Chapter 10 Bruised Light
The overhead light flickered once before buzzing to life, casting shadows that bent wrong against the walls, angular and twisted like reaching hands or contorted mouths frozen mid-scream
I stood there for a moment, just breathing. The silence pressed against my eardrums, thick and suffocating, and my pulse sounded too loud in my own head.
I dropped my bag by the desk and peeled off my damp jacket, my fingers brushing against the inside pocket.
That damn coin.
I pulled it out carefully, using a paper towel as a barrier, and set it on my desk.
The pomegranate design seemed to writhe in the lamplight. My eyes couldn’t quite focus on it, the image shifting just slightly, too fast to catch.
I wrapped it back up quickly. But even hidden, I could feel it radiating something. Something hungry. I went through the motions, kicked my shoes off, and filled the kettle. I sat down and opened my laptop to pull up my project file, hoping work would distract me.
Descent and Return: The Eternal Cycle
The title blinked back at me, cursor flashing. I tried to focus, but my mind kept circling back to the man from the coffee shop, the coin. Amy’s silence.
It weighed on my chest like heavy stones.
I checked my phone again. No new texts.
She’d said she was starting the appointment hours ago. That wasn’t like her. Amy might’ve been scattered sometimes, but she always texted back.
I typed out another message:
Me: Hey. Just checking in. Everything okay? Text me, please.
I hesitated, then hit send.
The kettle screamed, making me flinch so hard I nearly knocked my laptop off the desk. I turned it off, but didn’t make tea. I just stared at my phone, willing it to buzz.
The door creaked open behind me.
Luz stepped inside with windswept hair, arms full of books. She froze the moment her eyes landed on me.
She crossed the room in three quick strides, books forgotten on her bed. “You okay?” She scanned my face like she was looking for damage. “You look spooked.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Really stressful day.”
She dropped her books on her bed with a thud, then crossed the room toward me, eyes narrowing as they landed on my desk.
“What’s that?”
I slid the wrapped coin toward her with one finger. “A gift from a massive creep.”
Luz gave me a look, but picked it up anyway. The moment her fingers touched it, her whole body went rigid.
“Mierda,” she hissed, dropping it back on the desk as if it had burned her. She wiped her hands on her jeans, then grabbed the rosary around her neck, clutching it tight. “What the hell, Mel?”
“What?” A burst of anxiety shot through me. “What’s wrong?”
“Esta cosa no está bien.” She stared at the coin like it might sprout legs and crawl toward her. “It’s not just cursed, it’s hungry. It wants something from you.”
Ice slid down my spine. “What?”
“I don’t know. But whoever gave this to you?” She shook her head, still clutching her rosary. “They weren’t giving you a gift. They were claiming you.”
“Claiming me for what?”
“I don’t know!” Her eyes were wide, scared in a way I’d never seen. “But Mel, you need to get rid of this. Now. Don’t keep it in this room for another second.”
I nodded, wrapping it back up and shoving it in my pocket. “Okay. Yeah. We’ll throw it in the river or something.”
“Good.” She let out a shaky breath. “Because that thing? Tiene una energía fea. Maldito.”
“Yeah. I got that,” I muttered.
We stood there for a moment in heavy silence. Then Luz’s expression softened.
“Have you heard from Amy?”
The question made my stomach drop all over again. “No. She texted hours ago saying she was starting her appointment, but nothing since. I’ve texted her three times.”
Luz pulled out her phone and checked. “Nothing from her on my end either.”
I swallowed hard. “It’s been like four hours. She should be done by now.”
“Come on,” Luz said, already pulling on her shoes. “Let’s get rid of that cursed thing and try to call her.”
Outside, the mist had thickened into proper rain again. We hurried outside, Luz pinching the wrapped coin between her fingers, muttering a prayer under her breath in Spanish.
The river behind the science building was dark, rain creating ripples across its surface. No one else was around.
Luz wound up like a baseball pitcher and hurled the coin into the dark water.
The splash was small, but the relief was enormous. The pressure in my chest eased.
“Good riddance,” Luz muttered, wiping her hands on her jeans again like she could scrub away the memory of touching it.
We turned to head back, and that’s when I spotted a figure stumbling out from between the buildings, moving like her legs didn’t quite remember how to work. Her silhouette swayed, catching herself against a lamppost.
“Amy?”
She looked up, blinking like the light hurt. Her skin was gray-pale even in the dim light, shadows carved deep beneath her eyes.
“Hey,” she said, voice scratchy. She looked around, confusion flickering across her face. “I was… I was walking back to my dorm. But I…” She frowned, touching her temple. “How did I end up here?”
My stomach dropped. Luz and I exchanged alarmed looks.
“Come on,” I said, moving to her side and looping my arm through hers. “Let’s get you inside.”
Amy didn’t protest. She let us guide her, her steps unsteady like she was walking through water. Up close, she looked worse than I’d ever seen her—exhausted and hollowed out.
We got her back to our dorm room and settled her on my bed with a blanket. I grabbed my soup pot and got to work. Garlic, rosemary, lemon—Reenie’s recipe, the one she’d made me every time I got sick as a kid.
“Food is medicine, Mel-bug,” she used to say. “But intention is the real magic. Cook with love, and the body remembers how to heal.”
I added fresh oregano and thyme from our windowsill planter, stirring in slow circles, pouring every ounce of healing intention into the broth.
The scent of garlic and rosemary began to fill the space, warm and comforting. Luz set up Amy’s spot with extra pillows and plugged in our string lights.
I brewed chamomile and valerian tea with passionflower and honey that smelled of rest.
Amy sat up a little straighter as I brought the tray over.
“This smells amazing,” she rasped. “Did you add lemon zest?”
I grinned. “And love.”
She took a sip of the tea and closed her eyes. “You’re amazing.”
“Obviously,” Luz said, flopping into the bean bag. “She’s the reincarnation of some green witch from the Middle Ages.”
Amy let out a soft laugh, then winced, pressing her fingers to her temples. “Ugh. My head is still really foggy.”
“What happened at the appointment?” I asked, settling onto my bed. “Do you remember?”
Amy was quiet for a moment, like she was trying to pull the memory through thick glass. “They… gave me some kind of supplement to start, then they had me hooked up to neural sensor pads. Tracking brain activity while I responded to emotional stimuli on a screen.”
“What kind of stimuli?” I asked, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
She hesitated, wrapping her arms around herself.
“Pictures, sounds. Some of it was normal. Puppies, thunderstorms. But others…” She trailed off, her eyes going distant.
“There was a video of a woman walking alone in the dark. You could hear footsteps behind her. She kept looking back, but nothing was there. It just kept getting closer.”
My stomach twisted. “Why would they show you that?”
Amy’s gaze went blank for a moment. “To measure stress reactivity.”
“And the supplement?” Luz pressed. “What was in it?”
Amy shrugged. “Some kind of nootropic to amplify dream clarity and emotional retention.” She touched her forehead, wincing. “I’ve felt foggy and nauseous all afternoon. Kind of floaty.” A pause, then: “But they said that’s normal.”
“How long is the study?” I asked.
“A couple of months. I go in twice a week for updates and assessments.” She said it like she was reading from a brochure.
I frowned. “Did you read the whole contract?”
Amy opened her mouth, then stopped. Her brows drew together, like she was trying to remember something just out of reach. “I skimmed most of it. I mean… It’s through the university. I trusted it.”
“That’s what makes it worse,” Luz scowled. “Just because it’s through the school doesn’t mean it’s safe.”
Amy tilted her head, and for a moment, something flickered in her eyes. Confusion, maybe. Or the first hint of doubt.
“How many people are in this study?” I asked.
Amy frowned, like she hadn’t thought about it. “They said it was a small cohort, but…” She looked up at us, something like fear crossing her face. “I don’t really know.”
We sat in heavy silence, rain pattering against the window.
I reached over and squeezed Amy’s hand. “You don’t have to go back. You can quit.”
Amy pulled her hand back and looked down at her lap. “I signed a contract.”
“Contracts can be broken,” Luz stated. “Especially if they’re hurting you.”
Amy didn’t answer. She stared at the bracelet, worrying her lip between her teeth.
After a while, she stood with a wince.
“I should head back,” she said, her smile fading as quickly as it appeared. “Get some real sleep.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay here?” I asked, but she shook her head.
“Nah, I want to shower and crash in my own bed.” She hugged us both. “Thanks for the soup and tea. It helped.”
“Text us when you’re home,” Luz insisted. “And call if you need anything. I mean it.”
“I will. Promise.”
She left with a final wave, and Luz and I tidied in silence.
“Think we can get a copy of that contract?” I murmured.
“If she doesn’t have one, I’ll find it,” Luz said, narrowing her eyes.
I nodded, but I was busy thinking about Amy. The daze, the black bracelets, and that hollow compliance in her eyes. How many students were like that? How many others didn’t question? I didn’t know. And not knowing was what unnerved me.
After Luz disappeared into the bathroom, I flicked on the desk lamp and pulled out the journal.
I couldn’t shake the restlessness crawling under my skin.
I opened the journal. A pressed sprig of rosemary fell into my lap, ghostly fragrant.
The ink on the page shimmered like moonlight caught in water.
My hands trembled as I read.
The entry was dated only: Midwinter—Later Cycle.
When the moon turns her face to the woods, the hunt stirs in the sleeper’s heart.
Hands press silver into her palm and call it a gift.
She does not see the string yet. Roots whisper warnings in the dark.
But not all seeds are ready to bloom. And in the shadows stands the one with eyes like graves, watching.
I read it three times, each time my chest tightened further.
It felt like it was describing what was happening now.
“You still up?”
I jumped, slamming the journal shut. Luz stood in the doorway, hair damp from the shower, wearing her oversized sleep shirt.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I explained, trying to keep my voice steady. “Too much on my mind.”
She gave me a sleepy smile. “What are you reading?”
“Just that journal I told you about. The one I found before running into Kian.” I showed her the cover.
She gave me a look.
“You’ve got to stop bringing home odd objects with strange vibes,” she muttered. “If it starts giving you dreams about antlered ghosts chasing you, don’t wake me. You’re on your own.”
“I’ll try to keep the hauntings to myself.” I managed a small laugh.
She climbed into bed without further comment, and I turned off the lamp.
But I didn’t sleep.
I lay there in the darkness, listening to Luz’s breathing even out, feeling the weight of the journal on my nightstand.
Outside, the wind picked up, rustling leaves against the window.
Somewhere in the space between waking and sleep, I could have sworn I heard steady footsteps, like a predator circling prey.
I pulled my blanket higher and closed my eyes.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about silver pressed into palms and strings I couldn’t yet see ensnaring all of us.