Nova

Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

SANORA

It was seven o’clock the next morning when I quietly slipped out of my house.

Ridiculous, really—to sneak out of one’s own place. But I did it anyway, stepping over creaky floorboards like a fugitive, afraid the sound might alert him.

I didn’t even risk a shower. The only bathroom was outside the rooms, and I wasn’t about to tempt fate with rushing water echoing through the walls.

I hadn’t slept a wink.

All night long, I sat by the window in my room, legs pulled up to my chest. The image of his body without a shadow—without a damn shadow—kept flickering behind my eyes every second like a broken reel. Over and over. A loop I couldn’t shut off.

I’d even unlatched the window, just in case I needed to jump if he came for me.

I’d filled the sleepless hours with a barrage of texts to the landlord.

One hundred and four texts, to be exact.

I counted. They started as threats, promising to sue, to expose him, to ruin him.

Followed by begging. Bribery. I even offered to pay three times the rent but I got not a single response.

I went back to the site where the available rooms and houses in Nimorran were listed. I refreshed and refreshed, searching for a new place to stay but there was nothing left.

Every apartment, flat, shed, cabin, even the sketchy listings with blurry photos was marked booked. Not for a day or two. No.

For a month. All of them. At the same time.

It was when I was close to crashing out that I remembered I’d seen something when I’d been walking around town the other day. It was an old, worn-out house. Eerie and nearly broken, yes. But I would gladly take a haunted house over sharing space with whatever the hell he was.

I didn’t remember the exact street, but I kept walking anyway.

The sky was still dim when I left, thick with that grey stillness before dawn.

I passed closed shops, mist curling against their doors like smoke.

A cat darted across the road, and the streetlamps flickered off one by one as the sky lightened.

People began to emerge from their houses, mothers loudly waking sleepy kids, joggers with earphones in, and an old man watering a flower bed.

After a long walk and a relentless scanning, I saw the sagging wooden house, slouched to one side. The shutters hung crooked, the fence half-rotted. It wasn’t listed on any website, that much I was sure of. But nailed to a leaning post was a sun-bleached sign: Available.

Hope rose in my chest as I stepped on the porch.

It wasn’t much, but if I could pay someone to clean it up, I could survive in it for the next two and a half weeks.

I pulled out my phone, punched in the number scrawled in faded ink, and dialled.

The line clicked after a long while.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Good morning.”

“Morning.” The voice rasped again. Definitely an old man. Definitely not thrilled to be up.

“I got your number from the sign outside here. I’m guessing this is your property? Is it still available?”

There was a pause. “What’s with the sudden interest in that place?” He sounded like he was talking to himself more than me.

“Sorry?”

“It’s been rented.”

The words slammed the breath out of me.

“What—what do you mean it’s been rented? The sign clearly says—”

“I plan to take it down this morning. If you’d called just a few hours earlier…”

I pressed a hand to my forehead, fingers threading through my hair. “Are you serious?”

“Rented last night. No one’s touched it in six years. I was about to demolish it.”

“For how long?”

“A month.”

My breath hitched. “One month?”

“Yes. He paid in cash.”

He?

The word rang like a warning bell in my skull.

No.

No way.

“Do you know any other place that might be—?”

“No, dear. Every place listed’s been snapped up. Mine wasn’t on the site because it was due for tearing down.” He clicked his tongue. “I’m sorry.”

No. No, no, no.

My stomach twisted with the helplessness of it all, but above that, fury pulsed beneath my skin like it had nowhere else to go.

“Thanks,” I ended the call and lowered the phone slowly. My fingers were stiff, curled tightly around the device, and the anger that started building in my chest now scorched hotter with every breath.

I stepped off the porch, trying to keep my breathing steady.

I was being toyed with.

It wasn’t a coincidence. No. No, no—I wasn’t that naive and stupid. He had to be behind this. I refused to believe that suddenly every house had been rented the exact same time he moved into mine. For the same duration.

The chill morning air was doing nothing to cool the inferno roaring through my veins. My thoughts had become loud, crashing against each other like waves, frothing with confusion, panic, and rage.

Why?

Why go to such lengths?

If he wanted me gone, why not just make me leave? If he wanted me dead, why play?

If he had all those houses booked, why wasn’t he living in them? Why choose mine?

Unless…unless they weren’t for living in.

What the hell was he doing?

Was this part of some scheme? Weeny Man had told me to stay away from him.

Maybe all this was about The Crater. He warned me not to go further the other day. Then he saved me from the Pylath. But before that, he’d been watching me from my own window like some kind of twisted creep.

Was this how he kept people away from The Crater? Maybe this wasn’t his first time. Maybe he moved in to ensure that I didn’t go back there. Maybe he did it for other people to protect them, too. Maybe I wasn’t the first person.

But why invade my space?

I paused by a closed bakery to catch my breath, leaning and pressing the cool brick against my spine.

A few minutes later, I ducked into a little shop that sold tools, kitchenware, random home goods, and—tucked behind the counter—pocket knives. The woman behind the register didn’t ask questions when I picked one out and paid in cash. She just slid it into a paper bag and handed it over.

By the time I stopped in front of my house, the knife was tucked deep in my pocket, my fingers wrapped around it. I reached out for the door knob and hesitated. Just long enough to let my breath calm.

I had thought he’d still be in the room, so I didn’t prepare myself for the view I was struck with when I opened the door.

Standing in the kitchen was him, his back to me.

My hand was still wrapped around the doorknob. My other remained buried in my coat pocket, clutching the knife like a lifeline. I didn’t move, didn’t speak.

I just watched him.

He turned slowly and our eyes met.

And there it was again—that awful, gut-deep pull. Like someone had gripped my lungs from the inside and twisted them hard. My chest clenched, my vision narrowed, and for a second, I thought I might actually drop to my knees just to breathe properly.

His gaze dropped to my chest, and I saw something shift in his expression. Like he knew exactly what was going on inside me.

What was happening to me?

I had to get checked by a doctor. It could be a heart issue. But I’d worry about that later.

I dragged in a breath and stepped inside, shutting the door behind me. Three steps was all I could take before the air changed as if I’d crossed some invisible line.

He ran his thick fingers through his dark hair, sweeping the long strands back from his face. His expression returned to the usual quiet calm again before he spoke up.

“Good morning.”

I scoffed. “And what is good about it?”

He tilted his head. “That you’re alive?”

My heart stuttered and I blinked. “Is that…a threat?”

Something flickered across his face, so quick it was almost a trick of the light. It was a smile. But it was gone before it fully formed.

He returned his attention to the tea he was making.

“I’m saying…sleep,” he murmured. “If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve.”

I narrowed my eyes, his words threading under my skin. Would he really have slept if he were in my shoes?

“I’m sorry I’m not used to having someone invade my privacy,” I said tightly, trying not to show how rattled I still was. “Not just anyone. Someone who doesn’t possess a shadow and has probably been harbouring bad intentions towards me since the day I got here. Who the hell are you?”

There was a slight shift in his expression again, like a smile struggling to crawl out but never quite making it. And then, he reached behind him and brought out a second cup. He placed it beside the one he’d already prepared.

“Tea?” he asked.

I was so gagged, I let out a breath that came out more like a scoff. “Are you serious right now? Why are you in my house? Why did you choose to—did you fucking book every place in Nimorran? Why? Is this about The Crater? Is this like your job? Do you do this to everyone?”

“I don’t care about anyone.”

I flinched slightly at that.

My grip on the knife tightened.

“Doesn’t look like it,” I muttered. Except he’s out to kill me.

“Yes. Because I care about you.”

My heart skipped, traitorous. And even though I knew it was a lie, my brain couldn’t ignore the soft way he said it. He motioned towards the kitchen stool with a tilt of his head.

“I’d be a fool to come near you,” I said, unmoving.

“You want answers, yeah?” he asked, the words slow.

I hesitated. Of course I wanted answers. But not at the expense of my life.

“Why carry a little object when you won’t even come close?”

He glanced down, his gaze tracing the bulge in my pocket. Heat prickled up my neck. I hadn’t realised how tense my hand was until my fingers began to cramp.

Slowly, I withdrew the knife and raised my chin. I wasn’t stupid enough to believe I stood a real chance against him. But I also wasn’t about to cower.

“I have it to protect myself,” I said and took a single step forward.

“From who? Me, no?” he goaded.

God, I hated his voice. Not because it was unpleasant—it wasn’t. But because it made me feel like a child playing games I didn’t understand.

Rolling my eyes, I edged closer and stopped by the stairs.

He tilted his head, studying me like I was some puzzle with missing pieces. Did I mention that I hated the way he looked at me, too? “You’re going to have to do more than that.”

“Say whatever you want to say. I can hear perfectly from here.”

“Given your hard-on for indulging in dangerous things, I thought you’d be bolder than this.”

Speaking like you know me. The thought burned on the tip of my tongue. But instead of arguing, I sighed again and moved closer, dragging the stool away from him. It wasn’t far, but far enough for me to pretend I was safe.

“Happy?”

To my shock, he gave a quiet, honest reply. “Sure.”

I watched his fingers pour steaming water into the second cup, his movements affecting me in a way that shouldn’t have.

“I didn’t say yes to drinking tea,” I said to distract myself. “What if I wanted coffee? Just because you’re having—”

“You don’t drink coffee.” He sounded as though he was tired of me already. “Why are you trying to pick a fight?”

My mouth opened. Closed. Then opened again. I stared at him, stunned. How the hell did he know I didn’t drink coffee? Does he—does he read minds?

“I don’t read minds. Your cabinet told me all I needed to know.”

That made me frown harder.

But he was right. My cabinet was packed with different kinds of teas—jasmine, peppermint, chamomile, even some obscure blend I wanted to try out.

And not a single trace of caffeine. I’d always avoided it because of my mother’s heart condition, and it was banned in my home as she couldn’t resist the smell nor the temptation of making one.

I’d stopped taking it for her sake. And I got used to not having it at all.

I adjusted on the stool, reminding myself not to get too comfortable. “Why don’t you have a shadow? If you’re not human, then what are you? Why did you move into my house? Why did you book other places? Have you been stalking me? Is this because of The Crater? Why did you save—”

“One question at a time,” he said, pushing the cup of tea towards me, making it seem like we were casually talking over breakfast.

I paused, grounding myself with a deep breath. I had so many questions my head could barely hold them in order. But the one that came out first was too simple. It slipped past my lips before I could filter it.

“Why did you move here?”

“Because I have nowhere else to go.”

I squinted. “You sure? Because I can count.”

“I’m not a fan of staying alone.”

I nearly laughed. “You expect me to swallow that?”

“Yes.”

Unbelievable. I pushed my head back, a sharp breath punching out of me. I ran my fingers through my hair, pausing at the roots as if they could deliver sense to me. His eyes didn’t leave me for a second, watching with that same unreadable calm.

“Don’t worry your little head about my intentions,” he said eventually. “So long they don’t involve killing you.”

“But you have intentions,” I pointed out. “Towards me.”

“Positive ones.”

A sigh, long and tired, escaped from the pit of my chest.

I was facing a man who had stalked me the day I arrived in Nimorran…

the same one who had warned me about The Crater, saved me from the Pylath, and somehow paid double my rent just so he could move into the same space as me.

And worse, he wasn’t bothered by the fact that I knew he might not be human.

He was very relaxed, making me wonder if he had handpicked and cornered me, knowing I couldn’t leave this town.

My mother believed in the idea that danger didn’t always wear fangs, sometimes it wore beautiful skin and said your name like a vow. He wanted something. And that something could be my life.

“What do you want from me?” I asked finally, voice raw with sincerity. I stared straight at him, demanding the truth.

“You want to know?”

Carefully, I nodded.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he placed both arms on the counter and leaned in, stare unwavering and intense enough that I almost looked away. Almost. But I held it. And the longer I did, the more goosebumps broke out along my skin.

I was about to speak when he beat me to it.

And what he said split the world right down the middle.

“I want you to fall in love with me.”