The next morning, I arrive at the dance studio for my first class of the day, teaching kids helps me earn money whilst I practice on the side to hopefully become a professional. The studio smells faintly of wood polish and sweat—a strangely comforting combination after all these years. The kids chatter excitedly as they stretch, their faces glowing with enthusiasm. I've always loved this—the way their energy fills the room, lifting the atmosphere.

Lewis is here, leaning against the wall with his hood up, as usual. He's scrolling through his phone but looks up and flashes me a grin when I walk in. "Morning, Rae. Ready to whip these kids into shape?"

"I was born ready," I quip, my voice lighter than I feel.

The warm-ups begin, and for a while, everything feels normal. The rhythm of teaching is second nature to me—correcting posture, demonstrating moves, and encouraging the shy ones.

But then it happens again.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see them—shadows flickering at the edges of the room, faint but unmistakable. They're taller than before, more defined, like they're gaining strength.

I blink, trying to shake the image from my mind. But when I glance back, they're still there.

"Athena?" Lewis's voice jolts me.

"Yeah?" I turn quickly, my heart pounding.

He frowns. "You've been staring at that corner for like a minute. You good?"

I force a laugh, though it feels hollow. "Yeah, sorry. Just spaced out."

He doesn't look convinced but doesn't push it.

The rest of the class blurs by. The shadows remain, hovering at the edges of my vision, but I pretend not to notice. If I acknowledge them, I'll fall apart.

The day passes by, my last class finishing for the weekend, all the kids filter out one by one, their laughter echoing down the hallway. Meghan stays behind for a bit, sipping her coffee and giving me her usual pointed look.

"Are you gonna tell me what's going on, or am I supposed to guess?" she asks.

"I'm fine," I say quickly, avoiding her gaze. "Just tired."

"You've been 'tired' a lot lately," she says, air-quoting the word. "If you need to talk—"

"I know," I cut her off gently. "Thanks, Meg. I'm okay, really."

She eyes me suspiciously but lets it go.

Lewis walks me out of the studio, his hands shoved in his hoodie pockets. "You know I don't buy the 'tired' excuse, right?" he says casually.

I sigh. "It's nothing, Lewis. Just a lot on my mind."

"Well, if you decide you want to unload, you know where to find me."

"Thanks," I say softly.

He grins pulling me into a hug before running off to a date he has tonight. The cool evening air is a relief after the stuffy tension of the studio. The sun hangs low, casting long shadows across the pavement.

I take a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering unease. But the quiet feels too loud, the shadows too alive.

Then I see them.

Two figures at the far end of the street, standing just outside the reach of the streetlights. They're tall and cloaked in shadow, their forms outlined in an almost otherworldly haze.

My breath catches.

They move closer, stepping into the light.

The first one is sharp-featured, with hair as black as midnight that falls just past his ears. His eyes are dark and piercing, like twin voids that could swallow me whole. He moves with precision, his posture stiff yet commanding.

The other is broader, his presence less sharp but no less overwhelming. His deep brown hair has a faint red sheen in the dim light, and his eyes—warm in color but smoldering with intensity—seem to gleam with a hint of mischief. He carries himself with an effortless, almost feline grace, a stark contrast to the other's rigidity.

I take a step back, my heart hammering in my chest.

The one with black hair—Zarach—speaks first, his tone clipped and dry. "Finally. We were starting to think you'd never notice."

"Notice what?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Us," he replies, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

The other one—Marax—smirks, his gaze raking over me with a disarming mix of amusement and curiosity. "Took you long enough. I was starting to think you weren't the observant type."

"Who are you?" I demand, trying to sound braver than I feel.

"We're your protectors," Zarach says, his tone flat, almost bored.

Marax leans in slightly, his smirk widening. "Your very handsome protectors."

"Protectors?" I repeat, my mind spinning. "From what?"

"From the things that go bump in the night," Marax says, his voice lilting with humor. "And trust me, sweetheart, there are plenty of those."

"Marax, stop flirting," Zarach snaps, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"What?" Marax says innocently, throwing up his hands. "I'm just being friendly."

"Friendly isn't in the job description," Zarach mutters, turning back to me. "We're here to keep you alive. That's all you need to know for now."

"Alive?" I echo, the word hitting me like a punch to the gut. "Why wouldn't I be alive?"

"That," Zarach says, his dark eyes narrowing, "is a conversation for another time. Just know that you're... important."

"Important?"

Marax steps closer, his expression softening slightly. "Look, we don't have all the answers yet, okay? We're just here to make sure nothing bad happens to you. Call it... a precaution."

I stare at them, my mind racing. Two demons claiming to be my protectors. Shadows that seem to follow me wherever I go. And the name—Satan.

"What's happening to me?" I whisper, my voice trembling.

Zarach and Marax exchange a look, a silent conversation passing between them.

"We don't know," Zarach admits reluctantly. "Not yet."

"But we'll find out," Marax adds, his tone unusually serious. "And until then, you've got us."

I don't know whether to feel comforted or terrified.

I blink, staring at the two impossibly beautiful men—or demons—standing before me. They're speaking as if this is just another day, as if it's normal to have strangers appear out of nowhere claiming to be my protectors.

The street feels too quiet now. The faint hum of passing cars in the distance is swallowed by the weight of their presence.

"I don't get it," I say, my voice shaking but determined. "If you're here to protect me, why now? Why not... I don't know, show up before?"

Marax steps forward, his red-tinted eyes catching the dim glow of the streetlight. "Timing's a funny thing, sweetheart. We've been around, but there wasn't much to protect you from. Until now."

"That's not reassuring," I mutter, taking a step back.

"Not meant to be," Zarach cuts in, his tone dry. "We're not here to coddle you, Athena. We're here to keep you alive. That's it."

Marax tilts his head, an amused grin tugging at his lips. "Don't mind him. He's always like this—stoic and grumpy. It's his thing."

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"Marax." Zarach's tone sharpens like the edge of a blade, but the other demon only laughs.

"What?" Marax says with an exaggerated shrug. "We might as well keep things light, considering how... dire this all feels."

"Dire?" I ask, my throat tightening. "What's dire? What's coming?"

Zarach's gaze hardens. "That's what we need to figure out. But the fact that we're here now? It means something big is brewing. Something dangerous."

Marax leans casually against the streetlamp, the soft glow casting his hair in fiery highlights. "Don't let him scare you too much. You're tougher than you look, I can feel it. And hey, you've got the two of us now. Could be worse."

"Could it?" I snap, the frustration bubbling over. "Because it feels pretty bad right now. I've got shadows following me, weird messages from strangers, and now two demons saying they're here to protect me like I'm some damsel in distress!"

Marax raises an eyebrow, his smirk never fading. "Damsel? Nah. More like a mystery wrapped in an enigma with a touch of fire. Trust me, we've seen worse."

"Marax, enough," Zarach growls. He steps closer to me, his black eyes intense. "We're not here to explain everything to you. Not yet. We don't have all the answers, and even if we did, you're not ready for them. What you need to do is trust us. At least enough to let us do our job."

"And why should I trust you?" I challenge.

Marax chuckles softly, the sound low and almost... warm. "Well, you don't have much of a choice, do you?"

The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating. The logical part of my brain screams at me to run, to call someone—anyone—for help. But deep down, there's a pull, a quiet knowing that they're not lying.

I cross my arms, narrowing my eyes. "Fine. Say I believe you. What now?"

Zarach straightens, his posture stiff. "For now, we keep watch. You live your life as normally as possible. If anything happens, we intervene."

"Intervene how?"

"By dealing with the problem," Zarach says bluntly.

"And trust me, sweetheart," Marax adds with a wink, "we're very good at dealing with problems."

"Stop calling me that," I snap, glaring at him.

He raises his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. No need to bite my head off. I'll stick to Athena if it makes you feel better."

Zarach pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath.

I shake my head, trying to process everything. "This is insane," I mutter, mostly to myself. The tension in the air is thick as Marax's grin widens, and Zarach crosses his arms, his sharp gaze pinned on me. I glance between them, trying to decide if I should feel relieved or even more freaked out by their cryptic presence.

"You keep talking about 'protecting' me," I say, forcing my voice to remain steady. "But if you're supposed to be demons, where's the proof? I mean, how do I know you're not just... some crazy stalkers who got really lucky with their timing?"

Marax chuckles, the sound low and dangerous. "You want proof?"

"Marax—" Zarach starts, but the other demon cuts him off with a raised hand.

"She asked," Marax says, his tone laced with amusement. "And who am I to deny her a little demonstration?"

I immediately regret my words.

The air shifts again, the weight of it pressing down on my chest. Marax steps away from the streetlamp, his confident stride taking him closer to me. His grin softens, and for a moment, I wonder if he's second-guessing himself.

"Don't freak out," he says softly, though the mischievous glint in his eyes says he's counting on it.

Before I can respond, he moves. Not physically—he doesn't step or shift—but his presence seems to expand, filling every corner of the dimly lit street. The golden streetlight above him flickers as the shadows around him deepen.

And then, he changes.

It starts with his eyes. The red tint brightens, glowing like embers, and his pupils elongate into slits. His smirk sharpens, revealing a set of fanged teeth that gleam in the faint light. His skin seems to shimmer as dark, obsidian-like scales ripple up his forearms and along the sides of his neck. His fiery brown hair darkens, streaks of crimson appearing like veins of magma.

As he steps closer, two massive, curved horns erupt from his head, framing his face like a crown. They look impossibly heavy, but Marax doesn't seem bothered by them at all.

"Ta-da," he says, his voice richer, more resonant, like a low hum vibrating through the ground.

I stumble back, my breath catching. "What the hell—"

"Close," Marax teases, his voice layered with a faint growl. "But not quite."

"Marax, stop playing around," Zarach snaps, his voice cutting through the charged air like a blade.

Marax rolls his eyes but steps back, his form shrinking slightly—not completely reverting, but enough to appear less monstrous.

"Fine," he mutters, crossing his arms. "Your turn, oh stoic one."

Zarach doesn't move for a moment, his dark eyes locked onto mine. There's no teasing grin, no playful warning. His expression is unreadable as he finally speaks.

"Try not to scream."

Before I can process his words, the transformation begins.

The shadows around him pull closer, as though the darkness itself is alive, swirling and writhing around his tall frame. His black eyes seem to absorb the light, glowing faintly with an eerie, inhuman intensity.

His hair darkens further, the strands taking on an almost liquid quality as if they're made of shadow themselves. His skin pales, taking on an otherworldly, ashen tone that contrasts sharply with the black veins spreading beneath the surface.

Massive, bat-like wings unfurl from his back, the leathery membrane catching the faint light with an iridescent sheen. The edges of the wings are jagged, like they've been torn and mended countless times. His fingers lengthen slightly, his nails sharpening into claw-like points.

When he finally speaks, his voice is a deep rumble that resonates in my chest. "This is what we are. Do you understand now?"

My legs feel like jelly, and I take another step back, my head spinning. My instincts scream at me to run, but my body refuses to obey.

"What..." My voice comes out as a whisper. "What are you?"

Marax smirks, his horns glinting in the faint light. "Like we said, demons. Guardians, if you want to get technical. Not all demons are out to ruin your day, sweetheart."

"And you're... like this all the time?" I ask, my voice trembling.

"Not always," Zarach says, his voice quieter but still carrying that deep resonance. "This is our true form. What you see otherwise is a courtesy."

"A courtesy," I repeat, barely managing to keep my voice steady.

"Yeah," Marax says, folding his wings back neatly, his grin returning. "Figured it's easier to walk among humans without the horns and claws, you know?"

Zarach's gaze pierces through me. "Does this satisfy your curiosity, or would you like another demonstration?"

"No," I say quickly, holding up my hands. "No more demonstrations. I've seen enough."

Marax chuckles, his glowing eyes dimming slightly as his form softens, the scales retreating and the horns shrinking back into his skull. Zarach follows suit, his wings folding into nothingness and the shadows dissipating.

As they return to their more human appearances, I let out a shaky breath, the weight on my chest easing.

"Good," Zarach says. "Now that we're clear, perhaps you'll take this more seriously."

"Yeah," I murmur, still trying to process what I've just seen. "I think I get it now."

Marax's grin widens. "Told you she'd handle it. She's tougher than she looks."

I glare at him, but there's no real heat behind it. "Don't push your luck."

Zarach steps forward, his expression softening slightly. "Get some rest, Athena. We'll keep watch."

I nod, too drained to argue, and turn on my heel, heading toward my car. My legs feel heavy, the adrenaline crash hitting me like a wave. I fumble with my keys, my hands trembling as I unlock the door and slide into the driver's seat. For a moment, I just sit there, gripping the steering wheel, trying to steady my breathing.

In the rearview mirror, I catch a glimpse of them standing under the dim glow of the streetlamp. Their figures are impossibly still, like statues, their eyes faintly luminous even in their human forms. Marax leans casually against the pole, his arms crossed, while Zarach stands rigid, his sharp gaze scanning the street.

I should feel safer with them here—or at least, that's what they keep insisting. But instead, I feel like I'm teetering on the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath me.

What the hell is my life now?

The faint hum of my car's engine brings me back to reality as I start it up, the headlights cutting through the quiet darkness of the street. As I pull away, I glance at them one last time through the rearview mirror. Marax's face is tipped in my direction, his lips curved into that infuriatingly confident smirk, while Zarach remains stoic, his expression unreadable.

Their presence lingers even as I turn the corner and drive out of sight.

The streets blur together as I make my way back to my apartment, my mind racing with questions I'm too scared to ask. Why me? What do they really want? And what is it that they're protecting me from?

The worst part is, I don't think they even have all the answers.

By the time I pull into my parking spot outside my building, the exhaustion has set in fully. I sit in the car for a moment longer, staring out the windshield at the shadowed outline of my building. Every sound feels amplified—the distant bark of a dog, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the faint creak of the old metal gate leading to the stairwell.

"Normal life," I mutter bitterly under my breath. "Sure."

Stepping out of the car, I force myself to shake off the lingering fear. I glance around the empty lot, half-expecting to see those faint shadows that had been haunting me earlier. But the only thing moving is the wind stirring a crumpled candy wrapper across the asphalt.

Still, I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched.

I clutch my keys tightly as I make my way to the door, the weight of the night pressing down on me. My hands fumble with the lock, the key slipping twice before I manage to turn it. The door creaks open, and I step inside, shutting it firmly behind me and sliding the chain lock into place.

Leaning against the door, I let out a long breath, my head tilting back against the wood. My apartment feels smaller, quieter, more suffocating than usual. I flick on the light, the warm glow doing little to dispel the heavy feeling in my chest.

I toss my bag onto the couch and walk to the window, pulling back the curtain just enough to peek outside. The street is empty, the faint glow of the nearby lamppost the only light cutting through the darkness.

But for some reason, I can't shake the thought that they're still out there—Marax and Zarach. Watching. Waiting.

With a sigh, I close the curtain and step away from the window. My hands are still trembling as I move to the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of water. The cool liquid soothes my dry throat, but it does nothing to calm the storm raging in my mind.

Marax's mischievous grin, Zarach's piercing black eyes, the terrifying yet strangely beautiful forms they'd revealed to me—all of it replays in my head like a movie I can't turn off.

"You're tougher than you look," Marax had said.

Tougher. Right.

I let out a bitter laugh, setting the empty glass down on the counter. I don't feel tough. I feel like my world is spinning out of control, and I'm just hanging on by a thread.

And yet, deep down, there's something else—something unfamiliar stirring in my chest.

Hope?

No. Not hope.

It's something darker. Something sharper.

A quiet voice whispers at the edge of my thoughts, a voice that feels both foreign and familiar. You'll find out soon enough, Athena.

I shiver, shaking the thought away as I retreat to my bedroom. Whatever's coming, I can't deal with it tonight. For now, I just need to sleep.

If they'll even let me.