Prologue
She dreams of ash.
It curlsin the air like falling snow, silent and slow, blanketing the shattered world in soot and distant memories. The ground beneath her is cracked and scorched, glowing faintly with dying embers that pulse like a fading heartbeat. It hums beneath her, ancient and angry.
Screams sound in the distance—or maybe they’re echoes of screams long since silenced. Here, sound doesn’t die. Here, everything remembers.
Something that once resembled a crown lies discarded at the base of a blackened throne. Half-melted. Twisted. Warped by fire or fury—it’s impossible to say.
Who did it belong to?
She reaches out with trembling hands that are blistered. Smoke unfurls from her skin like she’s burning from the inside out. But she doesn’t feel pain, not here, not in these dreams. Only the weight. Gods, the weight. It’s the type that suffocates, like the silence before a guttural scream that could crack the sky itself.
She tries to turn, to move, to run. But she can’t. Something holds her still, like fate itself is holding her completely frozen, pressing down on her shoulders.
“You were warned.”
The voice is everywhereand nowhere. Male and female. Divine and monstrous.
The ash begins to swirl faster now, like a storm, a reckoning. It stings her eyes, her throat, filling her mouth with a taste of dust and betrayal.
A shadow rises in the distance. It has no face; it never does. Just a silhouette of absence, a walking void.
“She will return.”
She wakes with a gasp, sweat-slicked and shaking. Her hands tremble as she touches her chest.
She can still taste the ash on her tongue.
Chapter 1
Daisy
There’s something about the sound of sneakers squeaking against a gym floor that feels like home.
The echoing slap of soles, the rhythmic bounce of the music, the swell of laughter. God, I love it. The whole gym smells like floor polish and faint sweat, and somehow, it’s comforting and familiar. Like everything’s in its right place.
“You ready, Sandoval?” Ezra calls out, grinning from where he’s practicing his tumbling on the far end of the court.
His bright ginger curls are tied up in a bun; his face already glistening with effort. He sticks the landing of his back handspring and throws his arms up like he’s won gold at the Olympics.
I throw him a dazzling smile and give him a thumbs-up. “Always!”
“Ugh, how are you this perky after such a long day?” Talia groans from the stands where she’s tying her laces. “What kind of unholy pact did you make to be this alive without caffeine?”
“Easy,” I chirp. “My soul is powered by glitter, chaos, and the unshakable belief that today is going to be a good day.”
She snorts, and Ezra whoops. “That’s our Daisy!”
I twirl once on the spot, my golden ponytail bouncing as I do, arms outstretched in cheerleader glory. The gym lights catch the shimmer of my uniform—the deep navy and silver of our college colours—as I flash the kind of smile that could blind someone if they weren’t careful. Because this moment? This is mine. People always underestimate cheerleaders, like we’re just glorified pom-pom holders. But they don’t see the bruises, the torn ligaments, the late practices. They don’t see the tumbling drills, the lifts that demand complete trust in your team not to let you crash to the ground. We fight gravity every damn day. And I made sure I made it look as easy as freaking possible.
I grab my water bottle and jog over to the mat where Ezra’s now stretching with dramatic flair, legs out, arms above his head like a ballerina.
“I’m feeling good today,” I say, bouncing on the balls of my feet. “What’s our lineup?”
“Full stunt routine,” he says. “Coach wants to nail it before the game next week. You’re flying.”
“Perfect,” I beam.
