Chapter 22
NEO
The graveyard lies beneath a thick blanket of snow.
The tips of the tombstones stick out from the white, looking like crooked teeth, their inscriptions softened by frost and time.
The wrought-iron gate creaks in the wind, its hinges stiff with age, and the lanterns lining the path flicker with a pale, ghostly glow.
Snowflakes drift lazily through the air, settling on statues of angels and forgotten saints, cloaking them in shimmering silence.
The trees surrounding the cemetery are bare and brittle, their branches reaching skyward like skeletal arms. Every note made by our boots on the fresh snow sounds too loud, swallowed quickly by the hush of winter.
The veil between the living and the dead stretches taut, humming with remembrance. Names whisper from the tombstones, and shadows linger just beyond the lanterns. Nevertheless, there is peace—a strange, sacred stillness that wraps around the graveyard like a lullaby made of snow.
I move subtly, my black coat trailing behind me.
My body is covered in clothes made of a matte fabric that absorbs light and are created to keep me warm.
My coat flares slightly at the hem, brushing the tops of my boots as I walk, and the high collar of my sweater frames my face like a question no one dares ask.
My gloves are finger-less and I carry an ax over my shoulder.
I don’t flinch at the cold or the quiet.
My eyes scan the rows of graves, as if I can read the stories buried beneath the snow.
Zilla’s bright colors are in contrast to the monochrome background. Her candy-striped scarf flaps in the wind. "Spooky," she mutters, eyeing a frost-covered angel statue. "Just how you like it."
We pause at a grave marked only by a cracked stone. I turn around. Zilla stands behind me, watching the trees, her breath fogging in the cold.
"Do you feel it?" I ask softly.
Zilla nods. "Someone’s waiting."
My eyes narrow, and the hairs on my arms prickle beneath my coat.
Zilla steps closer to me and I curl my fingers tightly around the handle of the ax that’s resting on my shoulder.
My movements are deliberate, precise; I feel no panic or hesitation, just focus.
I slide the ax down in one smooth motion, the polished blade catching a glint of lantern light.
I shift my grip, firm and ready, the weight settling in my hand like it belongs there.
Then suddenly we hear a sound. It’s not loud, not close, just…
wrong. There is a soft shuffle, a whisper of a movement and snow shifting in places where no one walks.
Zilla turns slowly, her voice low. "That wasn’t you, right?"
I shake my head.
A gravestone creaks behind us; the sound is like ice breaking underfoot. A lantern starts to flicker, a shadow stretches and then I see it. A figure. It’s half-formed and standing between graves. Tall, still and watching us. It doesn’t move or breathe, but it’s there.
My hand tightens on the ax. "We’re not alone."
"Neo, I’m scared!" The snow feels harder now, as if trying to bury us in this moment.
My eyes lock on the shadowed figure that is standing between the tombstones. It hasn’t moved, it hasn’t spoken, but its presence feels like a weight on my chest.
Zilla takes one slow step back. "Neo…" The wind shifts and the figure leans forward, just slightly, enough to break the silence.
"Run!" I tell Zilla, and we bolt. Our boots cut through the snow, kicking up clouds of frost as we sprint past crooked stones and frozen statues. The forest looms ahead, dark and tangled, branches like claws hanging down to greet us. We don’t hesitate.
We plunge into the trees, breaths ragged, hearts pounding.
I hear Zilla scream. I turn, and I run to her, the blade of the ax rising in a clean arc towards... Zeke’s head?
Zeke lunges forward, catching Zilla just before she hits the ground. "Got you," he breathes, cradling her limp form in his arms. I see Zilla’s body in his arms as I rise the ax above my head, ready to hit him.
Zeke’s eyes grow wide, but the ax never hits him.
A hand shoots out from the shadows. Strong, steady and familiar. Nox. His fingers wrap around the handle mid-swing, stopping it inches away from Zeke’s temple. The force of the catch sends a shock through the air, snow scattering like startled birds.
"Neo," Nox says, voice low but firm. I can’t move, my breath is ragged, and my eyes locked on Zeke, flicking to Zilla’s pale face right after.
I lower the ax slowly, its blade dropping into the snow, Nox still holding its handle. My hands are trembling. "I thought... I thought...What are you doing here?"
"I know," Nox says gently, "We are looking for a tree."
Zeke doesn’t speak; he just holds Zilla close, his breath shaky.
I step back, the adrenaline dripping from me like melting ice. That’s when I plunge at him, hitting his shoulders with my fists. "This is not funny, you idiot!"
Zilla jerks away from Zeke’s arms, her face flushed with a mix of fear and fury.
Her eyes, usually soft and warm, now burn with accusation.
"Why would you do that?" she snaps, voice trembling—not from weakness, but from adrenaline.
She takes a step back, arms crossed tightly over her chest like armor.
Did Zeke just pull off what he thought was a master-play of spooky seduction? "You scared us!"
Zeke holds up his hands. "Okay, okay! I misread the vibe."
I look over at Nox; the guy looks like he has been plucked straight out of a noir film. A cigarette is dangling from his lips like he has all the time in the world and none of the worries. I forget to breathe the moment Nox reached for the ax.
It isn’t just the motion… it is the way he moves, slowly, like he’s savoring the weight of the moment. His fingers curl around the handle, veins flexing subtly beneath his skin. The smoke still lingers around him, framing his silhouette in a haze of danger and allure.
The ax isn’t just a weapon in Nox’s hands, it’s an extension of him. I watch, transfixed, as he lifts it with ease, the muscles in his arms shifting beneath his coat with coiled tension. There is something primal in the way he holds it, something that makes my pulse skip a beat.
He’s hot, dangerous and handsome.
Our eyes meet for a split second. His gaze is unreadable, but the corner of his mouth twitches.
"What is it, nightshade?"
Nox closes the distance between us, using the kind of slow stride that makes my pulse thrum in my ears.
His boots barely make a sound, but still every step feels loud.
The smoke clings to him like a second skin, trailing behind him with every movement.
He stops just inches from me, close enough for me to feel the heat of his breath and smell the faint trace of ash and leather.
I tilt my head up instinctively, and there he is…
towering over me. His gaze is sharp, as if he is studying me to find weaknesses or secrets.
His eyes lock onto my lips and move up to my eyes, and the world seems to narrow to that single point of contact. I feel my spine straighten and my breath trembling. The way he looks at me, like he is deciding whether to kiss me or eat me.
If you know what I mean…
"You stare like you want something," he murmurs, eyes tracing the form of my lips. Then, with a tilt of his head and a flick of ash to the ground, he adds, "Careful, Neo. That look on your face makes me want to do things to you."
"You’re lucky you’re hot."
He laughs, his fangs—perfect and gleaming—peek out like they are part of the smile’s punchline.
Not too long, not cartoonish, just… flawless.
And very sharp… sharp enough for me to want to feel them penetrating my skin.
It’s like they are sculpted for seduction but also a threat in equal measure.
I try to keep my face straight, but it falters under the weight of his grin.
Nox knows how much I love that grin, how it crawls under my skin…
making me want to kiss his dimples hundreds of times.
***
The forest is quiet, wrapped in the sort of hush only fresh snow can bring. A crispy layer covers the ground, untouched and glistening like powdered moonlight. Every step the four of us take leaves a crisp imprint, the crunch beneath our boots is the only sound breaking the silence.
The trees loom tall and shadowed, their branches heavy with snow, arching overhead like cathedral vaults.
The sky above is a deep charcoal, the kind of winter darkness that feels endless.
Soft, but vast. No stars. Just the slow drift of snowflakes catching what little light filtered through the canopy.
Zeke walks with exaggerated caution, muttering about frostbite and looking over at Zilla when she is preoccupied with something else.
Her cheeks are flushed from the cold, but her eyes sparkle curiosity when she watches what Zeke does. They are cute together.
I move quietly, my gaze sweeping through the shadows.
The darkness doesn’t bother me though; it feels familiar, almost comforting.
I adore the way the snow softens the world, it’s making everything feel slower, quieter.
Nox walks a few paces behind me, cigarette tucked behind his ear.
The cold doesn’t seem to touch him. His expression is obscure, like always, but there is something thoughtful in the way he watches me from the corner of his eye.
He closes the distance slowly, his breath curling in the cold air, eyes fixed on the way my shoulders rise and fall.
His chest brushes my spine; the warmth of my body melts the chill that clings to his.
Nox rests his chin lightly on my shoulder, his voice low against my ear. "You walk like you’re chasing ghosts," he murmurs. "Let me haunt you a little."
"You haunt me even when you’re not trying." My voice is calm, but there is a tremor beneath it—something raw and real. I reach and touch his hand, my fingers brushing his knuckles. "And I will let you," I add, barely above a whisper. "Every time."
His arm stays wrapped around me, his breath warm against my jaw. "You must really like me," he says with his signature smile.
I turn my head just slightly, enough to catch his gaze over my shoulder. "Unfortunately for me," I tease him.
Nox’s grin deepens, but it isn’t smug; it’s something darker, softer. He leans in, brushing his lips against the curve of my neck, slow enough to feel my pulse jump.
"Lucky for you," he kisses me, "I don't take that easily."
Then he presses his chest closer, his coat wrapping around both of us like a shield against the cold. Nox stops.
"We’re being watched," he says quietly, his voice low enough only for me to hear. His fingers curl tighter around the worn handle of the ax. "Stay back," he snaps, voice low and edged with something feral. "Stay with Zeke and Zilla."
I freeze, startled—not by his words, but by the way he says them.
It seems like it hurts him to push me away, like he doesn’t want to, but has to.
Nox turns to face me, eyes burning like coals beneath frost. "Whatever is out there isn’t just watching anymore.
It’s hunting. And I won’t have you in its sights. "
I open my mouth to argue, but he steps closer, towering over me, his voice a growl.
"I need you safe. Just this once… do what I say!"
Then he turns, his coat flaring behind him like wings of smoke, vanishing into the trees without another word.
The forest swallows him whole, and I run to Zilla and Zeke.