to call Cleo.
"Jäher! Over here!"
Her voice cut through the noise. She was waving from a table pressed against the huge window overlooking the sea. I wove between the customers and stopped short when I reached her.
"Whoa… Cleo, your hair!"
She had chopped it into a sleek, sharp bob that framed her face perfectly, the deep brown catching the neon lights.
"I went for a bob," she said, running her fingers through it with obvious pride.
"It looks amazing on you. Seriously."
"I know," she replied, flashing that confident little smirk only she could pull off.
I slid into the booth; the cool vinyl stuck slightly to my skin.
"The others aren't here yet?"
"Jackson's ordering, and Rickie's in the bathroom. Riven should—"
The door chimed. Riven strolled in, hair tousled by the sea breeze, and headed straight for us.
"Damn, Cleo… that bob is brutal," he said with a lazy grin.
"Shut up, asshole," she shot back, laughing despite herself.
He dropped into the seat beside me and tilted his head, studying my hair.
"Your tips went red. That's new."
"Hereditary," I answered with a shrug.
Just then Jackson arrived carrying a loaded tray, the sweet scent of the shakes arriving a second before him.
"Orders up," he announced, setting the tall glasses down carefully.
Rickie emerged from the restroom, wiping his hands on his jeans.
"Did I miss anything good?"
"Oh, you missed the highlight of the century," Jackson said, smirking.
"Which is?"
"Absolutely nothing," Cleo cut in, rolling her eyes. "Don't listen to him."
Rickie sat down and looked around the table.
"Wait… did you all change your hair color with Jäher or something?"
"Hereditary," the three of us answered in perfect unison.
Cleo raised her glass dramatically.
"And I'm clearly the brunette bitch of the group."
Laughter erupted around the table—warm, easy, familiar.
We traded vacation stories, the ridiculous ones that only happen when you're finally back together. Riven told us about England with his usual deadpan delivery.
"How was it?" Rickie asked, noisily sucking up his banana shake.
"Great," Riven said.
"Really?" Cleo pressed.
"Terrible. No Wi-Fi. I almost died."
"I thought you were from here," Jackson said, frowning.
"So did I. Turns out my dad's British. Found out three months ago."
The stories kept coming, each one sillier than the last, laughter rolling between us like waves. The cold sweetness of strawberry and lemon burst across my tongue, the chill biting pleasantly against my teeth.
Then I glanced toward the big window, curious about the sky.
"Guys… have you seen the weather outside?"
No answer.
A heavy silence dropped over everything, as if someone had muted the world.
I turned around.
The table was empty.
Everyone was gone.
The entire café looked like it had been deserted for decades. Thick dust coated the booths, the tables, the half-full glasses. The neon lights flickered weakly, casting a sickly greenish hue. The sweet smell had soured into something damp and rotten, mixed with mildew and old metal. The pleasant chill had turned clammy and bone-deep.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I stood up fast. My sneakers scraped over the gritty floor. I rushed to the front door. Heavy, rusted chains were wrapped around the handles, thick as my wrist, as if they had always been there. I yanked hard. Cold iron bit into my palms. Nothing moved.
Panic rose, sharp and metallic in my throat.
I drew in a shaky breath, the dusty air stinging my lungs, and spoke the words clearly, voice low and steady:
"Aperi porta."
The Latin rolled out like a command carved in stone. A deep vibration passed through the air and into my bones. A sharp metallic snap echoed. The chains crashed to the floor with a heavy clang that rattled the windows.
I pushed the door open. It groaned like it hadn't moved in years.
Outside, the city was dead.
No cars. No voices. Only the lonely whistle of wind between buildings, carrying the sharp smell of salt, rust, and decay. A few stray dogs slunk along the sidewalks, ribs showing, eyes wild. Plastic bags tumbled like ghosts across the empty streets.
I walked through the silent neighborhoods, pulse pounding, when I spotted it.
At the edge of the alley leading into the forest stood a wolf unlike any I had ever seen.
It was massive—broader than a grown man—muscles shifting under a pitch-black coat that seemed to swallow the light around it. Its eyes glowed a violent, unnatural red, locking onto mine with cold, intelligent hunger. The air near the creature felt thicker, darker, colder.
A chill raced down my spine.
I knew, with absolute certainty:
Today was the day.
I broke into a run, chasing the beast toward the forest. Branches whipped my face, leaving stinging lines. The scent of pine resin and damp earth filled my lungs. The wolf moved ahead of me, silent and impossibly fast.
Then the ground vanished beneath my feet.
I plunged into emptiness. Darkness swallowed me whole, and reality tore apart around me. Darkness swallowed me whole. For a split second, the only sounds were the rush of wind in my ears and the frantic thud of my heart. Then everything stopped.
I blinked. I was back in my usual seat at the Golden Milkshake Bar. The place had been crowded since early afternoon. The sweet, cloying scent of blended fruits and cream still hung in the air, but it felt distant now, almost artificial.
I wondered what fresh hell I had fallen into this time. My stomach twisted. I forced a calm expression, lifted my glass, and took a slow sip. The icy liquid slid down my throat, sharp and cold.
"Everything's fine," I said, keeping my voice steady.
Cleo pushed her chair back with a scrape and stood up.
"Guys, it was really great seeing you all, but I don't have the whole day. Catch you later!"
Riven glanced up from his phone.
"Already?"
"Yeah, babe," she replied, grabbing her handbag with a quick wink.
Jackson and Rickie rose too. Rickie gave a casual wave.
"Adios, amigos!"
The three of them left. Riven and I were alone now. The air smelled heavily of artificial rose from the room freshener—sickly sweet, almost nauseating.
I stood up, the chair legs squeaking against the tiled floor.
"Let's find somewhere else."
I dropped a thick wad of bills on the table, more than enough to cover everything, and we headed for the exit. Outside, the late-afternoon sun warmed the pavement, releasing the faint tarry smell of hot asphalt.
We walked to the parking lot where my car was parked. I opened the driver's door; the seat leather was sun-baked and stuck slightly to my legs as I slid in. Riven climbed into the passenger side and shut the door with a solid thud.
"We're alone now," he said quietly.
I looked at him, curious, tilting my head slightly.
He leaned back against the seat.
"Come on, spit it out."
I started the engine. The low rumble filled the cabin.
"What exactly?"
"Don't play that shit with me."
I kept my eyes on the road as I pulled out.
"Oh yeah?"
"Don't play that fucking game with me," he repeated, firmer this time.
I drove in silence for a moment. The streets looked strangely quiet, like a hollowed-out version of the town I had seen in my vision.
"Who do you think it is?" he asked finally.
"Right now? No solid guess."
We were nearly at our destination when he spoke again.
"There have been more bodies found… pretty messed up."
I shook my head.
"The forest is off-limits, so no. I'm stopping there."
I killed the engine and opened the door. Fresh air rushed in—clean, cool, carrying the earthy scent of damp pine needles and soil. Riven stepped out and gazed at my house with a small, appreciative smile.
"I never get tired of seeing your place."
We didn't waste a second. We went straight inside. My laptop sat open on the coffee table, screen still glowing; I must have left it that way. Riven dropped onto the wide fabric sofa, the cushions sighing under his weight.
I shrugged off my coat, the fabric whispering as it slid down my arms.
"So, where do we start?" he asked.
"From the beginning."
"It starts when you showed up."
"When you turned into a wolf, to keep it simple. He's there. That's why no one knows."
Riven raised an eyebrow at me.
"Why?"
I met his eyes directly.
"Ask him."
"You're not helping," he muttered.
He thought for a second, then suggested:
"Maybe an alpha?"
"He's abnormally huge, broader than any of us. His stare feels like death itself."
Riven stayed quiet for a beat, then said:
"That reminds me of Blackpink."
"Cut the bullshit," I replied, rolling my eyes.
"Okay, fine… It reminds me of the descriptions of the Black Dog."
"What's a Black Dog?"
He stared at me, genuinely surprised.
"You're serious?"
"I know what a dog is, but… whatever. Tell me the legend of the Black Dog."
I absently ran my fingers through my hair, feeling the slightly rough texture of the dyed ends.
"Do you think that's it?" I asked.
"Let's give it the benefit of the doubt."
He grabbed the laptop and started typing quickly, keys clicking softly.
"What are you doing?"
"Looking up the Black Dog."
He scanned the screen, then added:
"It's often linked to witches or wizards as a familiar."
"Great. Witches. Just what we needed."
"If it's a Black Dog, there are definitely witches behind all this."
"You might be right."
"I'm always right," he said with a cocky little grin.
The silence that followed felt thick, pressing down on the room. Only the soft whir of the laptop fan broke it.
After a moment he continued:
"You're a witch, so you should be able to locate it."
"It doesn't work like that. I'm a siphoner. I can only pull stuff out of your head."
Riven sat up straight.
"Wait a minute… wait a minute."
He locked eyes with me.
"Say again what you said earlier: 'a witch, just what we needed.'"
I repeated slowly:
"I'm a siphoner. I siphon things."
A clear thought sliced through my mind.
"Pure reflection: if it's a witch, then it must be a siphoner too."
Riven snapped his fingers.
"Yep. And that explains the connection with the Black Dog."
He leaned back against the sofa, satisfaction spreading across his face.
"And bang. We just found the origin of our guy… or girl."