(Vampire!Reader x Isaac Night) Chapter 20
Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen
Summary: Isaac vs Stonehearst with the help of Morticia, Y/N, and Gomez
Notes: Hi, hope you enjoy. This is probably the last chapter before I start writing in Wednesday's timeline now. Any thoughts and comments would be appreciated!
Warning: Gore, Graphic Descriptions of blood, Sexual Content. It's 38 pages long and I don't proofread.
The midday sun struggled through the overcast sky, casting a muted glow over the damp forest floor as the group ventured deeper into the woods. The air hung thick with the scent of wet pine and earth, the ground soft and spongy underfoot from the morning’s drizzle. The counsellor’s directive had been straightforward: hunt your lunch or go hungry, but Gomez, with his boundless energy, had turned it into a spectacle from the start.
He bounded ahead through the underbrush, his black coat flapping like a raven’s wings, hair dishevelled, and eyes alight with manic glee. Sparks of blue electricity danced erratically along his fingertips, illuminating the shadows in brief, crackling bursts.
Without a word of warning, he spotted his first target, a plump gray rabbit nibbling clover beneath a low branch. Gomez froze in an exaggerated crouch, his face twisting into a mask of intense focus. “Ah, the elusive conejito!” he whispered loudly, as if the rabbit might overhear and flee from sheer offence.
He thrust both hands forward, electricity arcing from his palms in a brilliant, jagged bolt. The energy snapped through the air with a crack like breaking bone, and slammed straight into a nearby sapling. Bark exploded in a shower of splinters, the rabbit bolted unharmed, and a startled squirrel chattered indignantly from above.
Francoise, Y/N, and Morticia exchanged a single, knowing glance and collectively decided to hold back, perched on a fallen log while Gomez pursued his quest with unbridled enthusiasm.
Francoise leaned against a moss-covered oak, a fond smile playing on her lips as she watched Gomez’s antics. “You got this, Gomez,” she called out encouragingly. “Show us what a true Addams can do!”
Morticia settled beside her, smoothing her long black skirt with graceful precision. “Indeed. Passion is its own reward, but if he singes the rabbits to charcoal, we can always dine on the ambiance.”
While Gomez performed his war against innocent wildlife, Y/N let her gaze move past the theatrics and into the shape of the land itself. The eastern rise sat higher than the rest of the forest, crowned by one massive oak that caught even the dimmest light. To the west, the ground dipped into a ravine thick with slick stone and thornbush, the kind of terrain that could slow a pursuit or break it entirely.
She marked the trails without looking like she was marking them, where the paths narrowed, where roots knotted under mud, where a body could disappear behind rock or brush for precious seconds. If tonight went wrong, she wanted more than one way to survive it.
Gomez, undeterred, plunged ahead. His next attempt targeted a pair of rabbits grooming each other in a small clearing. He dropped to one knee, posing like a marksman in a duel. “This time, mi amor, I strike for glory!”
The bolt carved a smoking furrow through the moss, hit a rock with a deafening pop, and sent sparks showering in all directions. The rabbits paused, twitched their noses at the commotion, and resumed grooming as if nothing had happened.
Gomez rose, fists clenched in mock outrage. “These creatures are demons! They mock me!”
Morticia’s lips curved in a faint, indulgent smile. “Perhaps they sense your admiration, darling. They wish to prolong the dance.”
Y/N bit the inside of her cheek to stifle a laugh. Isaac, who had been trailing at the rear with his hands in his pockets, watched the spectacle unfold with lazy amusement, his dark eyes glinting as if he were calculating the exact odds of Gomez’s success.
Gomez lined up a third shot, this time at a single rabbit frozen in the path. He spread his arms wide, sparks building like a storm cloud. “Now, little one, meet your fate!”
The electricity leaped- and scorched a perfect circle in the ground three feet to the left. The rabbit hopped away leisurely, as if disappointed by the performance.
Francoise groaned, burying her face in her hands. “We’re going to starve.”
A familiar, lazy voice drifted from the shadows behind them.
“Please,” he drawled, voice dripping with amused superiority, “allow the adult in the room to handle this before Gomez accidentally levels the forest.”
Isaac stepped into the clearing as if he had been there all along, hands in his pockets, expression one of amused superiority. He lifted one hand almost lazily, fingers splaying outward as if conducting an invisible orchestra. The air around the two rabbits that had reappeared shimmered like heat rising from pavement, thickening until both animals froze mid-groom, their ears pinned back, held gently in place by an unseen force that rippled through the space between them.
Gomez’s face transformed from frustration to ecstatic joy, his eyes widening with delight. “My boy!” he roared, clapping his hands once with a resounding smack before unleashing a precise bolt of electricity that crackled through the air like a whip.
This time, the energy struck true. Twin soft thumps followed as the rabbits dropped to the mossy ground.
Gomez surged forward, seizing Isaac in a crushing embrace and spinning him in a jubilant circle, the motion sending leaves scattering from their boots. “Genius! Poet! Brother of my soul! You have turned my failure into triumph!”
Isaac laughed, breathless, steadying Gomez with one hand while the invisible grip gently lowered the rabbits to the moss. “I do what I can,” he said, tone light but edged with that unshakable confidence, “when the rest of you insist on making it look difficult.”
Francoise hopped off her log, grinning broadly. “Finally. I was seconds from eating my own sweater.”
Morticia stepped forward, her sabre tapping the ground like a satisfied conductor’s baton. “A perfect partnership,” she declared, her voice warm with approval. “One provides the thunder, the other the precision. Together, unstoppable. Though, darling, your sparks were quite the spectacle, I do believe the squirrels will be telling tales of it for generations.”
Gomez released Isaac only to throw an arm around Y/N’s shoulders and drag her into the circle. “Come, we shall continue our hunt! Today we will feast like kings! Ah, mi familia, what a hunt! What a victory!”
He struck a heroic pose, one foot on a fallen log, sparks still flickering faintly at his fingertips.
The sky above the treetops stayed heavy and waiting, but for a moment, amid the smell of scorched moss and impending rain, the five of them felt almost like a team.
“Dear,” she said, voice low, almost conversational, “I think Y/N is in trouble.”
Gomez came awake in the space between one breath and the next. He sat up smoothly, hand already on the sabre propped beside him.
“What did you see, my spider mistress?” he asked, voice steady, eyes sharp in the dimness.
She saw Y/N alone in the forest, soaked to the skin, rain lashing sideways in sheets so thick the world dissolved into gray. Lightning forked overhead, white and vicious, turning night into noon for a heartbeat. In that merciless flash, she saw Stonehearst, coat plastered to his frame, advancing with deliberate, predatory calm. Y/N backed away, boots slipping on the slick ground, eyes wide with something Morticia had never seen in her before: raw fear.
Then the next bolt came, blinding, closer, and Y/N’s silhouette jerked as the strike hit the wet earth inches from her feet, current arcing through the standing water in a web of blue-white fire that lit her from the inside out.
“Tomorrow night… I think,” she said at last, her voice soft as a funeral bell. “The storm. She will not be alone.”
Silence followed, heavy and immediate. Then the faint rustle of fabric as Gomez’s hand froze mid-motion on his coat, the firelight catching the sudden tension in his shoulders.
“Not alone?” he repeated, his voice lower now. “With who?”
Morticia turned toward him slowly, the vision still clinging to her skin like damp silk, her gaze distant for a moment longer as if she were still inside it.
“A professor,” she said, though the word felt imprecise even as it left her. “A woman.”
Gomez frowned slightly, confusion threading into his unease. “Which one?”
“I saw her,” she said quietly. “Clearly. And yet…” Her brows drew together just slightly, the only visible sign that something unsettled her. “Her face would not remain fixed. Each time I try to recall it, it changes. Not entirely, but enough that I cannot hold it. It slips away from me.”
The wind pressed against the tent flap, a low, restless sound that seemed to echo the unease settling between them.
“She was close to Y/N,” Morticia continued, her voice lowering. “Too close. There was something in her voice… something wrong. It carried, even through the storm. I could feel it.”
Gomez’s posture shifted, the confusion fading into something sharper.
Morticia shook her head slowly. “Not in the way you mean. It was quieter than that. More… insistent.” Her gaze flickered briefly, as though the memory itself resisted being examined. “She wanted Y/N to stop. To yield. There was no urgency in it. Only certainty.”
A sharp breath left Gomez, quieter now, more controlled.
“And that’s all you saw?”
Morticia was silent for a moment longer.
“No,” she said at last. “There was… something else.”
Her eyes unfocused slightly, as though she were reaching for something that refused to stay within her grasp.
“There was… someone else,” she said slowly, the hesitation unusual for her. “Not part of the moment itself, but tied to it. Further back.” Her voice lowered, more certain despite the vagueness of the image. “Watching. Waiting. A presence I could feel, even if I could not fully see.”
Her gaze shifted to Gomez, sharpening just slightly. “I believe it was a science professor.”
“Science…?” Gomez repeated, the word dragging from him now, edged with unease as his thoughts raced ahead of the conversation. His expression tightened as realization settled in, slow but certain. “Professor Stonehearst?” The name fell from his lips like something bitter. “I’m in his class every week, and Y/N has never taken it. What business does he have with her?”
Morticia turned toward him, the vision still clinging to her like damp silk against skin.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, the words quiet but weighted. “That is what unsettles me most. It did not feel random.” Her gaze lowered slightly, recalling the sensation rather than the image. “It felt deliberate. Focused.” A pause. “He wanted her afraid. He wanted her alone.”
She inclined her head just slightly, her composure returning even as the unease lingered beneath it. “He was not at the center of what I saw,” she clarified, “but he was close enough to matter. Close enough that he cannot be ignored.”
The wind prowled against the canvas again, restless and insistent.
“Danger does not require reason,” Morticia murmured, her voice settling back into its usual calm. “Only intent. And intent was there.”
Gomez exhaled slowly through his nose, the tension in him shifting, not gone, but sharpened into something more focused.
“Then mañana we stay close,” he said simply. “Whatever this is, we stand between it and her.”
Morticia nodded once, slow and certain.
“Whatever this is,” she echoed.
“Morticia, mi amor,” he whispered against her hair, sensing the quiet tension that lingered beneath her composure, “we will not let this happen. I swear it.”
Morticia’s fingers curled into his nightshirt, the vision still cold against her skin.
Gomez drew back just enough to meet her eyes. “First thing in the morning, before the sun is even properly up, I will find out what is going on. Whatever this is, I will pull it apart until it makes sense.”
He brushed a thumb across her cheek, gentle despite the steel in his voice.
“Francoise is closest to her,” he continued. “If anyone knows what’s happening around Y/N, it will be her. I’ll speak to her at dawn, quietly. No alarms, no drama- yet.”
Morticia nodded once more, the tension in her shoulders easing just slightly at the certainty in his tone.
Gomez pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead.
“Rest now, my darling,” he murmured. “Tomorrow we hunt answers before the storm hunts her.”
Morticia leaned into him, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat ground her, though the image of that shifting, ungraspable face lingered just beyond reach- and somewhere behind it, something colder still watched from the dark.
Dawn had only just begun to bleach the sky when Francoise crawled out of the tent, sleeping bag bunched under one arm. She gave it a vigorous shake, sending a cloud of pine needles and last night’s damp into the chilly air.
She never saw Gomez coming.
One moment, the clearing was empty except for the soft rush of the nearby river water. The next, he was simply there, standing three feet away, black coat immaculate, hands clasped behind his back, expression grave.
Francoise yelped, sleeping bag flying from her grip. She slapped both hands over her mouth a second too late. The sound cracked across the quiet camp like a gunshot.
Y/N, crouched twenty yards away at the riverbank washing her face, froze mid-splash, eyes snapping toward them. Francoise waved frantically: I’m fine.
Y/N narrowed her eyes, suspicious, but turned back to the water.
Francoise whirled on Gomez, whisper-shouting through her fingers. “Are you trying to wake the entire camp? What are you doing?”
Gomez didn’t smile. The usual theatrical sparkle was gone.
“Francoise,” he said quietly, voice stripped of all play, “tell me what you know about Professor Stonehearst and Y/N.”
The name hit her like cold water.
Francoise’s mouth opened, then closed. Her gaze darted to the tent, then back to Gomez, then to the ground. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly small.
“I…” She swallowed. “Why are you asking me?”
“Because Morticia saw something,” he answered, soft but unyielding. “Tonight. The storm. Stonehearst has plans for her. Bad ones.”
Francoise’s face went pale beneath the freckles. She hesitated, the secret pressing against her teeth like a living thing.
Gomez waited, patient, but the worry in his eyes was unmistakable.
Francoise exhaled shakily.
“Please,” she whispered. “If I tell you… Promise me it won’t stop what Isaac is trying to do. Promise me it still happens.”
Gomez’s expression didn’t change, but something fierce and protective flared behind it.
“Tell me,” he said again, gentler this time. “And then we decide together how to keep her safe.”
“Isaac needs one clean surge of power tonight,” she said, words tumbling fast and low, wary of anyone listening. “The storm is the only chance we’ll get before winter locks everything down. He’s built a collector on the ridge. If it works, the machine finishes. If it finishes…” Her throat worked. “The Hyde goes away. For good.”
Gomez’s eyes narrowed, but he stayed silent, letting her spill it.
“Stonehearst has been watching Isaac like a hawk,” she continued. “He’ll try to stop it. Isaac’s plan was for Y/N to keep Stonehearst busy long enough for the collector to charge. Ten, fifteen minutes, that’s all.”
She hugged herself tighter, knuckles white.
“I didn’t know it would turn dangerous,” she whispered. “I swear I didn’t. Isaac said Stonehearst would just argue, threaten expulsion, nothing… nothing like what Morticia saw.”
Gomez’s jaw flexed. He reached out and laid a steady hand on her shoulder.
“Listen to me, mija,” he said, voice low and fierce with that particular Addams certainty. “No plan that puts Y/N in the path of that man during a lightning storm is acceptable. Not for any reason.”
Francoise’s eyes filled, but she didn’t look away.
“Then what do we do?” she asked, small and pleading. “If we stop it, I stay broken.”
Gomez’s grip tightened, reassuring, unbreakable.
“We don’t stop it,” he said. “We change it. You and Isaac still get your surge. Y/N still distracts Stonehearst. But Morticia and I will be the ones waiting in the dark when something happens to her. He lays one finger on her; he answers to us.”
Francoise searched his face, hope warring with fear.
“You promise the collector still gets its power?”
“On my blood,” Gomez answered without hesitation.
She exhaled, shaky, and nodded once.
“If anything goes wrong…”
Gomez squeezed her shoulder and released her.
“Nothing will go wrong,” he said. “Addamses don’t fail family.”
Francoise managed a watery smile.
Earlier that morning, Professor Lang had handed out trail maps with her usual soft smile, but something about her had snagged in Y/N’s mind afterward. She had been humming under her breath- tuneless at first, then almost melodic, a sound that made the fine hairs on Y/N’s arms lift for no reason she could name. When Y/N glanced back, Lang had already stopped, smiling as if she’d never made a sound at all.
Now, Y/N was crouched at the riverbank, sleeves shoved up, letting the icy water shock the last of sleep from her skin. The sky above was a solid lid of bruise-colored clouds, thick enough that the light felt like dusk even though it was barely past dawn. No sun meant no umbrella for now; the compact black one lay strapped to her pack, forgotten.
She didn’t hear footsteps. She felt him.
The bond gave a low, familiar tug behind her ribs, like a string someone had just plucked. A second later, the scent of cedar and faint ozone drifted over the damp air.
Isaac stopped just behind her left shoulder, close enough that his coat brushed the ferns.
“Careful,” he said, voice warm and lazily amused, drifting over her shoulder like smoke. “Keep scowling at the river like that, and it’ll fall in love with you. Tragic, really. Water nymphs are so clingy.”
Y/N didn’t turn. She splashed another handful of water over her face, letting the cold bite.
Isaac waited, utterly unbothered by the silence. When she still didn’t acknowledge him, he stepped closer, boots quiet on the gravel, close enough that she felt the bond stir.
“Are you ready for tonight? Fifteen minutes of your charming company is all I ask. I’m reasonable.”
She finally straightened, wiping her face with her sleeve, and glanced at him. The clouds above were thick and dark, the light flat and gray, and for once the bond didn’t feel like a leash; it felt like a blanket, warm despite everything.
“I’m ready,” she said, quieter than she meant.
Isaac’s usual grin softened at the edges. He studied her a moment, something almost gentle in his eyes.
“Good.” He glanced toward the ridge, voice losing its teasing edge. “While everyone’s busy playing hunter-gathering at lunch, I’ll scout the final spot. Need somewhere high and open, good drainage, maybe a lone tree or rocky outcrop. Lightning’s predictable when you know what it wants.”
Y/N nodded once, then hesitated. “Shouldn’t you be with Francoise right now?
He tilted his head toward the camp. “She’s currently being interrogated by your favorite lunatic. Gomez has her cornered by your tent. She’s in ridiculously safe hands.”
Y/N’s gaze flicked past him. She could just make out Gomez’s wild gestures and Francoise’s worried stance. The sight twisted something low in her gut.
Y/N forced her chin higher, voice cutting through the damp air. “I hope you know I’m doing all of this for Francoise. Not for you. And definitely not because this bond is forcing me.”
The smile never wavered, yet it looked suddenly painted on, too perfect.
He tilted his head, slow, indulgent, the way someone watches a child insist the sky is green.
Then he lifted one hand with deliberate care, fingers brushing the edge of his collar to reveal the half-healed stitches at the curve of his shoulder, the faint marks still visible beneath the dark thread.
He didn’t speak. He simply let her look.
Let her remember the taste.
Let the bond surge, hot and possessive, flooding her mouth with phantom copper and the memory of his pulse under her tongue.
His gaze never left her face.
“Tell me again,” he said at last, voice velvet and soft as a lullaby, “that it’s only for Francoise.”
He stepped closer- close enough that the heat of him brushed her skin, close enough that she could smell cedar and rain and the faint, lingering trace of her own bite.
“Every drop you took from me last night,” he murmured, lips barely moving, “every swallow you couldn’t stop… that wasn’t her name you were choking on.”
His fingers ghosted over the marks on his arm, light as a lover’s touch.
“Call it sacrifice if you want,” he whispered. “Call it duty. Call it Francoise. Your body doesn’t seem to care.”
Isaac’s smile curved, gentle and merciless.
“But keep lying to yourself if it helps you sleep. I’m patient.”
He let the sleeve fall, turned, and walked away- slow, unhurried, certain she would still feel his pulse in her veins long after he was gone.
Actually- scratch everything.
Y/N stood rooted to the riverbank, fists clenched so tight her nails cut half-moons into her palms. The clouds above were thick and dark, the light flat and gray, and the bond no longer felt like a blanket.
It felt like a noose, tightening with every heartbeat that wasn’t entirely her own.
The last scraps of rabbit were gone, the fire reduced to a lazy circle of coals. Gomez was still licking his fingers with theatrical relish, declaring the meal “a victory worthy of Valhalla,” while Francoise laughed and Morticia dabbed delicately at her lips with a black handkerchief.
The first drop landed on Y/N’s wrist, fat, cold, startling.
Another followed, then another, slow and scattered at first, pattering across the log like hesitant fingertips. The sky had been threatening all day; now it was testing.
Y/N looked up at the same moment Isaac did.
Their eyes met across the dying fire.
No words. Just a single, shared heartbeat of understanding. This was it. The storm had decided.
More drops fell, faster now, hissing into the coals. The air turned sharp with the smell of wet ash and coming rain.
Francoise grabbed Y/N’s wrist. “Come on, it’s starting!”
She tugged Y/N to her feet, already pulling her toward their tent as the drizzle thickened into real rain.
Isaac rose at the same time, water beading on his hair. As Francoise dragged Y/N past him, he caught Y/N’s free arm, firm, quick, impossible to ignore.
He leaned in, mouth brushing the shell of her ear so only she could hear.
“I’ll come to your tent when I head out,” he said, low and certain. “Around midnight. Be ready.”
Then he let go, stepping back into the downpour as if the rain belonged to him.
Francoise never noticed the pause. She was already hauling Y/N through the mud, laughing about ruined hair and soggy sleeping bags.
Y/N let herself be pulled, pulse hammering, the ghost of Isaac’s grip still burning on her arm and the promise of midnight ringing louder than the first real crack of thunder overhead.
The tent flap fell shut behind them with a wet slap, sealing out the worst of the roar. Inside, the storm became a living thing: rain hammered the canvas in relentless waves, each gust rattling the poles like impatient fists. Water poured off their coats in silver streams, pooling on the groundsheet until their boots stood in an inch of icy lake. The air was thick with the smell of wet wool, pine, and the faint, lingering smoke from the lunch fire.
Francoise kicked off her boots first, sending them thudding into the corner, then dug blindly through her pack until her fingers closed around two towels. She tossed one to Y/N without looking; it hit Y/N square in the chest and stayed there for a second before Y/N caught it. They scrubbed in silence at first, frantic, desperate to chase away the cold that had worked its way into bone. Hair came out in dripping ropes, clothes clung like a second, freezing skin, and every movement sent fresh trickles racing down spines and wrists.
When the worst of it was gone, they peeled off soaked layers with shaking fingers. Sweaters, socks, and trousers landed in a sodden heap. Dry clothes felt like heaven: thick wool that smelled of woodsmoke and home, socks that actually warmed numb toes. They burrowed into their sleeping bags still half-dressed, knees pulled to chests, towels draped over damp hair like makeshift hoods.
The storm settled into a steady, roaring rhythm, close and intimate, as though the tent were a tiny boat lost in an angry sea.
Minutes passed, maybe ten, maybe twenty. The only sounds were rain, wind, and the soft rustle of nylon when one of them shifted.
Francoise broke the silence first.
“Hey,” she said, so quietly Y/N almost missed it under the drumming canvas.
Y/N turned her head on the rolled-up jacket she was using as a pillow. Francoise sat cross-legged now, blanket pulled to her chin, face half-lit by the flickering lantern between them. Her eyes were huge, green and glassy in the low light, red curls still dripping onto the sleeping bag in slow, deliberate drops.
“I need to say thank you,” Francoise whispered. “Properly. While it’s just us and the rain can’t hear.”
Y/N opened her mouth to brush it off, but Francoise lifted one hand, small and trembling.
She took a shaky breath that sounded too loud in the tiny space.
“You didn’t have to do any of this,” she began, voice cracking on the edges. “You could have told Isaac to go to hell. You could have walked away the first time he pushed too far. You didn’t. You’re walking into a thunderstorm tonight, straight at Stonehearst, for me. For someone who might finally wake up without blood under her nails and no memory of how it got there.”
Her fingers found Y/N’s wrist under the blanket, curling tight.
“I’ve been scared every single day since I was a kid,” she said, the words spilling faster now, like the rain outside. “Scared of lockers slamming, scared of being alone, scared of falling asleep because I might not be me when I wake up. And you… you just decided that wasn’t fair. You decided I deserved better than that. Even when it cost you.”
A tear slipped down her cheek, caught the lantern light, and fell onto the blanket between them.
“You gave me hope,” she whispered. “Real hope. Not the kind people say to be polite. The kind that keeps you breathing when everything else says stop.”
Y/N’s throat closed. She couldn’t look away.
“And Isaac,” Francoise continued, voice softer still, “he’ll never admit it because he’s too stubborn and too proud, but you’ve changed everything for him too. He’s been carrying me since we were kids- always the plan, always the fix, always the one holding the weight. You being here…” She swallowed. “You gave him room to breathe. For once, he gets to be nineteen instead of a hundred.”
She managed a watery smile, wiping her cheek with the heel of her hand.
“You let him be a person again, not just my keeper.”
Y/N swallowed hard, eyes stinging.
Francoise drew a shaky breath and reached out, squeezing Y/N’s hand once, fierce and grateful.
“Thank you,” she said, the words trembling but steady. “For stepping into this mess when you didn’t have to. For putting yourself on the line tonight so I might finally get to be… just me. I owe you more than I can ever repay.”
Y/N looked down at their joined hands, then back up.
“You don’t owe me anything,” she said, voice rough. “I’m doing it because it’s you. That’s all.”
Francoise’s eyes glistened, but her smile was real this time, wide and relieved.
“Good,” she whispered. “Because I’m planning on sticking around for a very long time to make sure you never regret it.”
The rain hammered harder against the canvas, wind rattling the guy-lines like it wanted in. Inside, the lantern flickered between them, warm and steady.
Y/N exhaled, the knot in her chest loosening just a fraction.
Outside, the storm kept building, minute by minute, to the moment everything would change.
Hours had passed in the drumming dark. Francoise never truly slept; Y/N could tell by the way her breathing stayed shallow, the way she shifted every time thunder growled closer. The lantern had burned out long ago. Only the occasional flash of heat lightning painted the tent walls white for a heartbeat before plunging them back into black.
Then the tent flap lifted, just enough for a folded square of paper to slide across the groundsheet and bump against Y/N’s sleeping bag. It was soaked through, edges curling, but the writing was still sharp.
Fifteen minutes once the first real bolt hits.
Bring him west. Do what must be done.
Y/N’s fingers closed around the note. The bond flared, hot and eager, like it already tasted the storm.
Francoise’s hand found hers in the dark, grip fierce.
“Hey,” she whispered, voice trembling but sure. “Good luck.”
Y/N squeezed back once, hard.
Then she was moving: coat shrugged on, boots shoved over bare feet, no light, no sound. She slipped through the flap into the roaring rain, the note tucked inside her pocket like a heartbeat that didn’t belong to her.
Francoise lay still in the sudden empty space, eyes open, listening to the storm swallow her best friend whole.
“Good luck,” she breathed again, softer this time, a prayer to the thunder.
Outside, the sky answered with a low, hungry growl, as if it had been waiting for her.
Y/N tore out of the tent, and the storm swallowed her whole.
Rain came in sideways sheets, each drop a needle of ice that stung her cheeks and blurred her vision. The wind screamed through the pines, bending trunks like bows, ripping needles loose in silver clouds. Lightning strobed constantly now, whole webs of white fire that turned the forest into a stuttering nightmare: trees, mud, darkness, trees, mud, darkness. Thunder followed so fast it felt like the sky was splitting open above her head.
The bond pulled her east, sharp and insistent, a second heartbeat that refused to be ignored. She used the trees for cover, weaving between them, boots sliding in the slick mud, coat plastered to her body like a second, freezing skin. Every flash of lightning lit the world in merciless white, and she used those moments to map the terrain she had memorized all day.
She knew where Isaac would be.
The eastern rise. The lone oak. The place he had vanished to find during the hunt, the spot he had whispered about by the river with that lazy, overconfident grin. She had never seen it herself, but the bond knew, tugging her like a compass needle toward true north.
She angled toward it, lungs burning, the storm trying to shove her backward with every gust.
A low ridge rose ahead, a jagged spine of rock and root. She scrambled up it, fingers digging into wet stone, mud caking under her nails. At the top, she flattened herself against the rock and peered over.
Lightning forked again, bright enough to burn.
Isaac stood beneath the oak, coat whipping around his legs, hair plastered to his forehead, one hand raised as he adjusted something metallic at the base of the trunk. The collector gleamed in the flash: copper coils, glass tubes, a faint shimmer of energy already crawling over it like bottled lightning. He was alone, exposed, utterly focused.
Another bolt. Thunder so close the ground shook.
Y/N’s heart slammed against her ribs.
Stonehearst would be minutes behind him. She knew his route, knew he would take the high ground in this weather, knew he would head straight for the tallest thing on the ridge.
She slid down the far side of the ridge in a controlled fall, boots skidding, coat snagging on thorns. The plan crystallized as she ran: intercept Stonehearst on the western trail, play lost, play scared, drag him as far from the oak as possible. Fifteen minutes. That was all Isaac needed.
The storm roared its approval, rain lashing harder, wind howling like it wanted to watch.
Y/N vanished into the trees, heading west, boots pounding through the mud, every flash of lightning showing her the way.
And the sky was ready to play.
The rain had thinned to a cold, relentless hiss, but the lightning still flashed in blinding sheets, turning the forest into a strobe-lit nightmare. Y/N’s boots slipped on the slick trail as she forced herself forward, coat heavy with water, hair plastered to her face. She kept her shoulders hunched, her steps deliberately unsteady, the perfect picture of a lost, frightened student.
“Professor?” she called, letting her voice crack with feigned panic. “Professor Stonehearst? Anyone?”
A lantern swung into view ahead, its yellow glow cutting through the downpour. Stonehearst stepped onto the path, coat dark with rain, expression calm but concerned- the perfect image of a responsible chaperone.
“Over here!” he shouted back, voice carrying easily over the wind. “Are you hurt?”
Y/N stumbled toward him, letting relief flood her features. “Thank God. I-I got separated from my group during the night hike. The lightning- I couldn’t find the trail-”
Stonehearst closed the distance quickly, lantern raised to get a better look at her. His brow creased with what looked like genuine worry.
“You’re soaked through,” he said, already shrugging out of his coat to drape over her shoulders. “Come on, let’s get you back to camp. You’re one of the seniors, yes? From the east dorms?”
Y/N nodded, hunching deeper into the borrowed coat, letting her teeth chatter for effect. “Yeah. I-I thought I saw the ridge trail, but everything looks the same in this.”
Stonehearst gave her a reassuring smile, the kind teachers gave scared freshmen on their first day. “It’s an easy mistake in this weather. Stay close. We’ll have you by a fire in no time.”
He turned, lantern swinging, and started leading her west, exactly the direction she needed him.
Y/N followed a step behind, counting seconds in her head, letting him set the pace. The storm roared overhead, lightning flashing brighter, closer. Fifteen minutes. She just needed to keep him walking, keep him talking, keep him away.
They rounded a bend in the trail, the wind easing slightly as the trees thickened.
Left would loop them safely back toward the main camp. Right climbed a narrow, overgrown track she had never seen before, choked with brambles and leading deeper into the dark.
Stonehearst took the right fork without hesitation.
“Professor,” she said, forcing her voice to stay small and uncertain, “is this the right way?”
He didn’t slow. “Shortcut,” he answered smoothly. “Avoids the flooded section by the creek. Trust me.”
The lie landed like ice water down her spine.
She knew every trail within a mile. There was no shortcut here.
“Where exactly are we going?” she asked, letting a tremor creep in.
Stonehearst glanced back, the lantern light catching the shift in his expression of concern, melting into something colder, sharper.
“Somewhere we can talk without the storm interrupting,” he said.
A soft, lilting hum drifted through the rain ahead, beautiful and wrong.
Y/N’s blood turned to frost.
She remembered now, too late: Stonehearst never worked alone. The accomplice who had once forced Francoise into a Hyde shift with nothing but a siren’s song, just to watch what would happen.
The figure stepped from the shadows, rain sliding off a dark coat, face calm and smiling.
Stonehearst’s voice lost every trace of warmth.
“Keep walking,” he said quietly. “Your little distraction is over.”
The rain kept falling, but everything else stopped.
Y/N stared at the fork in the trail, the wrong fork, and the realization hit her like a slap.
How could they have missed this?
She and Isaac had planned for everything: Stonehearst’s routes, his arrogance, his obsession with control. They had mapped every patrol, every habit, every second. They had never once accounted for a second player.
A soft, lilting hum curled through the trees, beautiful and sickening.
The figure stepped from the shadows.
Y/N’s stomach lurched before her mind caught up.
The left side of the woman’s head was shaved clean, skin mottled and scarred, a jagged line of burned tissue running from scalp to jaw. Where her left eye should have been was only a raw, lidless socket, the eyeball itself bulging, wet and red, forced forever open. Rain slid down the ruin of her face like tears she couldn’t cry.
Y/N doubled over and vomited into the mud, the taste of bile and terror mixing with the rain.
Stonehearst’s smirk cut through the downpour.
“Wondering how you never saw her coming?” he asked, voice calm, almost kind. “She’s been with us the whole time.”
The scarred woman flinched, pain flashing across what was left of her features. Then her body rippled, bones cracking, skin stretching like hot wax. In seconds, the grotesque ruin melted away, replaced by the perfect, polished visage of Professor Lang- the gentle botany instructor who had handed out trail maps that morning with a smile.
Y/N retched again, coughing between heaves. “How-”
Stonehearst stepped closer, lantern swinging, light glinting off the rain on his glasses.
“Transferring abilities between outcasts is child’s play compared to forcing them on normies,” he said, conversational, as if discussing the weather. “Give me a willing vessel, and I can stitch any gift I want into her flesh. She asked for power. I gave her more than she could ever dream. In return, she wears whatever face I need.”
Lang’s borrowed features twisted, a flicker of agony beneath the mask.
“This,” Stonehearst continued, gesturing at the flawless illusion, “is the price. And the privilege.”
He looked down at Y/N, still on her knees in the mud, and smiled like a man who had finally won a very long game.
“Now,” he said softly, “shall we go collect your little genius?”
The words detonated inside her skull.
Every plan, every whispered promise, every fragile second she had bargained for- gone. Isaac was alone on the ridge, defenceless, waiting for a distraction that had just become a death trap.
Y/N surged to her feet. She didn’t run away. She ran straight at Stonehearst.
He had half a second to register shock before her shoulder slammed into his chest with every ounce of vampire strength she possessed. The lantern flew from his hand, spinning into the dark. His feet skidded out from under him on the slick mud, and he crashed backward, coat flaring like broken wings, a furious roar ripping from his throat as he hit the ground hard.
She vaulted over his sprawled body and kept running, boots splashing through puddles, deliberately loud, deliberately messy, snapping branches and kicking stones so the sound carried like a beacon.
Behind her, Stonehearst’s voice cracked through the storm, raw with rage.
“Get her! The boy is mine!”
The disguised siren’s footsteps peeled away, sprinting towards her.
Y/N’s heart stopped for a single, terrible beat.
She had wanted both of them on her tail. She had wanted the chase to drag them both away from Isaac, away from the oak, away from the collector.
Instead, she had done the opposite.
She had split them perfectly: one hunting her, one running straight for him.
The realization hit with nauseating force. In trying to save him, she might have just delivered him to the knife.
The plan wasn’t slipping. It was tearing itself apart.
She forced herself to keep moving, legs pumping, breath sawing in her throat. She couldn’t turn back now; the siren behind her was already catching up to her. If she reversed direction, he would know something was wrong. If she slowed, he would catch her.
Fifteen minutes, she thought, frantic. Isaac still had the storm. He still had the collector. If Stonehearst reached him first…
She veered hard left, deeper into the ravine, boots skidding on slick rock as she nearly lost her footing. Her hand shot out, catching against the stone just in time to keep from going down. Mud soaked through her sleeve, cold and grounding- but it didn’t slow the spiral in her chest.
She forced herself forward anyway, breath tearing out of her lungs, thoughts tripping over each other faster than her feet. She had to buy time- she had to- but every second felt wrong now, misaligned, as she’d stepped off a path she couldn’t find again.
Stonehearst wasn’t behind her.
Stonehearst was going to Isaac.
Lightning split the sky, so close the world turned white and empty for a heartbeat.
Y/N stumbled, caught herself, and kept running.
Isaac was smart. He was always prepared. He wouldn’t just be standing there- he’d see it, he’d-
What if this was the one thing he didn’t plan for?
The thought hit like a blade between her ribs.
Her chest tightened, the bond twisting violently, no longer steady- just noise, just pressure, something frantic clawing at her from the inside out.
Y/N ran faster, panic finally catching up to her, sharp and breathless and impossible to ignore.
The storm gathered around him like it had been waiting for this exact moment.
Isaac stood beneath the oak with quiet certainty, boots sunk slightly into the mud, coat snapping and twisting in the wind. The tree rose above him like a living conductor, its branches clawing at the sky as lightning flickered behind thick, rolling clouds. At its base, the collector pulsed faintly- copper coils glowing, glass tubes alive with thin strands of energy that crawled and flickered like something barely contained. Each distant rumble of thunder seemed to draw a response from it, a low hum building, waiting, ready.
He crouched, adjusting the final connection with careful precision, fingers steady despite the cold rain soaking through his sleeves. There was no hesitation in his movements, no second-guessing. Every piece had been placed exactly where it needed to be. Every variable had been considered. He had spent too long building toward this moment to allow for mistakes now.
“Almost,” he murmured under his breath, more to the storm than to himself.
The air felt heavy, charged in a way that pressed against his skin and settled deep in his lungs. He didn’t need to look up to know what the sky was doing. He could feel it, the slow gathering of power, the tightening coil of energy waiting for release. It was predictable. Understandable. Obedient, in its own way.
A flash of lightning split the clouds, closer this time, and the collector responded instantly, light surging through its frame in a sharp, eager pulse.
A faint smile touched Isaac’s mouth as he rose to his feet.
“Come on,” he said quietly, tilting his head slightly toward the sky. “You’ve been threatening all day. Either commit or stop wasting my time.”
For a moment, everything aligned exactly as it should have been.
It was subtle at first, easy to dismiss if he hadn’t spent years training himself not to. The wind still howled, the rain still fell in relentless sheets, and the thunder still rolled across the sky, but beneath it, there was something else. Something quieter. Something that didn’t belong to the storm.
The faint amusement drained from his expression, not replaced by fear, but by something far sharper. His gaze lifted slowly, scanning the tree line beyond the clearing, eyes narrowing just slightly as he tried to place the feeling settling into his bones.
Like someone had stepped into the space and bent it around themselves without disturbing anything on the surface.
Isaac straightened fully, shoulders easing back as if he were settling into something rather than bracing against it. His attention flicked once- briefly, instinctively- toward the direction Y/N should have come from.
The path was empty. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. That wasn’t part of the plan.
Another flash of lightning tore across the sky, bright enough to bleach the world white for a single heartbeat. And in that instant, the forest gave something back.
A figure stood at the edge of the clearing.
Still. Unmoving. Watching.
When the darkness rushed back in, it didn’t disappear.
Isaac didn’t step away from the collector. He didn’t reach for anything, didn’t rush to adjust his position. Instead, he shifted his weight slightly, settling into place as if he had already accounted for this, even if he hadn’t known exactly how it would happen.
“Took you long enough,” he called out, his voice cutting cleanly through the storm.
There was no humour in it now. Only something measured. Calculating.
Because if Stonehearst was standing in front of him-
He already figured that meant, somewhere out there in the storm, the plan had already started to fall apart.
Y/N ran until her lungs burned and the world narrowed to the relentless rhythm of her feet striking mud, each step driven more by instinct than thought as the storm closed in around her. The ravine swallowed her whole, its jagged walls rising steep and slick on either side, funnelling the wind into sharp, cutting gusts that tore at her coat and whipped her hair across her face. Water streamed down the rocks in thin, treacherous sheets, turning every step into a gamble as the ground shifted unpredictably beneath her weight, and when she slipped, her knee struck stone hard enough to send a bright flare of pain through her leg, but she forced herself upright before the fall could take hold, refusing to let it slow her down.
She didn’t dare look back, even as the absence behind her pressed harder with every passing second, because no footsteps were chasing her, no voice cutting through the storm, nothing to mark pursuit except the suffocating sense that something was still there. It should have felt like relief, but instead it crept beneath her skin in a way that felt deeply wrong, like the world had gone quiet not because she had escaped, but because something had chosen to wait.
Y/N veered around a jut of rock, boots sliding as she caught herself against the ravine wall, her breath tearing unevenly through her chest while her pulse pounded too fast, too unsteady, the bond inside her twisting with something frantic and directionless that refused to settle. She didn’t know where she was anymore, didn’t know how far she had come or how much further she needed to go, and the uncertainty clawed at her just as sharply as the storm.
The movement came from the side.
It was not something she heard first, nor something she had time to process, but a sudden shift in the space beside her that registered too late for her body to react. The impact hit with brutal force, slamming into her side and knocking the air from her lungs in a violent rush as her back struck the ground hard, mud and water exploding upward around her while her head snapped back against the earth. Pain rang through her skull in a sharp, disorienting pulse, her vision flashing white for a moment before the world came crashing back in.
Weight followed immediately, heavy and deliberate, pinning her in place before she could recover, as cold hands clamped down on her shoulders and forced her deeper into the mud. The storm roared overhead, thunder cracking through the sky, rain pounding relentlessly against the ground, but up close there was something worse than the noise of it.
There was a sound woven through it.
Not loud, not forceful, but present in a way that felt impossible to ignore, a soft, lilting hum threading through the rain as though it had always belonged there.
Y/N’s breath caught sharply in her throat.
The woman above her smiled, and although the illusion of Lang’s face remained intact, it held too perfectly now, stretched into something unnatural that did not quite align with the reality beneath it. Rain traced down her features and gathered along the curve of her lips as the humming deepened, vibrating faintly through the space between them in a way that seemed to settle directly into Y/N’s chest.
“You run,” she said softly, her voice layered in a way that felt wrong, as though two tones were slipping over each other just slightly out of sync, “but you don’t listen.”
Y/N’s body tried to move, every instinct in her pushing toward resistance, toward escape, but nothing responded the way it should have, her muscles failing to obey even as the need to fight surged through her.
Her muscles stuttered, a delay between thought and action that hadn’t been there a second ago. Her fingers twitched uselessly in the mud, grip failing before it could form.
Y/N felt the shift before the sound fully took shape. The hum changed, deepening into something heavier, more focused, and the air between them seemed to tighten as if the storm itself had been pushed back to make room for it. Faint ripples of magenta shimmered at the edges of the woman’s mouth, barely visible through the rain, pulsing in time with the sound as it began to coil outward. Y/N’s breath hitched as her body lagged again, her arm failing to push when she needed it to, her fingers slipping uselessly against the mud as that same unnatural delay dragged through her limbs. She didn’t need to understand it to know what was coming. If the song took hold, if it settled fully into her, she wouldn’t get another chance to fight.
Panic surged fast and sharp, cutting through the fog just enough to give her something to act on. She twisted beneath the woman with everything she had, muscles straining as if she were trying to move through water, every motion just slightly behind where it should have been. Her hands scraped blindly against the ground, dragging through mud and stone, searching without direction, without precision, just instinct and desperation. The magenta shimmer brightened, the sound pressing closer, warmer, threading into her thoughts and dulling the edges of everything else until the storm began to feel distant and unreal.
Her fingers closed around something solid.
She brought the rock up and slammed it into the side of the woman’s head with all the force she could gather. The impact cracked sharply through the rain, the sound of it cutting clean through everything else. The woman’s head snapped to the side, and a scream tore from her throat, loud and piercing, echoing through the ravine and carrying far beyond the two of them.
Y/N shoved hard, tearing herself free from the grip on her shoulders as the woman recoiled just enough to create space. She rolled onto her side and scrambled up, boots slipping as she forced herself upright, lungs dragging in air that burned on the way down. The world tilted for a second, her head still ringing from the earlier collision, but she pushed through it, forcing her body to move before the hesitation could catch up again.
She made it only a few steps.
Something clamped around her ankle and yanked.
Y/N went down hard, the impact knocking what little breath she had regained straight out of her chest as mud and water splashed up around her. Her hands hit the ground too late to catch her properly, sliding uselessly as she tried to push herself up, but the grip tightened, cold and unyielding, dragging her back before she could gain any real distance.
The weight hit her again a second later.
Her back slammed into the ground, the jolt rattling through her already unsteady head as the world blurred at the edges. Rain pelted her face, sharp and relentless, mixing with mud that smeared across her skin as she struggled to orient herself. Before she could twist away, the woman was on top of her again, faster now, rougher, whatever restraint had been there before completely gone.
Fingers closed around Y/N’s throat and squeezed.
The force was immediate and brutal, cutting off her breath as her head was driven back into the mud. Water pooled beneath her, cold and suffocating, soaking into her hair and collar as she instinctively brought her hands up to fight the grip. Her fingers slipped against wet skin, struggling to find purchase, her arms slow, heavy, still not responding the way they should as the remnants of the song clawed at her mind and dulled her reactions just enough to matter.
Her chest heaved uselessly, lungs burning as she tried to pull in air that wouldn’t come. The storm roared overhead, thunder cracking so close it seemed to split the sky open, but it felt distant now, muffled beneath the pressure at her throat and the disorientation still ringing through her skull. The earlier collision hadn’t faded; it lingered, a dull, persistent shake in her head that made everything tilt just slightly out of place, just slow enough to keep her from regaining full control.
The woman leaned over her, the borrowed face still intact but strained now, something harsher pushing through the edges as her grip tightened.
“You should have stayed down,” she said, her voice slipping unevenly between tones, the words edged with something sharp and furious.
Y/N’s vision darkened at the corners as her hands dropped back to the ground, fingers scraping blindly through mud and stone once more, searching without thought, without strategy, just the desperate need for something- anything- she could use to break free before her strength gave out completely.
The edges of Y/N’s vision were beginning to close in, the world narrowing to a dim, pulsing tunnel as the pressure at her throat tightened. Her hands had lost strength, her fingers barely scraping against the mud now, movements sluggish and unfocused as her body started to give in despite everything in her screaming not to. The storm blurred into something distant and muffled, thunder reduced to a dull vibration somewhere far away, and even the weight pinning her down felt less real, as if it were happening to someone else.
Her lungs burned, her chest heaving uselessly beneath the crushing grip as each attempt at breath faltered before it could fully form. Her thoughts scattered, slipping through her grasp one by one until nothing remained but instinct and the desperate, fading need to survive.
Then, without warning, the pressure vanished- not gradually, but all at once, as though whatever held her had been forcibly torn away. A sharp, jagged gasp cut through the air above her, sudden and shocked, so out of place it seemed to belong to a different moment entirely. The hand at her throat released instantly, fingers loosening with a strange, unnatural slackness, as if the strength behind them had simply ceased to exist.
Air rushed back into her lungs in a violent surge.
Y/N choked on it, her body jerking as she dragged in breath after breath too quickly to control, coughing harshly as her lungs struggled to catch up. The world returned in fragments- rain striking her skin, mud beneath her hands, the roar of the storm crashing back into her ears all at once as she rolled onto her side, clutching at her throat, coughing hard enough to make her vision blur.
Forcing herself up through the disorientation, she lifted her head.
At first, nothing made sense.
A sabre, silver and gleaming even beneath the relentless downpour, had been driven clean through the woman’s torso, its tip protruding from the front in a way that felt almost unreal against the rain-slicked fabric. The woman stood frozen around it, her expression suspended somewhere between shock and something deeper, as though her body had yet to catch up to what had been done to it.
Behind her stood Morticia.
She was impossibly still despite the chaos of the storm, dark hair whipping around her face, one hand steady on the hilt of the sabre as though she had always been exactly where she needed to be. There was no hesitation in her posture, no visible uncertainty, only precision, calm and deliberate, as if the violence of the moment had been carried out with careful intent rather than impulse.
Morticia withdrew the blade in one smooth motion, the metal sliding free with a quiet, final sound that seemed far louder than it should have been. For a brief moment, she did not move, her gaze lowering, not to the woman, but to the sabre in her hand.
Rain traced its way down the length of the blade, washing over it in thin, steady streams, diluting what clung to its surface.
Her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around the hilt, a subtle shift that might have gone unnoticed if not for the slight tremor that followed- small, fleeting, just enough to alter the angle of the blade in her grip.
It passed as quickly as it came.
Morticia drew in a slow, controlled breath, and whatever flicker had crossed through her vanished before it could reach her expression, leaving her once again composed, unreadable, and untouched by the violence she had just enacted.
Only then did she release the sabre, letting it fall from her hand. It struck the ground with a dull, muted sound, quickly swallowed by the rain as she finally moved.
She stepped forward without looking back, pushing the woman aside with quiet finality as the body collapsed into the mud. Morticia’s attention had already shifted, fully and completely, as if she had sealed that moment away the instant it ended.
She dropped immediately to Y/N’s side, one hand coming up to steady her shoulder, grounding her as she struggled to breathe, her focus unwavering now- fixed only on the living. Morticia’s hand remained steady against Y/N’s shoulder, her touch firm enough to ground but never forceful. She shifted slightly closer, shielding Y/N from the worst of the wind without making a show of it, her presence quiet and unwavering as the storm raged on around them.
“Breathe,” she said softly, her voice low and even, cutting through the panic without urgency. “In… slowly.”
Y/N tried to follow it, though her lungs still resisted, each inhale catching halfway before she forced it deeper. Her chest ached, her throat burned, and her head still felt unsteady, like everything inside it had been shaken loose and hadn’t quite settled yet.
Morticia’s hand moved in a slow, deliberate rhythm along her upper back, guiding without pressing, giving her something to match.
“That’s it,” she murmured. “Again.”
The breaths came uneven at first, too quick, too shallow, but gradually, painfully, they began to stretch, to steady, each one landing a little closer to where it should be. The sharp edge of panic dulled, not gone, but no longer in control.
Y/N swallowed hard, her voice catching as she tried to speak.
“H-how did you… find me…?”
Morticia’s gaze softened, just slightly, the faintest curve touching her lips as she brushed damp strands of hair away from Y/N’s face with a careful hand.
“I am a dove,” she said simply, the hint of a smile lingering in her voice, quiet and certain despite everything. “And you were not difficult to follow.”
Her eyes flicked briefly toward the direction the scream had carried, then back again, steady.
“I also heard the screaming.”
The words were delivered with the same calm composure, as though the explanation were entirely ordinary, as though none of this had been anything but inevitable.
“Don’t worry,” she continued, her tone returning to something gently reassuring. “Gomez should be here shortly.”
Her hand remained at Y/N’s back, grounded, patient, as the storm continued to break itself against the ravine and the moment slowly, steadily, began to settle.
The steadiness Morticia had built began to fracture almost as quickly as it had formed.
Y/N’s breathing hitched again, her chest tightening as something new cut through the fading panic, not the siren, not the fight, but the realization that had been waiting just beneath the surface.
Her head snapped up, eyes widening as the thought fully landed, sharp and undeniable.
“I-Isaac-” Her voice broke on his name, the word catching in her throat as her breath stuttered again. She grabbed at Morticia’s sleeve, fingers trembling, grounding herself in something real as the urgency surged back twice as strong. “We have to get to him. Now. Professor Stonehearst, he’s going to him- he’s going to-”
Her words tangled over each other, too fast, too frantic to fully form.
“We have to help him,” she pushed out, her voice cracking as tears blurred her vision, mixing with the rain. “We have to help Francoise- he- he’s going to ruin everything-”
Morticia’s hand came up, not forceful, but enough to still her just slightly, to keep her from spiralling completely out of control. Her expression remained composed, but there was a sharpness in her gaze now, something more focused, more probing.
“Y/N,” she said quietly, her tone steady but no longer purely soothing. “Tell me the truth.”
Her eyes searched her face, unwavering.
“What is going on?” she asked, more firmly now. “What is he making you do?”
The question landed heavier than anything else had.
Y/N shook her head quickly, breath hitching again as she tightened her grip on Morticia’s sleeve, desperation overtaking everything else.
“Please,” she said, the word breaking apart as it left her. “Morticia, we don’t have time. We have to get to him- now. Please.”
For a moment, Morticia didn’t answer.
Something flickered behind her eyes, calculation, concern, the weight of choosing between understanding and action.
She drew in a quiet breath, her grip on Y/N steadying as she shifted slightly, ready to move-
“Ah! Finally caught up with you two!”
Gomez’s voice cut through the storm, breathless but unmistakably bright, threaded with that familiar rhythm even as he stepped into the ravine, coat dark with rain and hair plastered to his forehead.
He slowed as he reached them, his expression shifting the moment he took in the scene, Y/N in the mud, shaken and unsteady, Morticia crouched beside her, the aftermath still written into the space around them.
“What happened here?” he asked, the lightness in his tone dropping just enough to reveal the edge beneath it.
Morticia rose smoothly to her feet, one hand still resting briefly at Y/N’s shoulder, before she turned to him.
“There was an attack,” she said simply. “Stonehearst is on his way to Isaac.”
Not because there was nothing more to say, but because there was too much- and no time to say it. Y/N’s desperation had already told her everything she needed to understand. Whatever had happened here was no longer the priority. The danger had already moved.
Gomez’s expression sharpened instantly, whatever lingering humour there had been disappearing as something far more focused took its place. His posture straightened, energy snapping into readiness as if a switch had been flipped.
“Then we don’t stand here talking, mi amor,” he said quickly, already turning, urgency threading through his voice. “We go. Now.”
He looked back at Y/N, something fierce and certain settling into his expression.
“We get to our friend before he does.”
Morticia’s hand steadied Y/N as she helped her to her feet, her grip firm but gentle as Y/N’s legs wavered beneath her for a brief moment. The ground felt uneven, her balance still not entirely her own, but the urgency cut through everything else before she could fully register it. The moment she found even the slightest stability, she pulled away and turned, already moving toward the direction of the ridge where Isaac would be. Her steps were uneven at first, dragging through mud and water, but they quickly found momentum, driven by something far stronger than exhaustion or pain.
Morticia remained a step behind, watching her for a fraction longer than necessary, ensuring she would not collapse again, before her gaze shifted back. The sabre lay where she had dropped it, half-sunken into the mud, rain streaming down its length in quiet, steady lines. For a moment, she hesitated- not out of fear, but because the weight of what she had just done had not fully left her hand. The storm pressed in around her, insistent and unrelenting, and Y/N was already moving ahead without her. There was no time to linger.
She stepped toward the weapon and bent slightly, her fingers closing around the hilt.
Before she could rise, something seized her.
Arms locked around her throat from behind with sudden, violent precision, pulling her back and off balance in a single motion. The sabre was wrenched from her grip just as quickly, the blade flashing upward as it was taken from her entirely. Morticia stilled immediately, not out of panic, but out of control, her body going rigid as she assessed the angle, the pressure, the distance of the blade now turned against her.
The woman’s voice slipped close to her ear, low and edged with something dangerous.
“You’re not going anywhere,” she said, her tone steady despite the storm. “Unless you want her to die.”
The sabre angled forward, the tip pressing just beneath Morticia’s jaw, close enough that even the slightest movement would matter.
Gomez froze where he stood.
The energy that had begun to gather at his fingertips flickered once before dying completely, his body going still as his eyes locked onto the blade and the position it held. He knew instantly that there was no clean shot, no safe way to act without risking Morticia in the process. For perhaps the first time, hesitation rooted him in place, something tight and unfamiliar threading through his expression.
“Careful,” he said, his voice lower now, stripped of its usual lightness. “Careful, querida…”
Morticia’s voice came calm despite the hold, her breathing steady even as the blade rested against her throat.
“It’s all right,” she said quietly. “I can take it.”
“Don’t,” Y/N said immediately, her voice cutting through the moment with a sharpness that hadn’t been there before.
She had already turned back.
She was already moving toward them again, each step deliberate despite the way her body still threatened to betray her.
The woman’s attention shifted to her, her head tilting slightly, the sabre never wavering as her focus locked in. There was something almost amused in the way she watched Y/N approach, something that carried through even as the rain ran down her face.
“And what exactly are you going to do?” she asked, a sneer curling into her voice. “Drink my blood?”
Her lips curved further, the mockery settling in fully now.
“If you do,” she continued, softer, almost coaxing, “you’ll just become dependent on me. You stupid child.”
Closer, step by step, the distance between them narrowed as the storm pressed in around all three of them, rain lashing sideways and wind tearing through the trees like something alive. The panic from moments ago had not disappeared, but it had shifted into something sharper, something controlled in its desperation, settling into her movements even as her breathing remained uneven and her body lagged just slightly behind her intent. Still, she forced herself forward, pushing through the weakness with stubborn, deliberate focus.
As she moved, her fangs slid down, the change subtle but unmistakable, something that altered the air between them in a way that could not be ignored.
For the first time, the woman hesitated, and this time the hesitation came from more than instinct alone. Her hand faltered near her midsection, drawn involuntarily to the wound in her stomach as if the pain had finally broken through whatever control had been holding her together. The fabric there darkened further, the rain no longer enough to dilute what was spreading beneath it, as fresh blood seeped steadily through and slipped between her fingers. Her posture shifted as her body tried to compensate, her balance adjusting too slowly, her breath catching unevenly as she attempted to step back and regain control.
That small movement, unintentional and imperfect, created the opening.
She surged forward in a sudden burst of motion, closing the remaining distance before the woman could correct herself, her hand catching the woman’s arm just enough to throw her balance off by a fraction and disrupt the angle of the blade before it could press any further. The contact was brief but precise, guided by instinct and necessity, and it was enough to tilt the moment in her favour.
She stepped in close, eliminating any space for recovery, moving before hesitation could turn back into resistance, before pain could harden into resolve.
Her mouth found her throat.
The bite was immediate and savage, Y/N’s teeth sinking in with merciless, animalistic force. Her jaws clamped down like a steel trap, tearing straight through delicate skin and into the dense muscle beneath in one brutal wrench. Blood erupted in a hot, violent spray- thick crimson arcs splattering across Y/N’s pale cheeks, dripping from her chin, and streaking Morticia’s porcelain face in dark, glistening rivulets.
The woman’s scream shattered the air, raw and high-pitched, only to choke off into a wet, gurgling rasp as Y/N twisted her head viciously to the side. You could see it happen in horrific detail: the neck muscles stretching like taut crimson cables before they snapped and tore apart with sickening pops, veins bursting and spraying in rhythmic pulses that matched the dying heartbeat. Shreds of flesh peeled back, exposing glistening white tendon and the dull gleam of cervical vertebrae as Y/N’s teeth found purchase deeper still.
A sharp, wet crunch rang out, vertebrae giving way under the relentless pressure, followed by the grotesque, grinding sound of bone splintering as she ripped sideways. A ragged chunk of throat came free in her mouth, trailing strings of torn tissue and pumping arterial blood that fountained upward in a brief, obscene geyser before gravity dragged it down in heavy ropes across both their faces and chests.
The woman’s body jerked once, twice, then went limp, her hands clawing uselessly at nothing as the scream dissolved into a final, bubbling wheeze. Y/N released her grip, and the body crumpled like a broken marionette, blood pooling rapidly beneath the ruined neck while the storm swallowed the last echoes of her agony.
She tore away just as quickly, ripping a large piece free as the woman staggered backward, her hands flying to her neck too late to stop the damage already done. Blood spilled rapidly, mixing with the rain as the scream broke into choking, uneven sounds.
Morticia pulled free the moment the pressure released, her movement controlled even in the aftermath as she stepped back, only to be caught almost immediately as Gomez closed the distance and gathered her into his arms, pulling her firmly against him as the woman’s body collapsed heavily into the mud at their feet.
For a brief second, the storm seemed to quieten around them.
Morticia turned immediately, her gaze locking onto Y/N.
“I’m okay,” Y/N forced out, though her voice shook as she spat the torn piece from her mouth, the motion immediate and almost violent, as if even the brief contact had been too much to bear. The taste hit her all at once, thick, metallic, wrong in a way that made her stomach lurch, and before she could stop it, she doubled over, a sharp, choking sound tearing from her throat as she retched into the mud.
Her body convulsed with it, the reaction uncontrollable, her hands bracing against the ground as she gagged again, trying to purge the taste that clung stubbornly to the back of her tongue. Rain mixed with it, washing over her face and into her mouth, but it didn’t help. If anything, it spread it, made it worse, the sensation lingering no matter how hard she tried to spit it out.
Her chest heaved as she dragged in air between waves of nausea, her breathing uneven and shallow, her entire body trembling now- not from the cold, not from the fight, but from the reality of what she had just done. The adrenaline was still there, but it had nowhere to go, turning sharp and jagged beneath her skin.
The thought didn’t settle gently; it struck hard and sudden, forcing itself into place with a clarity she couldn’t avoid. Her stomach twisted again in response, another wave threatening to rise as the taste lingered, wrong and heavy in a way it had never been before. It wasn’t like Isaac’s. It wasn’t something her body accepted. The bond already woven into her veins rejected it completely, turning what should have been instinct into something that felt like poison.
She gagged once more, spitting into the mud, trying desperately to get rid of it, but it clung stubbornly, phantom and real all at once.
For a moment, she stayed there, hunched over, shaking, caught between instinct and revulsion, between survival and something that felt dangerously close to breaking.
There was no time to dwell on it.
“L-let’s go,” she said, her voice unsteady but urgent as she turned back toward the ridge.
Isaac was still out there.
And they were already too late.
The storm pressed heavily against the clearing, the air thick with electricity that seemed to gather around Isaac as if drawn to him. The collector at the base of the oak pulsed in quiet anticipation, its copper coils flickering with faint strands of energy that responded to every shift in the sky above. He stood still for only a moment, his gaze fixed on the edge of the tree line where the figure had revealed itself in the last flash of lightning, the shape now unmistakable even through the shifting dark and rain.
Isaac reacted before the thought could fully settle, his right hand lifting in one smooth motion as the energy around him answered instantly, faint currents flickering along his skin and gathering at his fingertips. The storm was ready. The machine was ready. Everything had aligned too perfectly for hesitation.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
The voice carried easily through the storm, calm and measured, lacking any urgency or fear, and that alone was enough to make Isaac pause. He did not lower his hand, but the certainty behind it shifted, just slightly, as Stonehearst stepped forward into clearer view, rain sliding down his glasses, his expression composed in a way that suggested complete control over a situation that should not have been his to command.
“Go on,” he continued, his tone almost conversational, as if encouraging rather than warning. “Use it.”
There was a faint, knowing curve to his mouth as he spoke, something calculated in the way he watched Isaac without flinching, without concern for the power being directed at him.
“And I turn your sister into a Hyde again with a snap of my fingers.”
The words did not come loudly, but they landed with far more force than anything else in the storm.
Isaac’s hand remained raised, the energy still flickering at his fingertips, but something in his focus fractured, just enough for doubt to slip in where none had existed before. His mind moved quickly, running through what he knew, what he didn’t, what Stonehearst was capable of and what he might be lying about- but none of those calculations could dismiss the possibility outright.
Stonehearst took another step forward, closing the distance with quiet confidence, his voice lowering as if what he was saying was meant only for Isaac.
“My accomplice is here,” he said, almost idly. “Somewhere in this forest. She doesn’t need proximity. She doesn’t need time. All it takes is my signal.”
Rain continued to fall between them, steady and relentless, but the space felt smaller now, tighter, as if everything outside of this exchange had begun to fade.
His hand stayed raised, but the energy there flickered, no longer stable, caught between action and restraint as the weight of the threat settled in fully. He could act. He could end this in a single moment. But if Stonehearst was telling the truth, or even close enough to it, then the cost would not be his to bear alone.
The thought tightened something in his chest, sharp and immediate, cutting through every other consideration.
He took another step, slow and deliberate, his presence pressing forward not with force, but with certainty, as though he had already won and was simply allowing Isaac time to realize it.
“You see,” he said quietly, his tone shifting, something softer threading into it, something that almost resembled disappointment, “this is exactly what I was concerned about.”
His gaze flicked briefly to the collector behind Isaac before returning to him, sharper now, more pointed.
“All that intelligence,” he continued, “all that potential, and you choose to spend it on something so short-sighted.”
Isaac’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
The storm cracked overhead, light spilling across the clearing for a brief moment before darkness rushed back in, leaving only the sound of rain and the steady hum of the collector between them.
“You don’t need to do this,” Stonehearst went on, his voice lower now, more persuasive than commanding, each word placed with careful intent. “You never did. You’ve convinced yourself this is the only solution, but that’s not intelligence, Isaac. That’s desperation.”
He moved closer still, close enough now that the distance between them no longer felt safe, his presence controlled, measured, entirely deliberate.
“I expected better from you,” he added, the disappointment in his voice settling more firmly now, no longer subtle. “I thought you understood the consequences of reckless decisions. I thought you understood restraint.”
The words lingered in the space between them, heavier than the storm, heavier than the threat itself.
Isaac stood where he was, hand still raised, the power still there, the storm still waiting for his command- but the certainty that had been there moments ago had begun to fracture, and Stonehearst knew it.
And he kept walking forward.
Stonehearst continued forward with deliberate calm, his pace unhurried in a way that suggested complete control rather than caution, as though the distance between them was already his to close. One hand remained loosely visible at his side, relaxed enough to appear harmless, while the other stayed partially concealed within the fold of his coat, fingers curled tightly around the handle of the small army knife hidden in his pocket. Every step he took was measured, calculated not to provoke, but to draw closer without resistance, and Isaac, for all his awareness, did not stop him.
Isaac stood rooted in place, his right hand still raised, the energy at his fingertips flickering faintly as the storm responded to him, but the certainty that had driven that movement was no longer intact. His thoughts moved quickly, cycling through possibilities and outcomes, trying to impose logic onto a situation that refused to settle into anything predictable. It could be a bluff, he told himself, forcing the reasoning forward, forcing it to hold, because Stonehearst thrived on manipulation and control and fear, and this felt like all three wrapped together into something precise. But what if it wasn’t a bluff? What if even the smallest chance of it being true was enough to make acting the wrong choice? The thought lodged itself stubbornly, refusing to be dismissed, and with it came the image of Francoise, the memory of what she had already endured, the fragile balance he had spent so long trying to restore. He couldn’t risk that. He couldn’t be the reason it happened again. And then, just as quickly, another thought cut through it, sharper, more immediate- Y/N. If Stonehearst was here, then where was she? Had she managed to keep the accomplice away, or had something gone wrong? The idea that she might be the one dealing with it alone, that the plan might have already failed somewhere he couldn’t see, pressed harder than anything else, because it meant this wasn’t contained, wasn’t controlled, and whatever choice he made now wouldn’t just affect Francoise, it would ripple outward, toward her too.
Stonehearst saw the hesitation settle in and moved into it without pause, his voice lowering as though he were offering guidance rather than issuing a threat, his tone almost patient in its delivery. He spoke as if this were a lesson, as if Isaac’s doubt were something expected, something predictable, and the more he spoke, the more he shaped the space around them into something that favoured him entirely. He questioned Isaac’s choices, his intelligence, the very foundation of what he was doing, each word placed carefully to undermine, to destabilize, to shift confidence into uncertainty. Isaac’s hand did not lower, but it wavered just enough to matter, the energy no longer steady, caught between the impulse to act and the fear of what acting might cost.
The thoughts looped endlessly, refusing to resolve, each one cutting into the next before it could settle. If he struck now, this could end. If he waited, he might protect Francoise. But what if waiting was exactly what Stonehearst needed? What if hesitation was the mistake? The storm pressed in around him, the collector humming at his back, everything aligned for action, and yet he remained still, trapped in the space between certainty and doubt as Stonehearst closed the distance further, step by step, until he was close enough for the details to sharpen, close enough that the threat no longer felt abstract.
“You don’t need this,” Stonehearst said, his voice softer now, more persuasive, the edge of disappointment threading into it as though he were watching something inevitable unfold. He spoke of wasted potential, of reckless decisions, of consequences Isaac should have been intelligent enough to foresee, and with every word, the weight of hesitation grew heavier. Isaac felt it in his chest, tight and unyielding, the image of Francoise returning, sharper each time, until it was no longer a possibility but a risk he could not ignore.
It did not fall, but the certainty behind it broke.
And that was all Stonehearst needed.
The knife came free in a single, fluid motion, the blade flashing briefly as it cleared the pocket, its direction unmistakable as he moved to strike at Isaac’s raised arm, the intention precise and irreversible.
The shout tore through the clearing, sudden and urgent, breaking the moment cleanly in half.
Stonehearst’s focus shifted just enough for the timing to fracture, and Isaac’s attention followed instinctively, his gaze snapping toward the source of the voice as Gomez burst through the trees, his presence immediate, his urgency unmistakable. They had reached him far faster than they should have in terrain like this, but Y/N had known the way, guiding them through the storm with what little strength she had left, cutting through the forest with instinct and memory rather than hesitation. Behind him, Morticia moved with controlled speed, steady even in the rain-slicked ground, supporting Y/N as she leaned heavily against her, her condition visibly weakened, but her focus still fixed forward, unwilling to slow even when her body demanded it.
“Don’t listen to him!” Gomez called out, his voice sharp with urgency, cutting through everything else. “Isaac- no!”
Stonehearst adjusted instantly, the interruption doing nothing to slow his intent as he turned back, the knife already in motion.
“Too late,” he said, cold and certain.
The electricity came from Gomez in the same instant, a controlled surge that snapped through the air and struck Stonehearst directly, the impact immediate as it locked through his body and disrupted his movement just enough-
Lightning tore down from the sky, drawn to the charge that had already built, to the collector, to the exact point where Stonehearst stood, and the strike hit with blinding force, the explosion of light and sound consuming the clearing in an instant. The energy surged outward, throwing Isaac backward as the force of it ripped through the space, knocking the breath from him as he hit the ground hard, the world flashing white before snapping violently back into place.
For a moment, everything blurred, sound and sensation crashing together, but as the light faded and the storm reasserted itself, Isaac pushed himself up, his gaze immediately drawn back to the collector, to the way the lightning had been pulled in, amplified, shaped by what he had built.
Understanding hits all at once.
“That’s it,” he said, the realization breaking through everything else as his eyes widened, the pieces falling into place with sudden clarity. “That’s it.”
For a brief second, everything sharpened, not because of the machine or the storm, but because of what had just happened right in front of him. The surge, the timing, the energy- it wasn’t the sky he had needed to rely on, wasn’t the storm he had spent all day calculating and waiting for. It had been right there. Close. Immediate. Consistent enough.
The realization hit harder than it should have, cutting through him with a sudden, almost bitter clarity. He had built all of this, mapped every variable, risked everything on a perfect moment, when the answer had been standing beside him the entire time. Not something distant or uncontrollable, not something that required patience and precision down to the second, but something he could have used- something he should have seen.
A quiet, sharp thought surfaced before he could stop it.
Behind the realization, Stonehearst’s scream tore through the clearing, raw and unrestrained as the current surged through him far beyond what Gomez had intended. The strike held, sustained, the electricity continuing to course through him as his body convulsed under the force of it, whatever control he had carried into the clearing completely gone now, replaced by something chaotic and destructive.
Isaac watched it happen, not just seeing the damage, but understanding what it meant, the implications shifting just as quickly as the moment itself. Everything he had built still worked, but it hadn’t needed to be this complicated, hadn’t needed the storm, hadn’t needed the risk he had forced onto all of them.
And for the first time since Stonehearst had stepped into the clearing, the balance shifted.
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