Chapter 2: Death Clocks and Family Fights

I frowned, swallowed, and was about to let loose when suddenly, except for Trent, every relative in the room—including Aunt Brenda and Savannah—had a clock appear above their heads. Thirty numbers, hand pointing to thirty. My breath caught in my throat.

The air thickened, and for a moment, the noise faded to a dull buzz. I stared, transfixed, as the clocks floated above their heads, ticking down. My skin crawled.

I froze. When a clock shows up, it means thirty days left. If everyone in the room gets one at once, they’re all going to die together. That’s not normal. Not even close.

My stomach twisted into knots. This wasn’t just bad luck—this was a warning. Something huge was coming. And I was the only one who could see it. The only one.

But why didn’t Trent have a clock?

He stood there, arms crossed, looking bored. No clock above his head. That alone made my skin crawl, colder than the wind outside.

A chill ran down my spine. Instinctively, I tried to get closer to Savannah. But just as I reached for her hand, she smacked mine away, nails digging in like claws. She jerked back, like I was contagious. I tried not to let it show, but it rattled me.

"What are you doing? Trying to hit me?"

She stared me down, her voice shrill. The whole room went quiet, holding its breath, waiting for my next move.

I looked her dead in the eye, face serious. "Let me touch you for a second."

I didn’t bother explaining. She’d never believe me anyway. Not in a million years.

She acted like I’d told the world’s dumbest joke, stepping back two paces. "You think you’re worthy to touch me?"

She flipped her hair and gave me a look of pure disgust. For a split second, I almost pitied her.

I fell silent. I wanted to touch her to see what would happen to her on the day she died—because only through physical contact can I see what happens to someone before they die. The spot you touch matters, too. With my husband, just holding hands is enough. With others, it might take a hug, a kiss, or even something more…

It’s a weird power, and the rules are strict. I’d learned the hard way: you don’t mess with fate unless you’re ready for the fallout.

If she wouldn’t let me touch her, there was nothing more to say.

I shrugged, letting the silence stretch. No point pushing it.

"Forget it, babe. Don’t bother with her. Don’t get upset—you still have to get married next month."

Trent jumped in to comfort Savannah, and at the mention of a wedding, her smile snapped back into place. She kept the sarcasm flowing: "Yeah, I’m getting married next month, so I can’t get upset. Unlike some people who don’t even get a wedding—so embarrassing."

She tossed her hair and flashed her ring, making sure everyone saw it. The room buzzed with forced laughter. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks.

With that, the relatives hustled her back into the room.

Like sheep following a shepherd, they trailed after her, eager to stay on the "right" side of the family drama.

Before Savannah left, Trent pulled her aside and whispered something in her ear. Even though they spoke quietly, I still caught it—a skill honed from years of family gatherings.

He leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper, but his words cut through the noise like a knife.

"Sav, she’s still your cousin. Give her an invitation."

Savannah’s face darkened, clearly unhappy, but Trent pressed on, "They’ve never seen real wealth. Don’t you want to see them jealous of you?"

He knew exactly which buttons to push. Savannah’s lips curled into a slow, satisfied smirk. I rolled my eyes. Classic.

That did it. Savannah stopped, pulled an invitation out of her knockoff clutch, and tossed it at me. She looked me up and down, nose wrinkling like she smelled garbage. "Autumn, you’ve never even left the Midwest, have you? Since we’re family, I’ll even fly you out."

She said it like she was doing me a favor, but her eyes dared me to refuse. I felt a laugh bubbling up but bit it back.

Only then did I see the wedding invitation was for Key West, Florida.

The card was gaudy, all red and gold glitter, like something out of a bad reality show. I had to stifle a snort.

I frowned and cut through her gloating. "Key West? How are you getting everyone there?"

I wanted to see just how far she’d go to show off. The answer didn’t disappoint.

She grinned, clearly pleased I’d asked. "Trent’s chartered a private jet for us. But most of the seats are already taken—so you guys can just sit on the floor."

She said it with a straight face, like it was the most normal thing in the world. The relatives oohed and aahed, eating it up like they’d never heard of private jets before.

I was speechless. They were basically counting their own ransom money. Unreal.

Honestly, it was almost impressive how little self-awareness they had. I shook my head, fighting back a laugh.

Key West is a big tourist spot, but anyone who follows the news knows it’s been dangerous lately—a lot of female tourists have gone missing there in the past two months.

The local news was all over it—missing posters taped to lampposts, parents sobbing on camera. I wondered if Savannah even watched the news. Probably not.

Thinking of that, I could already guess what Savannah would experience a month from now. Watching her strut around, I decided to let fate run its course and kept my mouth shut. No need to warn her.

Sometimes, the best revenge is letting people dig their own graves. I smiled, letting her think she’d won.

I nodded along, and Savannah, satisfied, went back to her room. Her heels clicked like a victory parade. I slipped the invitation into my pocket, not planning to RSVP.

After they left, my mom let out a long sigh and eyed the invitation in my hand. The red card with “Key West” in gold glitter looked ridiculous. Mom rolled her eyes and tossed it in the trash. "Showing off with an out-of-state wedding? Probably a scam."

She muttered something about credit card debt and fake designer bags, shaking her head in disgust.

I looked at her and nodded. "You actually guessed right." I tried to keep it light, but there was an edge I couldn’t hide.

She froze. My mom didn’t know about my ability, but she knew I was always weirdly accurate. My answer made her nervous. "If it really is a scam, shouldn’t we warn them?"

She bit her lip, glancing at the trash can. For a second, I saw the old fear in her eyes—the fear Aunt Brenda had spent a lifetime feeding.

I shook my head and brushed it off. "Some people have to learn the hard way," I said, trying to reassure her. "Besides, they’d never believe me."