Novels by chantelle25f

The wind shifted, yet not a single breeze stirred outside. Instead, it was a palpable change within the walls of Southridge Hospital—an almost electric tension that vibrated through the sterile corridors. A faint metallic scent, reminiscent of blood and machinery, clung to the air, a haunting reminder of the unnatural.Kael felt it first, a primal instinct prickling at the nape of his neck. He turned sharply, his heart pounding in his chest as his eyes narrowed toward the far end of the ward where shadows pooled. Everything appeared still—no alarms blaring, no footsteps shuffling along the linoleum floor. But the silence was deceptive, hiding an unsettling kind of wrongness that no monitor could detect or quantify.Ember stirred in her bed, her golden eyes darting anxiously toward the same darkened hallway that had captured Kael’s attention. “They’re close,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, laced with fear and urgency.Kael crossed the room in two decisive strides, crou

Isla sat beside Ember’s bed, her voice low, her movements slow. The girl’s eyes were open now—clear, golden, watching everything.“You’re feeling better,” Isla said softly, adjusting the blanket with practised care.Ember nodded.Kael stood near the door, arms folded, gaze locked on his sister. He did not speak, but Isla felt the weight of his presence. Protective. Tense. Like he was waiting for something to go wrong.She glanced at him, then back to Ember. “Do you remember anything? From before you woke?”Ember hesitated. Her fingers curled slightly against the sheets. “Dreams,” she said.The overhead light flickered.Isla stilled.“What kind of dreams?” she asked gently.Ember’s voice was quiet, but steady. “I saw you. Not clearly. Just… pieces. Your voice. Your hands. You were near.”Isla’s breath caught. “You’ve seen me before?”Ember nodded. “I think so. Before I woke up.”Kael shifted. Isla looked up—his jaw was tight, his eyes dark with warning. Not anger. Not malice. Fear.She

The room was quiet again. Not the heavy kind, like sleep or sedation. This was the kind of quiet that listened. That waited.Ember lay still, her body warm but no longer burning. The fever had passed. Or maybe it had changed—become something else. Something she could hold.Her skin tingled. Not painfully. Just… aware. The sheets felt too soft. The air too sharp. The light above her shimmered like water. Even the hum of the monitor pulsed like a second heartbeat.Everything felt louder. Closer. Like the world had leaned in.Her eyes drifted to the figures beside her bed.Kael. Isla.They did not speak. Not to each other. Not while they worked. But Ember saw the way Isla’s hand lingered on the chart. The way Kael’s shoulders tensed when she moved too close. The way their silence was not empty—it was full.Have they met before? Ember wondered.It felt like they had. Not in the way grown-ups meant names, handshakes and paperwork. But in the way fire met wind. In the way two things collide

Isla stood beside him, close enough that the edge of her uniform brushed his arm each time she adjusted the monitor’s cables. The soft click of the blood pressure cuff echoed between them, louder than the silence. Kael did not flinch. Did not speak.His focus was clinical, his eyes scanning Ember’s vitals, fingers steady on the chart. But the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. Isla saw it. She felt it. The way his body held itself too still, like he was bracing for something, or someone.“You missed her last set,” Isla said quietly. Not accusing—just stating. Her voice was low, almost careful.“I had to take a call,” he replied, still not looking at her.She nodded, but the air between them thickened. Not with blame. With everything unsaid. The way he had not answered her message. The silence in the break room. The way he stood so close now and yet, he still felt a million miles away.He reached for the thermometer, his hand brushed hers—just for a second. Just enough. Neither of

Kael stepped into the burn unit like a man crossing a threshold he had feared for years. The air was warmer now—not clinical, not sterile. It pulsed with something alive.Ember lay awake, her golden eyes fixed on him the moment he entered.“Kael,” she whispered.He was beside her in two strides, kneeling at her bedside, brushing her hair back with a gentleness that didn’t match the fire in his veins.“I’m here, little flame,” he murmured. “You’re safe.”Ember’s lips trembled. “It hurts less now.”Kael nodded. “That is because you are stronger. You are shifting. Slowly. But it is happening.”She looked past him, toward the door. “The nurse—Isla. She is kind.”“She is,” Kael said softly. “But she’s not one of us.”Ember frowned. “She helped me.”“I know,” he said, voice low. “But kindness does not mean safety. You know that, little flame.”He took her hand, warm and steady. Her skin glowed faintly—not just with warmth, but with something deeper. Like embers beneath the surface. Kael cou

The monitors beeped steadily, but Isla barely heard them. She was focused on Ember’s breathing—slow, rhythmic, stronger than before. The girl’s skin glowed faintly, not with fever, but with warmth. Controlled. Alive.Isla leaned in, brushing a curl from Ember’s cheek. The child stirred.“Ember?” she whispered.The girl’s eyes fluttered open—fully this time. Gold shimmered in her irises, bright and clear. Isla’s breath caught.Ember blinked, then spoke. “He’s coming.” Her voice was soft, but certain. Not frightened. Not confused.“Who?” Isla asked gently.Ember’s gaze drifted toward the window. “The one who watches. He doesn’t like Kael.” Isla’s heart thudded. “You are safe. I promise.” Ember nodded once, then closed her eyes again, she was not unconscious, just resting. Her breathing remained steady.Isla stepped back, pulse racing. She needed Kael. Now.She found Kael outside the emergency exit, still speaking to the silver-haired man. Their conversation was hushed, urgent. Isla did n