Semua Bab Owed to the Devil: Bab 1 - Bab 10

Isla PovThe walls of Saint Valeria Academy buzzed with pre-summer chaos—half laughter, half shrieking, and a whole lot of people pretending finals didn’t nearly kill us.Suitcases rolled. Tinsel sparkled where it definitely shouldn’t (because why was someone decorating the lockers in July?). The dorm hallway smelled like hairspray, overpriced perfume, and goodbye tears.One of my roommates, Delilah, sprawled across her bed in the middle of our disaster zone of a room, flipping through an issue of Teen Vogue with her AirPods in and a massive grin on her face. She hadn’t even finished packing. Classic Delilah.“You better not forget your passport again,” I reminded her as I folded my sketch pad into the side pocket of my duffel bag.She rolled onto her side. “I didn’t forget it last time, it just got... misplaced. Also, your sarcasm is showing, Isla.” Then she smiled dreamily. “Can you believe this term is finally over?”I could. My back still ached from late-night sculpture studio hou

You ever feel like life’s out to get you?Because I swear, the moment I stepped back into this cursed house, the universe sent an email to hell like, “Hey, she’s back. Unleash chaos.”I barely slept that night. The ceiling fan creaked like it was possessed, Jolene had the TV volume on full blast, and my dad was passed out in the hallway — snoring like a dying bear. Classic.But I wasn’t about to sit around moping. I had bills to cover, books to buy, supplies for my sculpture project. I didn’t have the luxury of throwing pity parties. I needed money — fast.So I threw on a clean-enough T-shirt, tied my curls up, and hit the streets with a smile that felt like it might crack in half.I checked every corner shop, gas station, pizza joint — nothing.Then, fate finally winked at me from a shady corkboard outside a liquor store.“BAR STAFF WANTED — Night shifts, Cash Pay, Ask for Reza.”Did it scream “danger”? Maybe. But I was broke, desperate, and slightly delusional from heatstroke.So of

Isla PovA week had passed since the nightmare at the bar.I’d shoved the memory into a locked box in the back of my brain—the kind of memory you bury and hope doesn’t claw its way out at 3 a.m.Luckily, I had distractions. Or one, at least.The coffee shop.The pay was crap. Barely enough for rent and groceries if I skipped the nice things like… breakfast. And toilet paper that didn’t feel like sandpaper.But it was a job. And Jules, my boss, didn’t ask too many questions. She liked that I showed up early, kept my head down, and didn’t complain when the espresso machine coughed out its soul mid-shift.It was peaceful in a dull, survival-mode kind of way.Until that Thursday night.I’d just gotten back from work. My shoes were soaked—thanks, moody stormclouds—and my hoodie clung to me like a second skin. I was debating whether to heat up leftover rice or just go to bed angry at the universe when I heard shouting.No, not shouting.Screaming.I froze on the sidewalk outside our buildin

Grayson VossShe’s been in the house for three days. Quiet. Invisible. That’s how she thinks she’ll survive here.Smart girl.Except she isn’t invisible to me. Not even close.I see her on the security feeds tucking her hair behind her ear, scraping leftover food into the trash, eyes too heavy for a girl her age. She folds towels like she’s sculpting. Quiet, deliberate, focused. Like folding sheets is the only control she has left in this place.It kills me a little, and I don’t know why.I knew what I was doing when I took her.I didn’t forget her face. I didn’t forget her trembling voice or the stubborn fire in her eyes when they tried to humiliate her on that stage. I didn’t forget how she barely let herself fall when I carried her out of that club, like collapsing would be one more piece of herself stolen.She doesn’t know it yet, but the moment I saw her again, in that hallway, soaked in fear and pride?I felt everything I wasn’t supposed to feel.So I looked right through her.I

Isla PovThe sheets felt like silk.That was the first betrayal of the morning.Because my body still ached like I’d slept on the sidewalk.I opened my eyes to walls that didn’t belong to me. Pale gray, no chipped paint.A long window stretched across the far side of the room, filtered light spilling through gauzy curtains. There was a dressing table I’d never sit at, a closet full of clothes that weren’t mine, and a silence so thick it hummed.I wasn’t used to silence.I was used to doors slamming and voices shouting. To the blare of a broken TV and the clink of my father’s empty bottles. To my stepmother’s sharp voice calling for cigarettes or for me to “get off my ass and work for once.”This silence? It didn’t feel peaceful.It felt watched.I sat up slowly, muscles stiff, heart heavier.North wing. That's what he said.His wing.I had no idea what that meant except that someone else carried my file now someone more dangerous than the ones before.Grayson Voss hadn’t spoken to me