The Nightmares always come…

Seanna POV

The gas station coffee tastes like regret and burnt dirt.

I drink it anyway.

Classic rock hums softly through my speakers — something old and electric and absolutely scandalous enough to give my mother a full cardiac event if she ever heard it. The guitar riff vibrates through the Jeep, and for a few precious minutes on the empty morning road, I feel… normal.

Free.

Or at least pretending really well.

The parking lot is nearly empty when I pull into the little gas station halfway home. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead as I slip inside, keeping my head down out of habit more than necessity.

Old habits don’t die.

They just get quieter.

The bathroom mirror is harsh and unforgiving, but I face it anyway.

First things first.

I reach into my bag and pull out the long black dress, stepping into it with practiced efficiency. The familiar weight of the fabric settles over me like armor. Like expectation. Like home — though not the comforting kind.

Next comes my face.

Cold water.

Soap.

Gone is the light makeup I experimented with at work. Gone is the faint rebellion.

By the time I’m done, the girl in the mirror looks exactly like she’s supposed to.

Soft. Proper. Unremarkable.

Good.

I dry my hands and head back out.

The rest of the drive home feels longer than usual.

Nerves flutter low in my stomach, though I can’t quite name why. Maybe it’s the text from James. Maybe it’s the weird energy from the gym. Maybe it’s just the slow, creeping reality that my carefully balanced life is about to… shift.

The familiar dusty dirt lane comes into view, winding toward the big farmhouse that’s been my whole world for twenty-five years.

Home.

I park and step out, gravel crunching softly under my shoes.

The screen door creaks when I open it.

And there he is.

My father sits at the kitchen table, coffee mug in hand, looking exactly like he always does at this hour — calm, steady, already dressed for the day. The faint smell of fresh earth clings to him.

Of course he’s already done the morning chores.

It’s Saturday.

He likes the quiet.

“Morning, Sisi,” he says warmly.

My chest softens a little.

“Morning, Dad.”

He studies me for a moment, eyes kind but knowing.

“I’ve got some news.”

I lean against the counter, already nodding.

“I can guess what it is.”

One corner of his mouth lifts.

“James is coming to visit.”

There it is.

He smiles — not pushy, not forceful. Just… hopeful. Gentle.

My father has always been patient with me. Being the only girl bought me time my brothers never needed. Adam lives next door with his growing family. Eli — my closest ally in this house — works long hours but still checks on me when he can. And Z… well.

Z is still half feral and fully chaotic.

But Dad?

Dad just waits.

“He’s a good man, Sisi,” he says softly. “I believe you’ll find him hard to resist.”

I don’t say what immediately pops into my head.

Because based on our texts so far… “irresistible” would not be my first choice of word.

But maybe I’m jaded.

Maybe I’m tired.

Maybe I’m just… careful now.

The faint sound of movement upstairs makes my shoulders tighten instantly.

Mother.

Even half-asleep, Clair Morgan has a sixth sense for when I’m in the house.

Dad notices the shift in me but doesn’t comment. He never does.

“Get some rest,” he says gently.

I nod once, already backing toward the stairs.

“Love you, Dad.”

“Love you too, Sisi.”

The hallway upstairs feels too quiet.

Too familiar.

My room hasn’t changed in years.

I close the door softly behind me and change into my night clothes, movements automatic. Then I cross the room and pull the heavy curtains shut, sealing the early morning light outside.

Dark.

Safe.

I turn toward the bed—

—and stop.

My eyes land on the dents in the headboard.

My fingers curl slightly.

Two weeks.

Two weeks until the full moon.

A slow unease creeps under my skin.

The nightmares always come.

They’ve followed me my whole life — flashes of pain, running, desperation clawing at my chest. By morning they fade into fog, but the exhaustion never lies.

They’ve been getting worse.

More frequent.

More… vivid.

Mother always says the full moon is when the most evil walks the world.

Seanna Morgan prefers science.

Logic.Something explainable.

But lying awake at night, heart racing for no reason she can name…

…it’s getting harder to pretend there isn’t something wrong.

I slip into bed and pull the blanket up.

Close my eyes.

And pray — not to Mother’s version of heaven — but to simple, blessed silence.

Dreamless sleep.

Please.