I RAN WITHOUT LOOKING BACK, WITH NOTHING BUT THE WORN DIARY

Chapter 1

Present Day

Nyx's POV

My legs burned from three hours of dance practice, but I couldn't stop the smile spreading across my face. I'd finally nailed that impossible spin Coach Damien had been torturing me with for weeks.

My dance bag bounced against my hip as I walked down Maple Street, humming the routine music under my breath.

The sunset painted everything golden—the cracked sidewalks, the row of tired-looking houses, even our mailbox that had been leaning sideways since we moved in.

Home. Or at least, the closest thing to home I'd known in years.

This was the fifth house we've moved in, in ten years. Fifth neighborhood, fifth fresh start. Fifth time watching Mom pack everything into worn-out boxes like our lives could be folded neatly between duct-taped cardboard and forced smiles.

We started moving when I was nine, I don’t remember what exactly happened back then. Just flashes. The sound of a door slamming, the weight of my mom’s arm around me as she pulled me into the car.

The way her hands shook on the steering wheel as we drove toward another "fresh start."

I remember asking her why we were leaving, and all she said was, “It’s not safe here anymore.”

She kept checking the rearview mirror like something was after us.

That was the beginning of our running. From town to town, house to house. Sometimes we stayed just six months, a year if we were lucky. Every time I started to settle in, she’d tell me to pack my bags again. She never explained, and I stopped asking.

But this place was different, two years and six months. That’s how long we’d stayed here, the longest we’ve ever stayed anywhere since I was nine. I’d started to think maybe, just maybe, we’d finally stop running.

I pushed through our front gate, expecting the porch light to flick on any second. Mom always had it blazing before sunset, like she was afraid of what might creep up in the dark.

But tonight, the porch stayed black.

My stomach did a small flip. "Weird," I muttered, fishing for my keys.

Inside, I kicked off my sneakers and waited for Mom's voice to echo from the kitchen: "Nyx Marie, how many times do I have to tell you about those dirty shoes?"

But nothing came.

"Mom?" I called loudly. "I'm home!" Nothing.

I blinked. No response? That wasn’t like her.

The house felt wrong, too quiet. Like it was holding its breath.

A sudden knot twisted in my stomach. I tried brushing it off as I dropped my bag and walked further into the house. The lights were off in the hallway.

A strange sense of unease tugged at my chest. She never left the house without telling me, not even to run a short errand.

And the hallway shouldn't be this dark, I flicked on the light and walked quickly down the hall toward her bedroom. The door stood half-open, revealing neatly folded sheets and an untouched pillow.

Not here.

“Mom?” I called again, louder this time. Still nothing. A chill ran through me.

I turned toward the kitchen. The moment I stepped in, I froze.

Blood.

Everywhere.

It streaked across the white tiles in dark, sticky trails. Splattered the cabinet doors. Pooled around the island where Mom always chopped vegetables and hummed old songs I didn't recognize.

And in the center of it all, laid my mom.

"Mom!" The scream tore from my throat as I dropped to my knees beside her. My hands shook as I reached for her face, her neck, searching for a pulse. "Oh God, oh God, what happened? Who did this to you?"

Her eyes fluttered open, brown eyes that looked too pale, too tired. "Nyx" she whispered, her voice so low I could barely hear them.

"Don't talk, okay? I'm calling 911. You're going to be fine." I fumbled for my phone, my hands slippery with something I didn't want to think about.

Her fingers wrapped around my wrist with surprising strength. "No." The word came out sharp, desperate. "Listen to me. There's no time."

"There's always time!" Tears burned my eyes, hot and fast. "I'm not losing you, okay? I can't..."

"My room," she gasped, each word a struggle. "Under my bed. Black leather diary. Get it."

I stared at her, confusion mixing with terror. "What? Mom, you're bleeding. We need to...."

"Get it, Nyx. Please." Her grip on my wrist tightened. "Before they come back." Her voice trembled.

They? Who was they? But the desperate, fading look on her eyes made me nod quickly even as I hesitated.

"I'll be right back," I whispered. "Don't.... don't you dare close your eyes. You hear me?"

I scrambled to her room, my heart in my throat. Her room smelled like lavender and old perfume. I threw myself to the floor, hands scrambling under her bed until my fingers brushing against something hard, I curled them around the worn leather pulling it out. I was met with something that look like a diary.

It was old, bound in black leather, worn at the edges. It looked ancient, definitely not something I’d ever seen before.

I rushed back to the kitchen, clutching it tightly, and skidding to her side. “Here. I found it. Now tell me what happened. Who did this to you?” She reached for it, placed it against my chest.

Her lips trembled. “Everything you need to know… is in there. But you have to promise me…” She paused, coughing weakly.

“Promise me you won’t open it until you’re far away. Far, Nyx. Do you hear me?”

“Far? What are you talking about? I’m not leaving you!”

Her eyes looked distant, as though she was staring at something, or someone, far beyond the walls of our kitchen.

“Kael… I’m sorry. I couldn’t protect her. I tried.”

My heart skipped. “Mom, who’s Kael?” She didn’t answer that.

Instead, she squeezed my hand. “You need to run. They found us. They’ll come back. Protect yourself, my baby. Go. Now.”

“No, I’m not leaving you like this!”

“I love you, Nyx. Always.”

Those were her last words before her eyes fluttered closed. But her lips moved again, whispering something. Strange words. Foreign, almost like..... A spell.

But that couldn’t be right, because witches aren’t real. They’re stories, fairytales. Aren’t they?

Tears blurred my vision as her fingers slowly lost their grip.

“Mom? No, no, no… Stay with me!” But her eyes were already tightly shut.

I knelt beside her bloodied body, clutching a diary, I wasn’t allowed to open, my heart pounding so loud I thought it might burst through my ribs.

I stared at the worn leather cover as if it held the answers to everything. But what kind of answers could it hold? And why had Mom kept it hidden from me all these years?

The room felt colder now, the shadows lengthening with the fading light outside. My fingers traced the edges of the diary, rough and cracked under my touch.

I wanted to open it right then and there, to tear into the pages, desperate to understand. But Mom’s words echoed sharply in my mind......“Don’t open it unless you’re far away.”

Far away. How far was far enough? Was I supposed to run? Leave this house, this street, this life behind?

I bit my lip hard, blinking back tears that threatened to spill. I felt so small, so helpless.

I wanted to scream, to shout for help, but the silence swallowed my voice.

How had it come to this?

Maybe this was why. Maybe something was chasing us, something Mom couldn’t fight anymore.

The thought twisted my stomach.

“Please, Mom,” I whispered. “Tell me what to do.” I asked her lifeless body, knowing no answer was going to come.

Silence was all I got, she used to be my strength, my wisdom. The one I run too when I'm confused, how do I go from here now, without her?

“You’re stronger than you know, Nyx. The diary… it holds our story, the truth about who we are. It will guide you when the time is right.” I heard something that did sound true, maybe it was my imagination.

But I had to do what she wanted me to, run.

And that was what I did.

I ran without looking back, with nothing but the worn diary.

.