Chapter 1: Invisible
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like angry wasps, casting their sickly glow across the Morrison & Associates law firm. I hunched over my computer, squinting at the contract that had been bleeding red ink from my edits for the past three hours. My coffee had gone cold sometime around midnight, but I couldn't bring myself to care.
"Still here, Jessica?"
I looked up to find David Park hovering by my cubicle, his tie loosened and his usually perfect hair showing signs of the late hour. At least I wasn't the only one pulling another all-nighter.
"Rebecca wants this merger contract perfected by tomorrow morning," I said, gesturing at the stack of papers that seemed to multiply every time I looked away. "And by perfected, she means I need to anticipate every possible legal loophole and plug them all."
David whistled low. "Morrison's putting you through the wringer lately. You've been here past midnight every day this week."
"It's fine," I lied, saving my document for the hundredth time tonight. "I need the experience."
The truth was, Rebecca Morrison had been riding me harder than usual ever since I'd made the mistake of pointing out a flaw in one of the senior associates' contracts during a team meeting. Being right wasn't enough to excuse being a lowly junior associate who dared to speak up.
"You know what your problem is?" David perched on the edge of my desk, scattering my carefully organized papers. "You're too nice. You let them walk all over you."
"I'm not too nice. I'm professional."
"Professional is one thing. Being a doormat is another."
I shot him a look, but he wasn't wrong. At twenty-six, I'd been working at Morrison & Associates for two years, and I still felt like I was invisible half the time. While other junior associates schmoozed with partners and landed high-profile cases, I was stuck doing document review and contract revisions.
"Besides," David continued, stealing a sip of my cold coffee and making a face, "I heard a rumor that might interest you."
"I don't do office gossip."
"This isn't gossip. It's intelligence gathering." He grinned, that boyish smile that had probably gotten him out of trouble his entire life. "We're getting a new senior partner. Someone from the Chicago office."
Despite myself, I felt a flicker of interest. Morrison & Associates was a mid-sized firm that rarely attracted talent from bigger markets. "Who?"
"Michael Stone. Supposedly, he's some kind of corporate law prodigy. Made partner at thirty-two."
I tried to ignore the way my stomach fluttered with nervous energy. New partners meant new opportunities—or new ways for junior associates like me to screw up spectacularly.
"When does he start?"
"Monday. Word is, Rebecca personally recruited him for some big project." David's expression turned serious. "Jess, maybe this is your chance. A new partner means a fresh perspective. Maybe someone who'll notice your work."
The elevator chimed in the distance, echoing through the mostly empty office. We both turned toward the sound, surprised. The cleaning crew usually didn't arrive until after two AM.
"Probably just security," I said, but something cold traced down my spine. The building felt different tonight—charged, like the air before a thunderstorm.
David must have felt it too, because he straightened up, his casual demeanor shifting. "Maybe we should call it a night."
Before I could respond, the lights flickered. Once, twice, then it went out completely, plunging the office into darkness.
"Perfect," I muttered, fumbling for my phone's flashlight. The blue glow barely penetrated the inky blackness that seemed to press against us from all sides.
"Jess." David's voice was tight. "Something's wrong."
He was right. The darkness felt alive, almost predatory. It moved in ways that darkness shouldn't move, pooling and shifting like liquid shadow. My breath came short and sharp as an irrational fear clawed at my chest.
Then I heard the footsteps.
They were slow, deliberate, and not coming from the security guard's usual route. These footsteps had purpose, and they were heading straight for our section of the office.
"We need to go," I whispered, grabbing David's arm.
But before we could move, the footsteps stopped. In the suffocating silence that followed, I could hear my heartbeat thundering in my ears.
A voice cut through the darkness—smooth, cultured, and completely unfamiliar.
"Jessica Brooks."
It wasn't a question. Whoever was out there knew exactly who I was, and somehow that was infinitely more terrifying than a random break-in.
David's grip tightened on my arm. "How does he know your name?"
I shook my head, not trusting my voice. The darkness seemed to pulse around us, and I had the strangest sensation that it was responding to my fear, growing thicker and more oppressive with each racing beat of my heart.
"I know you're here, Jessica," the voice continued, closer now. "There's no point in hiding. We can smell the power on you."
Power? What the hell was he talking about?
"I don't know what you want," I called out, surprised by how steady my voice sounded. "But the security cameras are recording everything."
A low chuckle echoed through the office. "Security cameras are the least of your concerns right now."
The footsteps resumed, and I could see a shape moving through the darkness—tall, broad-shouldered, definitely male. But there was something wrong with the way he moved, too fluid and predatory to be entirely human.
"Run," I whispered to David.
"I'm not leaving you."
"David, go. Now."
Something in my tone must have convinced him, because he squeezed my shoulder once and then melted into the shadows toward the emergency exit. I heard the distant sound of the stairwell door opening and closing, and relief flooded through me. At least one of us would make it out of this.
The figure was close enough now that I could see his face in the dim glow of my phone. He was handsome in a sharp, dangerous way, with dark hair and eyes that reflected light like an animal's. When he smiled, I caught a glimpse of teeth that were just a little too white, a little too sharp.
"Smart girl, sending your friend away," he said. "This conversation is better held in private."
"What do you want?"
"What do I want?" He tilted his head, studying me like I was a particularly interesting specimen. "I want what's been promised to me. What's been growing inside you all these years, waiting to bloom."
I backed against my desk, my hand closing around a letter opener. It wasn't much of a weapon, but it was better than nothing.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't you?" He stepped closer, and the shadows around him seemed to deepen, as if darkness itself was drawn to his presence. "Haven't you noticed the way shadows move differently around you lately? The way darkness seems to bend to your will when you're angry or afraid?"
My blood went cold. He was right. I had noticed things—small things I'd dismissed as tricks of the light or stress-induced imagination. The way my office always seemed dimmer than everyone else's, even with the same fluorescent lighting. The way shadows seemed to pool in corners when I was upset. The way I always felt more comfortable in darkness than in bright light.
"That's impossible," I whispered.
"Is it?" He raised his hand, and the darkness responded, flowing toward me like a living thing. "You're not like other humans, Jessica. You never have been. And now that your powers are awakening, some would claim them for themselves."
The shadow-stuff wrapped around my ankles, solid as rope but cold as a winter night. I gasped, stumbling backward, but there was nowhere to go.
"Don't be afraid," he said, his voice taking on a hypnotic quality. "This will only hurt for a moment."
That's when something inside me snapped.
I'd spent my entire life being pushed around, dismissed, and made to feel small and insignificant. I'd let Rebecca Morrison treat me like dirt. I'd let other associates take credit for my work. I'd let everyone walk all over me because I was too scared, too nice, too professional to fight back.
But this was different. This was survival.
"No," I said, and the word came out harder than I'd intended.
The shadows around my ankles shivered.
"No," I said again, louder this time, and pushed back against whatever force was trying to claim me.
The darkness exploded outward from where I stood, rushing through the office like a tsunami of shadow. The man staggered backward, his confident expression shifting to surprise and something that might have been fear.
"Impossible," he breathed. "You're untrained. You shouldn't be able to—"
His words were cut off as every piece of glass in the office—windows, picture frames, coffee mugs—shattered simultaneously. The sound was deafening, and through it all, I could hear him screaming.
When the chaos died down, he was gone. The only evidence of his presence was the scorch marks on the carpet where his shadows had touched the ground and the lingering scent of sulfur in the air.
I stood there in the wreckage of my workplace, surrounded by broken glass and twisted metal, trying to process what had just happened. The darkness that had erupted from me was already fading, settling back into normal shadows, as if it had never been anything more than the absence of light.
My phone buzzed with a text from David: "Made it out. Called 911. Are you okay?"
I looked around at the destruction, at the evidence of power I didn't understand and couldn't control, and typed back: "I'm fine. Just some electrical problems."
But I wasn't fine. Nothing would ever be fine again.
Because whatever had just awakened inside me, whatever had been sleeping in my blood all these years, was now very much awake.
And I had the terrible feeling that the man with the sharp teeth and shadow-touched presence was just the beginning.