EXT. ST. DISMAS UNIVERSITY -- QUAD -- NIGHT
The air is thick and warm. Heavy with the scent of magnolia
and the buzz of cicadas. Gas lamps line the walkways of St.
Dismas University, nestled in the Garden District in New
Orleans, their amber glow cutting through pockets of drifting
mist.
The Main Library dominates the far end of the quad - a
neoclassical facade of white stone and wrought iron, its
arched entrance lit like a shrine. A slow jazz riff hums from
somewhere in the distance, mixing with the far-off echo of
riverboats on the Mississippi River.
The quad is nearly deserted - only the rustle of Spanish moss
and the faint glow of dorm windows suggest life. A banner
overhead reads: WELCOME BACK, ST. DISMAS STUDENTS. FALL
SEMESTER BEGINS. A night breeze stirs the fabric, but the air
never cools. The kind of Southern heat that sticks to the
skin.
SOPHIA (21), a grad student still half in Summer mode,
crosses the quad from the library. Backpack slung, earbuds
in, her steps sync to a bright pop track in her ears.
She scrolls through her phone as she walks, oblivious to how
empty the campus has become around her. A light flickers on
behind her, then off again.
She glances back, frowns, keeps walking. Another lamp buzzes
overhead. Her footsteps echo across the stone path. A motion
light flickers behind her - she glances over her shoulder
again. Nothing.
She exhales, shakes it off, turns up the volume.
Another light pops on ahead of her, then another. A path of
pale gold leading toward the Main Library doors... then click-
click-click - each one dies in sequence, plunging the quad
into darkness.
Sophia stops. She slides out one earbud, listening. Only the
steady hum of cicadas.
Then--
Something moves in the trees. Not the wind. Too heavy and
deliberate.
She spins, phone flashlight trembling across the mist.
SOPHIA
Hello?
Nothing. Then a low growl comes from the darkness.
Sophia backs away. The beam of her phone lands on a shape
crouched atop the St. Dismas statue. Long limbs. Skin the
color of ash. Gold eyes gleaming like a cat’s.
The thing smiles. Then it drops.
Sophia screams, running for the open space of the quad. Her
sandals slap the pavement. The creature follows, fast, claws
scrapping stone.
She stumbles, catches herself, bolts toward a cluster of
lampposts near the fountain. The thing closes the distance in
a blur.
Just as it lunges for her-
A silver blade flashes from the dark. The creature twists,
impaled through the shoulder.
JAKE TRESVANT (mid-20s), calm and precise, wearing a trench
coat, emerges from the shadows brandishing a silver dagger.
He doesn’t flinch as the thing snarls.
JAKE
Ivy, swing around behind it.
From the fog beyond him steps IVY ROWAN, (early 20s),
focused, long hair in braids, staff in hand. Her Irish accent
cuts clean through the night.
IVY
I’ll bind it, Jake. Keep it off the
girl.
The creature pivots, swipes at Jake. He ducks, drives an
elbow into its chest, spins, cuts again. The blade hums with
faint blue light.
Ivy softly speaks an ancient Druidic incantation; the ground
cracks beneath the creature’s feet. Roots snake upward,
tangling its legs.
Jake presses the attack, driving his blade deep. The creature
convulses, lets out a howl that fades into mist. It collapses
into dust.
Silence.
Only the distant jazz and the whisper of moss in the trees
can be heard.
Sophia crouches behind a bench, shaking. Jake wipes his blade
clean on his sleeve.
SOPHIA
What - what was that?
JAKE
Something you won’t remember.
Ivy kneels beside Sophia, pulling a small charm from her
pocket - bone carved with symbols, wrapped in silver wire.
She murmurs something ancient, pressing it to Sophia’s
forehead.
Blue light flares. Sophia exhales, her eyes glassy, fear
fading away.
IVY
She’ll dream it was a mugger.
Sophia rises slowly, daze, heading back toward the dorms as
if nothing happened. Jake watches her go.
JAKE
(to Ivy)
That thing shouldn’t have been
here.
IVY
You think its over?
Jake shakes his head.
JAKE
Feels more like something is waking
up.
Genres:
["Fantasy","Horror","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
2 -
A New Beginning at St. Dismas
EXT. ST. DISMAS UNIVERSITY -- GARDEN DISTRICT -- DAY
A new day. Sunlight filters through Oak branches heavy with
moss. The same quad that was empty and haunted last night is
now alive - students laughing, unloading boxes, tour groups
snaking through the courtyard.
The banner welcoming students back to St. Dismas still
flutters overhead.
HANNAH BOUDREAUX (18), tall and athletic, long, dark hair, a
duffel bag slung over her shoulder, steps off the shuttle.
A volleyball pokes out of her backpack - her armor from the
“normal” world.
She takes a breath, and scans the quad - the ivy-draped
halls, the warm chaos of campus life, and the appearance that
all is new in the world.
HANNAH
(to herself)
Okay, Boudreaux. Don’t screw this
up.
She starts across the quad, dodging students dragging mini-
fridges and mattresses. A guy on a skateboard swerves past
her.
SKATEBOARDER
Welcome to St. D!
Hannah grins - then looks up at the statue of St. Dismas,
patron saint of the condemned. She glances at his cracked
marble eyes and frowns.
She stares a moment, then shakes her head. She heads towards
the dorms.
Genres:
["Fantasy","Mystery","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
3 -
Move-In Day Mysteries
INT. DORM HALL -- LOBBY -- DAY
Cinderblock walls, too-bright lights, the smell of detergent
and coffee. The hallway is chaos - parents and students lug
suitcases, boxes, and laundry baskets. She’s local - but
she’s doing this on her own, no parents in sight.
INT. DORM ROOM -- CONTINUOUS
At her door, she stops. MONICA OWENS (18), from Illinois, is
already half moved in - fairy lights strung, a diffuser
puffing lavender, a tower of neatly labeled bins.
MONICA
Finally! I thought maybe you
bailed.
HANNAH
Nah. Just parked a mile away and
carried all of this up four flights
of stairs.
MONICA
You didn’t bring much.
HANNAH
My car is loaded down, and home is
only 20 minutes away. I can always
grab more if I need it.
Monica tries to help with a box marked KITCHEN STUFF - nearly
drops it.
MONICA
What’s in here - bricks?
HANNAH
Cast-iron skillet.
A beat.
HANNAH (CONT'D)
I cook.
MONICA
Good. I was hoping to room with
someone useful.
Monica tapes up a photo collage of her family. Hannah unpacks
running shoes, a jump rope, a laptop, and an old framed photo
of her and her grandmother stirring a pot of gumbo.
MONICA (CONT'D)
So, you really grew up here?
HANNAH
Born and raised. Doesn’t mean I’ve
seen everything.
MONICA
Well, you’ve seen more than me. My
mom already warned me not to “join
any weird Louisiana cults.”
HANNAH
Too late. You’re at St. Dismas.
They laugh again. A moment of quiet follows - the background
chaos fading. Then a BUZZ from Monica’s phone.
MONICA
Oh. Campus alert. Says there was a
mugging near the library last
night.
Hannah glances out the window toward the campus green, where
the statue of St. Dismas casts its long shadow.
HANNAH
Yeah. I heard.
MONICA
You don’t seem surprised.
HANNAH
This city’s full of ghosts. You
just got to know which ones to run
from.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Supernatural"]
Ratings
Scene
4 -
The Hypnotic Inquiry
INT. ST. DISMAS UNIVERSITY -- REGISTRAR’S OFFICE -- DAY
The space is calm and academic - beige walls, plaques,
shelves of old student files and glowing computer monitors.
Outside the window, the campus hums with life.
MARCEL DUVALL stands at the counter. Late 30s, French-Creole
sharpness under his tailored black suit. Cold eyes, but
charming. Movements like a wolf who’s learned manners.
DUVALL
(pleasant smile)
I appreciate your help, truly. It’s
just a simple verification - my
foundation sponsors promising
students, and we’d like to ensure
the records are accurate before we
contact their families.
The REGISTRAR CLERK, a middle-aged woman with a name badge
that says SHERYL, hesitates - caught between procedure and
persuasion.
SHERYL
Mr. Duvall, we don’t usually
release those without
authorization.
Duvall leans in slightly. His voice softens. A faint,
rhythmic undertone hums beneath his words - almost like a
whisper of wind.
DUVALL
Of course. And you’ll feel
perfectly comfortable helping me...
won’t you, Sheryl?
Her eyes lose focus for a second. Then she blinks - and nods.
SHERYL
...Yes. Perfectly comfortable.
She logs in and starts typing. Duvall watches her fingers
move, hands folded neatly, a predator in silk.
She prints a short list of names, slides it across the
counter. He takes it, scanning quickly - then freezes on one:
BOUDREAUX, HANNAH.
He lifts the file slightly, his gaze sharpening.
DUVALL
(softly, to himself)
November first. All Saints’ Day.
(a beat, then a smile)
And the correct year. How blessed
we are.
He slides the folder back toward her, all civility again.
DUVALL (CONT'D)
Thank you, Ms. Sheryl. You’ve been
most kind.
He slips out the door. The bell chimes. Sheryl stares after
him, confused, as if waking from a dream.
Genres:
["Supernatural","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
5 -
Legends and Connections
INT. ST. DISMAS UNIVERSITY –- HISTORY HALL -– DAY
The lecture hall is filled by the hum of ceiling fans and the
soft creak of wooden chairs. Sunlight slants through tall
windows framed in wrought iron, throwing gold patterns across
the wooden floor.
Students shuffle in, half awake, clutching iced coffees and
orientation packets. The back row fills first - locals and
commuters. New arrivals, still finding their place, gravitate
toward the middle.
At the front of the room, a chalkboard dominates the wall,
the words Folklore and Faith: The Mythic South already
written in precise cursive.
PROFESSOR HENRI LEMAIRE (60s), silver-haired and weathered
but alert, enters with a stack of papers under one arm and a
knowing half-smile. The low buzz fades as he sets the papers
down and turns toward his new class.
PROFESSOR LEMAIRE (60S)
Welcome to Folklore and Faith: The
Mythic South. You’ll learn that
this city has more ghosts than
churches — and nearly as many
saints.
Laughter ripples.
Hannah slides in beside Monica, who’s already unpacking color-
coded pens.
A few rows ahead sits DASH TURNER (19), hoodie up despite the
heat, notebook already half-filled. He doesn’t look up much.
Just listens.
PROFESSOR LEMAIRE (CONT'D)
Our namesake, St. Dismas — patron
saint of thieves. “The Good Thief.”
He died beside Christ. The first
canonized saint.
He writes it on the board. Chalk squeaks.
PROFESSOR LEMAIRE (CONT'D)
New Orleans loves its
contradictions — holy and wicked,
light and dark. Maybe that’s why
stories endure about La Société de
la Nuit.
MONICA
(whispering)
La what now?
HANNAH
(whispering)
The Night Watchers. Old creole
legend. My Mémère used to tell it
while we made gumbo together.
MONICA
(whispering)
Your what? Meh-may? What’s that?
HANNAH
(whispering)
My grandma. Sorry - I forget you
not from here.
The girls return their focus to the lecture.
PROFESSOR LEMAIRE
Some say they were priests guarding
relics. Others — hunters of what
stalked this city at night.
DASH
Depends on which side of the hunt
you were on.
The class turns. The professor studies Dash with mild
curiosity.
PROFESSOR LEMAIRE
Mr...?
DASH
Turner, sir. Dash Turner.
PROFESSOR LEMAIRE
Mr. Turner seems to have read
ahead. Excellent. I think you’ll
enjoy our next section on secret
orders of the Crescent City.
Hannah studies the back of Dash’s head. He glances over his
shoulder — just a flicker of eye contact. He quickly turns
back to the lecture.
Genres:
["Supernatural","Mystery","Fantasy"]
Ratings
Scene
6 -
Night Watchers
EXT. ST. DISMAS UNIVERSITY -- GIRLS’ DORM BALCONY -- NIGHT
The sun is just sinking behind the oaks that ring the Garden
District campus. Jazz drifts from somewhere near the student
center, lazy and alive. A few lights flicker on across the
quad as groups set up folding chairs for Movie on the Lawn.
Hannah leans on the balcony rail in gym shorts and a loose
Saints t-shirt, her phone’s screen lighting up her face.
Monica slides the glass door open behind Hannah, carrying two
paper cups of coffee.
MONICA
You ever notice everyone here talks
about the heat like it’s a
surprise? It’s Louisiana. It’s
supposed to melt you.
Hannah chuckles and takes a cup from Monica.
HANNAH
You’ll learn. By October, you won’t
even sweat till noon.
They sip coffee. Silence settles. Hannah’s eyes drift toward
the trees.
MONICA
You and your local wisdom.
(beat)
You coming to the movie later?
HANNAH
Maybe. What’s playing?
MONICA
Some ‘80s thing. THE LOST BOYS.
Vampires and saxophones. The campus
council went full nostalgia
tonight.
Hannah chuckles.
HANNAH
Figures. New Orleans kids watch
horror to relax.
Monica sips her coffee, watching Hannah glance down toward
the dark edge of the garden path.
MONICA
You okay?
HANNAH
Mmm. Thought I saw someone down
there. Could just be a shadow. This
city’s full of’em.
MONICA
That another Creole thing?
HANNAH
Old story. Mémère used to say the
night’s full of watchers - folks
who guard or wait. You never know
which.
MONICA
Cool. Totally not creepy.
(grins)
Come on, Night Watcher. Let’s go
watch the movie before all the
chairs get taken.
Genres:
["Supernatural","Mystery","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
7 -
Shadows of Intent
EXT. ST. DISMAS UNIVERSITY - QUAD -- DUSK
A long figure - Duvall - stands half in shadow, watching from
behind a pillar as Hannah and Monica exit their dorm hall and
head off to watch the movie. The two are talking as they
walk, unaware that he is watching them. Duvall checks the
time on a very expensive looking Rolex watch.
HANNAH
So, why did you decide to drive
twelve hours south to go to school
here?
MONICA
Honestly? I came here because it
didn’t feel... haunted.
HANNAH
Haunted? You from Illinois. What’s
hauntin’ you up there - snow?
MONICA
My family. My church. My town. It’s
all one big loop - same people,
same looks when you start asking
the wrong questions. I needed to
breathe someplace that didn’t
already have a version of me in it.
Duvall continues to watch as they near the movie seating. He
lifts his phone and speaks into it:
DUVALL (INTO PHONE)
Yes Baron, I have Ms. Boudreaux in
sight. I have everything prepared
for when she returns to her room.
(beat)
I’ll bring her to you as soon as we
have her.
He hangs up. He smiles.
Genres:
["Supernatural","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
8 -
Night Terror on Campus
EXT. ST. DISMAS UNIVERSITY -- QUAD -- NIGHT
The campus glows under streetlamps and Spanish moss. Cicadas
hum, the air still thick with August heat.
Hannah and Monica walk back from a movie night on the student
lawn, paper cups of lemonade in hand.
Laughter echoes behind them - other freshman peeling off
toward dorms.
MONICA
I can’t believe how alive this
place feels. Even at midnight.
HANNAH
It never sleeps.
MONICA
You say that like it’s a bad thing.
Hannah glances toward the oak-lined path ahead - lamps
flickering one by one.
HANNAH
Sometimes it is.
Monica notices Hannah tense, following her gaze.
MONICA
What’s wrong?
HANNAH
Nothing. Just-
She stops. The sound of cicadas cuts out. A low growl ripples
through the dark.
MONICA
Was that a-?
A shape moves in the shadows - tall, wrong, half-human. It’s
eyes flash gold.
HANNAH
Go.
MONICA
What?
HANNAH
Run!
Hannah shoves Monica toward the path. The creature lunges,
hitting the pavement where they had stood seconds before.
Hannah grabs a loose metal post from the bike rack next to
them - swings hard, catching it across the face. Sparks fly.
The thing recovers, snarling. Monica screams from the corner,
frozen.
HANNAH (CONT'D)
Run, damn it!
Monica bolts toward the dorm lights. Hannah stays - blood
pounding, breathing sharp. She feints left, kicks right, pure
athlete reflex.
The creature slashes, misses. Hannah rams the metal post
through its shoulder. It shrieks - a sound that bends the
air.
Headlights flare from a passing campus patrol car. The
creature melts into the dark.
Hannah drops the post, shaking. She looks down at the asphalt
- a smear of black ash where the creature stood.
Monica runs back, trembling.
MONICA
Oh my God - Hannah - what was that?
HANNAH
(quietly)
A ghost you don’t want to meet
twice.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
9 -
Whispers in the Dark
EXT. ST. DISMAS UNIVERSITY -- CAMPUS QUAD -- CONTINUOUS
Flashing blue lights slice through the humid dark. A police
cruiser idles near the library steps. Students cluster behind
yellow tape, whispering, filming, speculating.
Hannah sits on a stone bench wrapped in a blanket, he knees
pulled up, eyes hollow. Monica beside her stares at her
phone, trying to call her parents.
A CAMPUS POLICE OFFICER, mid-40s, flips through a small
notepad.
OFFICER
So... you’re saying it wasn’t
human.
HANNAH
I didn’t say that. I said - it
moved like an animal, but it stood
up. Looked right at me.
OFFICER
Sure. Adrenaline can play tricks on
perception.
He pauses. Looks at his partner.
OFFICER (CONT'D)
It’s been a long night. You’re
lucky you both got away.
HANNAH
Lucky? That thing tried to tear my
throat out.
The officer sighs, crouching a little.
OFFICER
Look, Miss-?
HANNAH
Boudreaux.
OFFICER
Miss Boudreaux, there’s been a
string of late-night assaults near
the Garden District. Could be a guy
in a mask, it could be an animal.
But it’s not... whatever you think
it is.
He closes the notebook with finality.
MONICA
So that’s it? We just pretend it
didn’t happen?
OFFICER
We’ll add extra patrols. Try not to
walk alone at night, all right?
The officer moves off toward his car. Hannah watches him go -
jaw tight, blanket slipping from her shoulders.
MONICA
Let’s get back to the room.
HANNAH
You go. I just... need a minute.
Monica hesitates, then walks toward the dorms. Hannah stays.
The crowd thins. The cruisers pull away one by one.
Hannah stands alone in the dark. Her reflection stares back
from the library’s glass doors - wide-eyed, uncertain, but
still standing.
The last cruiser rolls away. Silence. Then - soft, unseen - a
MALE VOICE from the shadows:
JAKE (O.S.)
You fought it off. Most can’t do
that.
Hannah freezes
JAKE (O.S.) (CONT'D)
If you want to know what you really
saw... Meet me tomorrow.
She whirls, scanning the shadows. No one there. Only the
rustle of leaves and the glow of the streetlamps bleeding
through the moss.
HANNAH
(quietly)
What the hell...?
She looks down the path one more time - then walks away, into
the darkness.
INT. ST. DISMAS UNIVERSITY -- DORM ROOM -- NIGHT (LATER)
The room glows with soft lamp light and the faint hum of a
box fan.
Monica is curled up on her bed, earbuds in, her phone screen
dimming beside her pillow. Her breathing is slow and even.
Hannah sits cross-legged on her own bed in an oversized T-
shirt, staring at her laptop. A campus alert flashes across
the homepage.
CAMPUS SAFETY NOTICE - INCIDENT UNDER INVESTIGATION.
REMEMBER: NEVER WALK ALONE AFTER DARK.
She clicks it closed. Her reflection in the screen looks
pale, hollow.
For a beat, she just listens - the soft fan, Monica’s quiet
breaths, the distant wail of a siren somewhere in the city.
Hannah looks over at Monica. She whispers, mostly to herself:
HANNAH
You’re safe. We’re safe.
(beat)
Back to normal.
Genres:
["Supernatural","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
10 -
The Invitation
EXT. ST. DISMAS UNIVERSITY -- QUAD -- MORNING
A humid sunrise. Sprinklers hiss across the Garden District
lawns. Students hustle to class, laughing, earbuds in, coffee
cups in hand.
Hannah steps out of her dorm, backpack slung, sunglasses on -
trying to look like everyone else.
Across the quad, leaning against a lamppost, stands Jake -
calm, composed, watching her.
EXT. ST. DISMAS UNIVERSITY -- COURTYARD CAFE -- LATE MORNING
Students spill from the lecture halls, chattering and sun-
blinded. A jazz trio rehearses somewhere nearby, soft brass
cutting through the air. Hannah stands in line at a campus
cafe kiosk, clutching a coffee.
Across the courtyard, Jake sits at a wrought-iron table,
reading a worn paperback. The light hits his face in a way
that makes him look ageless.
She hesitates. Then approaches.
HANNAH
You following me?
JAKE
Only if you count fate as stalking.
(beat)
You get any sleep?
HANNAH
Did you?
JAKE
Haven’t had the habit in years.
She studies him for a moment. Then:
HANNAH
Last night - you were there. You
said “most can’t do that”. What did
you mean?
JAKE
You survived something that doesn’t
usually have survivors. You fought
back. That gets noticed.
HANNAH
By who?
JAKE
By people who handle things the
police can’t.
She laughs nervously, looking like she’s ready to bolt.
HANNAH
You sound like the X-FILES.
JAKE
Closer to community service.
He slides a folded card across the table. Plain black.
Embossed with a silver sigil - a crescent wrapped in thorns.
HANNAH
What’s this?
JAKE
Invitation.
(beat)
If you want answers, come to the
chapel basement tonight. Ten
o’clock. If not - throw it away and
forget we talked.
He rises, adjusting his jacket.
HANNAH
And if I don’t go?
JAKE
Then you keep pretending the dark’s
just the absence of light.
He walks off, vanishing into the crowd with eerie smoothness.
Hannah unfolds the card again. The symbol gleams faintly even
in daylight. On the back, hand-written:
St. Dismas Hall - Lower East Door
She stares at it, then looks up again, trying to spot him.
But he’s simply gone.
Genres:
["Supernatural","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
11 -
Whispers of the City
EXT. ST. DISMAS UNIVERSITY -- BREEZEWAY -- DUSK
Warm air drifts through the old brick arches. Hanging lamps
buzz. A few students wander by, laughter fading toward the
dorms.
Hannah sits alone on a stone bench, phone pressed to her ear.
She is talking to her father, REMY BOUDREAUX (late 40s,
Creole, genial and loud).
REMY (V.O.)
You sound tired, cher. Classes
hittin’ you that hard already?
HANNAH
It’s not that. I just... had a
weird day.
REMY (V.O.)
Weird, how?
HANNAH
I don’t even know. Some people,
some stories - like this city won’t
let me breathe.
REMY (V.O.)
That’s New Orleans, baby. The air’s
thick with old ghosts. You just
gotta let’em pass by.
HANNAH
Mémère used to say that.
REMY (V.O.)
Then listen to her. And listen to
me - don’t go lookin’ for trouble.
HANNAH
Love you, Daddy.
REMY (V.O.)
Love you more. Go get some sleep.
She ends the call and sets the phone beside her. For a
moment, she just listens. Cicadas. A distant streetcar bell.
Then - soft footsteps echo under the arches.
FEMALE VOICE (O.S.)
He sounds like a good man.
Hannah startles, turns. MAMBO CELESTE stands a few yards
away. She’s somewhere in her fifties - or maybe older, it’s
hard to tell. Creole skin kissed by candlelight, silver-
threaded braids wrapped in bright silk. Her clothes blend
elegance and age: layered jewelry, a hand-embroidered shawl,
sandals that make no sound on the stone. Her eyes are ancient
- calm and unreadable, as if they’ve watched the city rise
from the swamp.
She carries a weathered satchel and an easy, knowing smile.
HANNAH
Sorry - I didn’t hear you.
MAMBO CELESTE
(smiling)
That’s ‘cause I walk quiet. Old
habit. You okay, child?
HANNAH
Yeah. Long day. Guess I just needed
to hear a friendly voice.
MAMBO CELESTE
Sometimes friendly voices tell us
not to do what we’re meant to do.
Hannah studies her a moment.
HANNAH
You work here?
MAMBO CELESTE
In a manner of speakin’.
She steps closer, the lamplight catching the faint shimmer of
gold threads in her shawl.
MAMBO CELESTE (CONT'D)
Erebody round here call me Mambo
Celeste.
HANNAH
My name is-
MAMBO CELESTE
Hannah.
(a beat)
It’s nice to meet you.
HANNAH
Yeah... nice to meet you, too.
Mambo Celeste gives a slow nod and turns, walking away down
the archway.
MAMBO CELESTE
Careful what you listen to, cher.
The city whispers loudest right
before she wants somethin’ from
you.
EXT. ST. DISMAS HALL -- NIGHT
The door waits at the edge of the campus, half hidden by
vines. A single light burns above it. Hannah steps into frame
- and hesitates. The silver sigil from the card is carved
faintly into the wood. She pushes it open.
INT. ST. DISMAS HALL -- BASEMENT CORRIDOR -- CONTINUOUS
The old academic building looms quiet and empty. A staircase
spirals down - lit by candles set into the wall, their flames
steady in the still air. Her footsteps echo softly.
At the bottom: an arched brick tunnel lined with carved
reliefs - saints, serpents, and veves interwoven like history
itself.
Hannah walks slowly, her hand brushing an old brass plaque:
LA SOCIETE DE LA NUIT - 1782
A sound ahead. Voices. She rounds a corner and steps into -
INT. THE NIGHT SOCIETY CHAMBER -- CONTINUOUS
It’s breathtaking - part chapel, part armory. Wooden beams,
stained glass, flickering candles. Books stacked alongside
weapon racks and relic cases.
A circle of salt and chalk marks the floor’s center. At a
table, Ivy inspects a long ash staff covered in runes. Her
accent - lyrical, deliberate, Irish. Jake stands across from
her, reviewing a worn map.
Both look up.
JAKE
You came.
HANNAH
I’m not sure why. Curiosity, I
guess. Or stupidity.
IVY
It’s a fine line, either way.
Hannah eyes the staff.
HANNAH
What is this place?
IVY
Depends who’s asking. Tourist?
Reporter? Or the girl who fought
off a nightwalker with a broken
railing?
HANNAH
You saw that?
JAKE
We were nearby. You bought yourself
a second chance. Most people never
get one.
IVY
And most don’t waste it by
wandering into basements after
dark.
JAKE
Ivy.
She shrugs, relents.
JAKE (CONT'D)
The Night Society has been part of
St. Dismas for two hundred years.
We protect this city - quietly, and
constantly.
He gestures toward the relics.
JAKE (CONT'D)
This is a war fought in the
shadows. Faith against hunger. Will
against corruption.
HANNAH
You mean vampires. Werewolves. All
that?
IVY
Among other things. Spirits.
Curses. Things that should’ve died
with the Confederacy.
Hannah takes it all in. Her voice is small:
HANNAH
Why me?
JAKE
Because you didn’t freeze. You
moved. And because this city
doesn’t just need warriors - it
needs people who can learn.
He steps closer, offering his hand.
JAKE (CONT'D)
If you want to walk away, now’s the
time.
Hannah takes his hand and studies the circle of salt, the
flickering candles, the weight of history around her. Then -
she steps across the chalk line.
A slow smile from Jake. A flicker of candlelight catches
Hannah’s eyes - determination and fear in equal measure.
Genres:
["Supernatural","Mystery","Fantasy"]
Ratings
Scene
13 -
Training in Shadows
INT. ST. DISMAS HALL -- SOCIETY TRAINING CHAMBER -- NIGHT
A cavernous brick hall lit by lanterns and hanging Edison
bulbs.
Weapon racks gleam against murals of saints and spirits. A
Zydeco beat hums faintly from an old radio in the corner.
Hannah stand awkwardly in the center, holding a short wooden
staff like it might bite her. Ivy circles her like a hawk,
staff twirling effortlessly.
IVY
Feet apart. Knees soft. You’re not
posing for a painting, you’re
surviving a fight.
Hannah adjusts, uneasy.
HANNAH
You always this friendly to new
people?
IVY
Only the ones likely to get me
killed.
Across the room, Jake watches, arms folded. Calm. Patient. He
nods toward Ivy.
JAKE
Don’t mind her. She believes in
rules. Me, I believe in rhythm.
HANNAH
Rhythm?
JAKE
Every fight has one. You find it,
you win. You lose - you’re done.
He tosses her a practice blade. She catches it, barely.
JAKE (CONT'D)
Again.
Ivy sweeps in. Hannah blocks, sloppy but fast. The sound of
wood on metal echoes sharp.
IVY
Better.
(to Jake)
She’s got instincts, I’ll give her
that.
HANNAH
You mean dumb luck.
JAKE
Same thing, first few times.
He steps forward, showing her a simple disarm. Their
movements flow, fluid - almost dance-like. Suddenly, Hannah
manages to flip Jake’s grip for the first time. He laughs,
surprised. Ivy rolls her eyes but hides a smile.
JAKE (CONT'D)
There it is. See? You listen better
when you stop thinking.
He motions toward the far wall. A target dummy glows faintly -
chalk sigils etched into its surface.
JAKE (CONT'D)
All right, let’s see how you handle
the other half of our trade. We
don’t just fight monsters. We
banish them.
Hannah stands next to him, clutching a rosary instead of the
dagger gave her.
JAKE (CONT'D)
You think faith alone can guide
your hand. But faith needs focus.
Hannah raises her free hand and tries to summon light. For a
moment, it works - her palm flickers with gold and blue
radiance. Then it explodes like a popped fuse, sending her
stumbling back.
HANNAH
(angry)
You said to believe.
JAKE
I said to channel. Belief without
anchor burns you alive.
He holds up the dagger - the crucifix etched into its hilt
gleams faintly.
JAKE (CONT'D)
Anchor your will. Relic, prayer,
rhythm - doesn’t matter. Without
one, your gift runs wild.
The door opens. Mambo Celeste enters - wrapped in her shawl,
calm and otherworldly. Everyone falls quiet. Jake straightens
instinctively; even Ivy lowers her head slightly.
HANNAH
(surprised)
You-
Celeste walks past them, examining the scorched floor.
MAMBO CELESTE
They still fight like mortals. Too
much noise, not enough knowing.
JAKE
We’re working on that.
Celeste turns her eyes to Hannah.
MAMBO CELESTE
You still listening, child? The
city still talkin’ to you?
HANNAH
You’re... part of this?
Celeste simply smiles.
MAMBO CELESTE
Part of everything that keeps the
dark from swallowing this place.
And now - so are you.
She brushes past her, trailing incense and candle smoke.
Hannah just stares in amazement.
Genres:
["Fantasy","Supernatural","Action"]
Ratings
Scene
14 -
Shadows of Concern
INT. ST. DISMAS UNIVERSITY -- HISTORY LECTURE HALL -- DAY
Late morning sunlight filters through tall windows. Ceiling
fans hum lazily. The chalkboard reads: The Colonial Myths of
New Orleans.
Students file in, chatting and half-awake. Monica slides into
the seat beside Hannah, holding two iced coffees.
MONICA
You missed breakfast. Again.
She sets one down.
MONICA (CONT'D)
I got you the strong one. I’m not
responsible if you vibrate through
the floor.
HANNAH
You’re an angel. A loud,
caffeinated angel.
Monica studies her friend - eyes shadowed, a little distant.
MONICA
You okay? You’ve been... off
lately.
HANNAH
I’m fine. Just tired.
MONICA
You’ve been “just tired” since the
library incident. And since when do
you hang out with that Jake guy?
He’s like... mysterious times ten.
Hannah hides a small smile behind her coffee.
HANNAH
He’s just... tutoring me. Helping
me catch up.
MONICA
On what?
HANNAH
History. Sort of.
Monica eyes her.
MONICA
You’re weird now.
HANNAH
Maybe I always was. You’re just
noticing.
She glances toward the open window - sunlight pouring in,
students crossing the quad, laughter floating up from below.
And for a second, the light flickers.
Genres:
["Mystery","Drama","Supernatural"]
Ratings
Scene
15 -
Night Recon: The First Test
EXT. GARDEN DISTRICT -- ABANDONED TOWNHOUSE -- NIGHT
Thunder rumbles low over the city. The magnolias drip with
humidity and rain. The black NIGHT SOCIETY VAN sits under the
shadow of an oak, lights dimmed, radio static whispering like
distant spirits.
INT. VAN -- CONTINUOUS
Inside, Jake, Ivy, and Hannah review a digital map glowing in
the dark - faint red spikes marking energy surges along
Prytania Street.
JAKE
All right. Simple recon and
cleanse. Old townhouse, minor
disturbances. Should be a milk run.
IVY
There’s no such thing as “milk
runs.” Only easy jobs that turn
complicated.
JAKE
Which makes it perfect for a field
test.
Hannah glances up, startled.
HANNAH
Wait - field test?
JAKE
You’ve been training six weeks.
Long enough to know the basics,
short enough to still be nervous.
Tonight’s about control. Rhythm.
You won’t be alone.
IVY
Unfortunately.
Jake smirks, ignoring her.
JAKE
Ivy’s point, I’m lead. You just
keep rhythm. You’ll be fine. Dash,
status?
DASH (V.O.)
All systems good, boss. Energy
levels low, perimeter clear,
humidity at “regrettable.”
Hannah freezes. The voice is familiar.
HANNAH
Hold on... Dash? You’re- you’re in
my history class.
DASH (V.O.)
Guilty. Guess the secret’s out.
Small world, huh?
IVY
Fantastic. Another scholar of
irony.
JAKE
You two can swap class notes after
we clear the building.
He slides open the van door. Rain patters gently on the
cobblestones outside.
JAKE (CONT'D)
Masks up. Let’s make this quick.
They step into the night.
EXT. TOWNHOUSE -- FRONT GATE -- MOMENTS LATER
The once-grand house slumps behind rusted ironwork. Gas lamps
flicker in the mist. Every window glows faintly - like
something is watching.
IVY
These houses keep the dead better
than the living.
JAKE
Which is why we clean them out.
He presses his hand to the lock. A faint glyph lights under
his palm - the door unlatches with a sigh.
Genres:
["Supernatural","Action","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
16 -
Confronting the Spectral Woman
INT. TOWNHOUSE -- FOYER -- CONTINUOUS
Dust floats in candlelight. A grand staircase curls upward
into shadow. A portrait of a weeping woman hangs crooked
above the mantle.
Hannah steps forward, her boots creaking.
HANNAH
It’s colder in here.
JAKE
Residual energy. Grief leaves a
footprint.
A whisper ripples through the room - faint, feminine.
VOICE (O.S.)
Get... out...
The chandelier above them trembles. Books scatter from
shelves. The door slams behind them - HARD.
DASH (V.O.)
Uh, team? Energy spike just jumped
fifty percent. Whatever’s in there,
it’s awake.
JAKE
Hold formation! Ivy - containment.
Ivy drops to one knee, drawing chalk sigils across the floor.
Hannah moves to assist - but the chalk snaps in her hand.
The whisper rises into a shriek. A spectral woman manifests
on the staircase, her gown floating, eyes like black oil.
IVY
Now would be a great time to
channel, rookie!
HANNAH
I’m trying.
The ghost lunges - Hannah dives aside, clutching her charm,
but it flickers weakly.
JAKE
Rhythm, Hannah! Don’t fight the
flow - move with it!
She closes her eyes, finding breath amid chaos. The echo of
Jake’s words - Find the rhythm.
Her hand brushes the beads in her pocket - the ones from her
first night at St. Dismas. She tosses them into a wide arc
across the sigil lines. The beads flash - alive with blue
fire.
The ghost stops midair, frozen inside the glowing ring. Her
scream turns into a gust of wind that collapses inward. Then -
silence.
The light fades. The room stills.
IVY
You used... beads?
HANNAH
Improvised. Mardi Gras meets
metaphysics.
DASH (V.O.)
Whatever you call it, the readings
just flatlined. Congratulations,
you didn’t die.
JAKE
Nice work.
IVY
Messy. But effective.
(beat)
Welcome to the job.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Fantasy"]
Ratings
Scene
17 -
A Rainy Revelation
EXT. TOWNHOUSE -- FRONT STEPS -- LATER
Rain falls soft and steady now. The Society gathers under the
porch awning, catching their breath.
Dash approaches from the van, laptop bag over one shoulder,
grin fully earned.
DASH
Well, rookie - not bad for your
first exorcism. You’re officially
ahead of my first field test.
HANNAH
You burned something down, didn’t
you?
DASH
Only part of it. And technically it
was Ivy’s fault.
IVY
Excuse me?
JAKE
Save it for the report. You did
good, all of you. Just remember -
they don’t all end this easy.
Rain streaks the streetlights. Hannah catches her breath,
blood pounding from the fight. She looks across the street
toward a tall townhouse.
A LIGHTNING FLASH freezes the world white - and for a split
second, she thinks she sees a SILHOUETTE on the balcony.
Elegant and still in a top hat. Watching her.
Darkness again. Another flash - nothing. She blinks rain from
her eyes. The balcony is empty.
Hannah slowly turns toward Ivy, who’s staring at the same
balcony. Their eyes meet - a flicker of mutual unease.
Genres:
["Supernatural","Horror","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
18 -
The Warning of Baron La Croix
INT. ST. DISMAS UNIVERSITY -- UNDERGROUND CHAPEL -- NIGHT
A flickering corridor beneath the old campus chapel open into
a vaulted chamber lit by candles and low-burning oil lamps.
The air hums faintly with power - chalk sigils on stone,
relics in glass cases, a steady pulse from wards embedded in
the floor.
This is the SANCTUM - the hidden heart of La Société de la
Nuit.
Hannah, Jake, Ivy, and Dash stand before MAMBO CELESTE, who
burns incense over a shallow bronze bowl.
She is ageless - warm eyes and quiet command. The faint echo
of “Clair de Lune” plays from an old phonograph in the
background, low and ghostly.
MAMBO CELESTE
Another restless house laid to
sleep. But you disturbed something
older, didn’t you?
The group exchanges uneasy looks.
JAKE
Mambo Celeste, we encountered
resistance. Manifestation level
three. Rogue spirit, female, mid-
century resonance. But... there was
more.
IVY
Something watching. From outside.
Didn’t feel like one of ours.
MAMBO CELESTE
You were seen.
A ripple of tension moves through the group.
HANNAH
Seen by who, Mambo Celeste?
MAMBO CELESTE
Not who... What.
She traces a symbol in the smoke - the pattern twists into a
sigil resembling a cross fused with a serpent.
MAMBO CELESTE (CONT'D)
He’s stirring again. The one who
plays at being king of the dead.
JAKE
(quietly)
Baron La Croix.
HANNAH
Baron... who?
MAMBO CELESTE
Once, he was a man. A noble in
Saint-Domingue, centuries ago. They
say he made a bargain in the fire
and came back with an army of
shadows. Now he walks between life
and death, wearing charm and grace
like armor.
DASH
So... he’s a vampire?
MAMBO CELESTE
If only he were that simple. The
Baron is hunger with memory. Desire
with a heartbeat. He doesn’t feed
on blood - he feeds on fear.
She turns to Hannah, studying her closely.
MAMBO CELESTE (CONT'D)
And he noticed you.
Hannah’s breath catches. Everyone looks at her.
HANNAH
Mambo Celeste, why me?
MAMBO CELESTE
Because light irritates the dark,
chère. And you carry more of it
than you know.
Silence hangs. Only Clair de Lune drifts in the background -
bittersweet, haunting.
JAKE
We’ll increase patrols. If the
Baron’s active again, he’ll make
his move soon.
MAMBO CELESTE
Then pray you ready when he does.
She extinguishes the incense - smoke rises like a departing
soul.
MAMBO CELESTE (CONT'D)
Go rest, enfants. Tomorrow will not
wait.
Ivy slides in beside Hannah as they exit.
IVY
Welcome to the Night Society. Sleep
light.
Genres:
["Supernatural","Mystery","Horror"]
Ratings
Scene
19 -
Morning After the Storm
INT. ST. DISMAS UNIVERSITY -- DORM ROOM -- MORNING
Sunlight spills through half-closed blinds. The storm is
gone, but the air feels heavy, humid. Hannah stirs awake at
her desk, still in yesterday’s clothes, her phone dead beside
a pile of half-finished notes.
MONICA (O.S.)
Girl, you been up all night?
Hannah blinks toward the doorway. Monica is there, hair in a
messy bun, holding two coffees and looking her over with mild
alarm.
HANNAH
Guess I fell asleep reading.
MONICA
Reading or stewing? You’ve got that
“something weird happened” face.
Hannah hesitates. She forces a weak smile.
HANNAH
Just... a long night.
Monica slides one of the coffees across the desk.
MONICA
You’re jumpy as a cat. Maybe skip
the crime podcasts before bed.
Hannah laughs lightly, but when Monica turns to grab her bag,
Hannah’s gaze drifts to the window - to the skyline beyond
the oaks. The same direction as that balcony.
MONICA (CONT'D)
You got plans for Halloween?
HANNAH
Nah. My birthday’s the next day.
I’m used to everyone being too
hungover to celebrate.
MONICA
You’re a Scorpio. That explains so
much.
Genres:
["Mystery","Supernatural","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
20 -
Echoes of Intrigue
INT. NEW ORLEANS MUSEUM OF CULTURE –- NIGHT
A string quartet plays softly under a vaulted ceiling.
Chandeliers flicker gold over oil portraits and glass cases
of relics taken from empires long dead. The air hums with
wealth, perfume, and politics.
A banner drapes over the marble entrance:
“ECHOES OF EMPIRE: COLONIAL RELICS OF THE CARIBBEAN.”
Uniformed waiters circulate with trays of champagne. The
crowd — donors, curators, and city officials — ripple with
laughter. The flash of cameras punctuates the music.
At the center of it all — BARON LUCIEN LA CROIX (50s-60s,
Black or Creole).
Perfectly tailored black tuxedo, white pocket square, an old-
world grace that feels almost too perfect. When he smiles,
people lean closer. When he moves, conversations pause.
He’s shaking hands with the MAYOR LOUISE WARREN, (50s) a
woman in a blue gown who’s clearly charmed but slightly
overwhelmed.
MAYOR
Baron La Croix, the city owes you
again. Your foundation’s generosity
keeps these exhibits alive.
LA CROIX
History should never starve, Madame
Mayor. The past sustains us... if
we let it feed.
A polite laugh from the mayor, who doesn’t quite catch the
double meaning. He kisses her hand. The cameras pop.
As the mayor moves away, La Croix turns toward the exhibit —
a collection of ornate reliquaries and ceremonial blades from
the 18th century. One relic stands apart — a carved mask,
half-African, half-European — glowing faintly under museum
lights.
From the crowd, Duvall approaches. He waits for the
photographers to pass before speaking quietly.
DUVALL
The Society’s been sighted again. A
raid in Treme last week. Two of
ours lost.
La Croix doesn’t turn. He studies the mask’s reflection in
the glass.
LA CROIX
I’m aware. Still fighting after all
this time. I almost admire their
stubbornness.
DUVALL
Shall I make inquiries? About the
girl?
La Croix finally turns, a glint of genuine curiosity in his
dark eyes.
LA CROIX
Ah. The girl. Every century, one
shines brighter than the rest. They
call it talent. I call it hunger.
He takes a flute of champagne from a passing tray, holds it
to the light.
LA CROIX (CONT'D)
Do you smell it, Marcel? The air?
The city’s changing again. Every
era begins in elegance... and ends
in blood.
He sips, smiling faintly, then notices a young museum intern,
ABBY BARNES, staring at him from across the room —
mesmerized. He raises his glass slightly in acknowledgment;
she blushes and looks away.
DUVALL
The mayor seems fond of you.
LA CROIX
She’ll invite me to her next
fundraiser. I’ll decline, of
course. It’s important to stay
desired.
DUVALL
And the relic?
La Croix looks back at the mask — its hollow eyes seem to
stare back.
LA CROIX
It’s not the artifact that matters.
It’s the memory it carries. Some
memories never die, Marcel... they
only wait for the right blood to
wake them.
A waiter approaches the Baron and hands him an ornate
envelope.
WAITER
I was instructed to hand this to
you personally, Baron.
La Croix smiles at the waiter and opens the envelope, reading
the note within. His eyebrows raise and a slight smile
crosses his face.
The quartet swells. La Croix steps toward the crowd,
instantly all charm again.
LA CROIX
(to a passing reporter)
Bonsoir, cher. You’ll forgive me —
I’ve been hiding too long in the
shadows. I must take my leave.
The reporter laughs. Flashbulbs burst.
Duvall lingers behind him, expression unreadable, watching
the crowd with predator’s precision.
Genres:
["Mystery","Supernatural","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
21 -
Shadows of Eternity
EXT. GARDEN DISTRICT CEMETARY -- NIGHT
Gas lamps glow between rows of white tombs, cracked and moss-
stained. Cicadas hum in the thick air.
Mambo Celeste stands before an above-ground crypt, setting
down a candle. Her posture is regal, he expression calm - but
her eyes hold the weight of centuries.
Behind her, the faintest sound - a footstep, not echoed.
LA CROIX (O.S.)
You always did prefer to meet among
the dead.
She doesn’t turn.
MAMBO CELESTE
They the only ones polite enough to
listen.
La Croix steps from the shadows - immaculate, of course, as
though the night were a ballroom. He inclines his head
slightly, almost reverently.
LA CROIX
I received your note, Celeste.
You’ve aged beautifully.
She smiles faintly.
MAMBO CELESTE
And you ain’t aged at all. That’s a
problem.
LA CROIX
They still whisper your name. The
city remembers its saints and
sinners. Never could decided which
one you were.
MAMBO CELESTE
Depends on who you ask. And how
much they owe me.
He circles the tomb beside her, running a gloved hand across
the marble.
LA CROIX
You shouldn’t meddle, you know. La
Société was meant to fade. You keep
them alive. Why?
MAMBO CELESTE
(quietly)
Because I remember what happens
when you win.
He stops. For the first time, his composure flickers.
LA CROIX
We were never enemies, you and I.
MAMBO CELESTE
That’s what you told me - right
before you became one.
He takes a slow step closer.
LA CROIX
The world changes, Celeste. We only
survive by changing with it.
MAMBO CELESTE
That why you kill the ones who
can’t?
A long silence. He looks at her - not angry, not cruel -
almost wistful.
LA CROIX
Immortality is a punishment, not a
gift. Do you know what it is to be
a ghost with a heartbeat, Celeste?
I am a shadow clinging to the edge
of a painting. I don’t want to rule
the night. I want to walk in the
sun again. Or I want to finally,
finally set the painting ablaze and
be done with it.
MAMBO CELESTE
So you’d burn down the world to
warm your cold hands?
LA CROIX
Is it so wrong to want to stop
being cold?
He smiles faintly. He steps back into the darkness.
LA CROIX (CONT'D)
You still pray for me, don’t you?
MAMBO CELESTE
Only when I want God to laugh.
He chuckles, low and melancholy.
LA CROIX
Goodnight, Celeste.
MAMBO CELESTE
Goodnight, Lucien.
He pauses - that name freezing him for just a heartbeat -
before vanishing into the night, the shadows reclaiming him.
Celeste watches the spot where he stood. She murmurs a single
line in Creole - a prayer or a curse, hard to tell - and
blows out the candle.
Genres:
["Supernatural","Mystery","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
22 -
Night Encounter
EXT. ST. DISMAS UNIVERSITY –- CAMPUS –- NIGHT
Late night. The live oaks whisper. Campus is mostly quiet now
— a few lights glowing in dorm windows.
Hannah and Monica walk side by side, eating powdered donuts
from a gas station bag. Their laughter is low and easy.
MONICA
Okay, but why does the campus ghost
tour never mention the library
basement? That place feels cursed.
HANNAH
That’s ‘cause it is. I asked. The
priest won’t even bless it anymore.
They both laugh—
—and then Hannah freezes.
At the edge of the quad, beneath a flickering lamppost, a
NIGHT WALKER — half-shadow, half-human — crouches over a
student frozen in terror.
In a blur, Hannah’s hand goes to her belt. She pulls a silver
dagger — throws it.
THUNK.
The blade buries into the creature’s shoulder.
It SHRIEKS — a sickly, inhuman sound — and bolts into the
darkness.
MONICA
What the hell was that—!?
HANNAH
(under her breath)
Homework.
She takes off running.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
23 -
Chase Through the Night
EXT. CAMPUS GROUNDS –- CONTINUOUS
The chase is on.
The Night Walker darts between live oaks, vaults a bench,
scales a wall like smoke. Hannah follows — fast, athletic —
cutting across lawns, vaulting planters, never losing ground.
She grabs her phone mid-run.
HANNAH (INTO PHONE)
Jake! East quad— near the chapel! I
hit one, but it’s still moving!
JAKE (V.O.)
Stay on it! Ivy’s with me. Don’t
engage alone.
HANNAH
I never engage alone.
She ends the call — and sprints faster.
EXT. ST. DISMAS -– CHAPEL ROW -– NIGHT
The Night Walker bursts through a line of students leaving
late mass. Screams scatter the crowd.
Hannah barrels through after it — apologizing mid-stride.
HANNAH
Sorry! Excuse me! Demon thing—
coming through!
The creature vaults over the iron fence and lands in the
sculpture garden beyond.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Action"]
Ratings
Scene
24 -
Veil of Shadows
EXT. SCULPTURE GARDEN -– CONTINUOUS
It weaves through glowing modern art installations — color
and shadow flashing across its skin.
Hannah dives after it — tackles — they hit the wet grass,
rolling. The dagger still juts from its shoulder.
It snarls, slashing claws across her arm.
She kicks it off — hard — just as Jake and Ivy come tearing
in from opposite sides.
IVY
Thought you said you never engage
alone!
HANNAH
Didn’t plan on company!
The creature lunges at Ivy — she spins her staff, knocking it
mid-air into Jake’s blade arc.
JAKE
On your left!
HANNAH
Got it!
She slides under it, sweeps its legs, slams a second dagger
into its chest.
The creature writhes, screams — then disintegrates into gray
ash that scatters over the garden.
SILENCE.
The three of them stand catching their breath, lit by the
eerie glow of campus art lights.
JAKE
You sure you’re not trying to give
me a heart attack?
IVY
(stern but impressed)
That’s twice you’ve broken
protocol.
HANNAH
And twice I’m still here.
They share a long look — half-reproach, half-respect.
A wind moves through the courtyard — strange, cold. Jake
looks around. His tone shifts.
JAKE
Something’s changing. The air’s...
wrong.
IVY
The Veil’s thinning.
HANNAH
The Veil?
JAKE
We’ll get to that.
They turn toward the night — three silhouettes under the live
oaks — and the camera rises above St. Dismas, the city lights
of New Orleans sprawling beyond.
INT. IVY’S DORM ROOM —- NIGHT
A single lamp and several candles cast a warm, flickering
glow.
The room is a collage of contradictions — a U2 poster, an
Irish flag pinned above the bed, and a box of Lucky Charms
beside stacks of spell books and psychology texts.
At the desk, Ivy draws a salt circle around a small Druidic
altar — a bowl of water, a sprig of oak, and a polished stone
that catches the light.
Hannah leans in the doorway, taking it all in.
HANNAH
You really live like this?
IVY
(without looking up)
What — clean?
HANNAH
No. Like if Hogwarts had a study-
abroad program in Dublin.
IVY
(grinning)
You noticed the flag then. My mam
would cry if I didn’t hang it.
Hannah walks in, nudging a pile of laundry with her boot.
HANNAH
And the Lucky Charms?
IVY
Irony. They’re terrible for you —
but the leprechaun stays for
morale.
HANNAH
You’re serious about this, though.
The altar, I mean.
Ivy straightens, her tone shifting from playful to grounded.
IVY
It’s about balance. Discipline.
Remembering that magic’s not just
power — it’s a promise. You give
something of yourself every time
you take from the other side.
HANNAH
Earlier... the chase... I’m sorry
if my eagerness caused problems.
A kettle clicks softly. Ivy pours tea into mismatched mugs,
hands one to Hannah.
IVY
You’ll find your rhythm, Boudreaux.
We have ways we operate. Listen to
Jake. Listen to Celeste.
Hannah nods. They sip in quiet companionship as the camera
drifts over Ivy’s wall — the flag, the altar, the
candlelight.
Genres:
["Fantasy","Supernatural","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
26 -
Whispers of the French Quarter
EXT. FRENCH QUARTER —- DAY
A brass band blares down Royal Street. Hannah and Monica
wander through the Quarter like ordinary college girls.
INT. ROYAL STREET -- ANTIQUE SHOP -- DAY
Hannah examines a silver cross pendant; the shopkeeper eyes
her knowingly.
SHOPKEEPER
That one’s from a cemetery out by
Metairie. Folks say it keeps the
restless down.
Monica laughs it off. Hannah doesn’t.
EXT. CAFÉ DU MONDE -- DAY
Powdered sugar drifts through the air. Monica takes a bite of
her beignet, her face covered in sugar.
MONICA
How do locals not weigh three
hundred pounds?
HANNAH
They dance it off. Or run from
ghosts.
EXT. JACKSON SQUARE -- DAY
A street artist sketches the cathedral spires behind them.
Hannah studies a painting of a woman surrounded by candles
and snakes.
HANNAH
That’s Maman Brigitte. Protector of
the dead.
MONICA
Creepy.
HANNAH
Only if you on the wrong side of
her.
EXT. VOODOO SHOP -- DAY
Shelves of candles, dolls, and herbs. Monica teases her with
a love potion bottle.
MONICA
Should I get you one for that cute
guy in class?
HANNAH
(laughing)
If it works on vampires, maybe.
EXT. ST. LOUIS CEMETERY NO. 1 -- DAY
The gates are locked. They peer through the iron bars.
MONICA
You ever been inside?
HANNAH
Once. At a funeral. Some places you
don’t walk unless you’re invited.
EXT. STREET PARADE -- DAY
A flash of color and sound. Masks, feathers, laughter — then,
just for an instant, a masked figure stops and stares at
Hannah. She freezes.
Then the music swells, and he’s gone.
EXT. MOONWALK BY THE RIVER —- SUNSET
They sit on the river’s edge, sipping cold sodas, the
Mississippi rolling by.
MONICA
So tell me the truth — you really
believe in all this stuff?
HANNAH
I believe New Orleans remembers
what the rest of the world forgets.
A boat horn echoes in the distance. The camera pulls back,
framing them against the water — two friends caught between
light and shadow.
Genres:
["Supernatural","Mystery","Friendship"]
Ratings
Scene
27 -
Veil of Shadows
EXT. FRENCH QUARTER -- LA CROIX’S TOWNHOUSE -- NIGHT
A perfect New Orleans postcard - at first glance.
Gas lamps flicker along a narrow cobblestone street, throwing
amber halos across wrought-iron balconies and hanging ferns.
Tourists laugh two blocks away, their voices just faint
enough to remind you that life goes on outside these walls.
The building has the charm of old money: cypress shutters,
peeling paint, and ivy crawling up stone. Candles glow
faintly behind tall windows.
A carriage lantern sways on its hook, though no wind blows.
INT. LA CROIX’S TOWNHOUSE -- STUDY -- CONTINUOUS
The room is a sanctuary of shadows and secrets. Floor-to-
ceiling bookshelves, antique globes, and a single, massive
map of New Orleans on the wall.
La Croix stands before it, wearing a dark, elegant dressing
gown. Standing by the bookshelves is Abby Barnes, the museum
intern. She is wearing a dark red silk robe that is clearly
from La Croix’s wardrobe, too fine and old for her. She
stands silently by the bookshelves, not reading, just...
waiting. Her expression is one of serene, empty devotion.
Duvall enters, holding a small, ancient-looking journal. He
notices Abby with a flicker of cold acknowledgement, and
moves on to La Croix.
DUVALL
The ledger from the Desmarets
estate. The family line ended, as
you predicted.
LA CROIX
Bloodlines are the truest maps,
Marcel. They chart the flow of
power... and the points where it
pools.
He moves to the large map. He places a single, polished black
stone over the Metairie area.
LA CROIX (CONT'D)
The Boudreaux girl. She is the key.
But a key is useless without the
lock. And the lock is weakening.
He gestures to the map. Duvall looks closer. The symbols
aren’t just drawn on; they seem to pulse with a faint, sickly
light.
DUVALL
The... disturbances are increasing.
LA CROIX
Disturbances? No. These are not
disturbances. They are breaths.
La Croix turn, his eyes catching the candlelight. For a
moment, they seem entirely black.
LA CROIX (CONT'D)
The Veil is not a wall, Marcel. It
is a lung. For centuries, it has
breathed in the dead and breathed
out peace. But it is tired. Old. It
sighs, and things... slip through.
He picks up a delicate, silver letter opener.
LA CROIX (CONT'D)
We will not tear it. That would be
crude. We will find the seam woven
with her blood, the thread tied to
her birth, and we will... unpick
it.
With a sudden, precise motion, he uses the letter opener to
slit the map from the French Quarter out to the Gulf. A
clean, deliberate cut.
LA CROIX (CONT'D)
(a whisper)
And when the last stitch is pulled,
the world will finally see the face
of the god it has forgotten. The
one that waits in the silence.
He looks at Duvall, his calm restored.
LA CROIX (CONT'D)
Ensure the girl is ready when the
moon turns. I will handle Celeste.
La Croix’s gaze shifts past Duvall to Abby. His expression is
unreadable - not love, not lust.
LA CROIX (CONT'D)
(to Abby, softly)
My dear Abigail, it’s late. You
should rest. Allow me to escort you
to your room.
Without a word, she offers a faint, obedient smile and glides
out of the room, ahead of La Croix. Duvall watches them go,
his face a mask of disdain for the pawn, and respect for the
player.
Genres:
["Supernatural","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
28 -
Into the Storm: A Mission Unfolds
EXT. INDUSTRIAL DISTRICT –- NIGHT
Thunder rolls across the Lower Ninth. A tangle of rusted
freight lines and overgrown lots, where the city’s lights
fade into swamp-dark.
Rain streaks down the windshield of the Society’s black van
as it turns off Chartres Street, splashing through standing
water.
HANNAH (V.O.)
He said they move shipments out
here after midnight. “Special
orders.” Said he saw the crates
breathe.
Inside the van, the team gears up. Jake checks a small silver
crossbow, Ivy murmurs a protective charm. Dash adjusts the
scanner on his wrist - static crackles across the screen.
DASH
I’m picking up something - low-
frequency energy spikes, repeating
in six-second bursts.
IVY
That’s necromantic rhythm. You sure
your “source” wasn’t just blowing
smoke, Hannah?
HANNAH
Only one way to find out.
She’s already out the door, rain soaking her hair as she
moves toward the abandoned complex ahead - a hulking
warehouse, its sign rusted away, faint candlelight flickering
through its high windows.
Genres:
["Supernatural","Thriller","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
29 -
Revenant's Wrath
INT. ABANDONED WAREHOUSE –- CONTINUOUS
A gulf-coast storm beats against the corrugated roof. Rain
filters through the holes like silver needles. Flashlight
beams slice the darkness as the team fans out.
Stacks of mildewed crates, rusted machinery, and strange
markings on the concrete floor - sigils drawn in ash.
DASH
That’s fresh. Whatever they were
doing here, they just wrapped it
up.
Ivy kneels down on one knee to study the pattern.
IVY
Binding circle. Human blood. They
were summoning something.
A low groan echoes through the rafters - like iron flexing.
JAKE
Positions. Eyes open.
They spread out. Lightning flashes through broken skylights -
revealing a hanging shape in the center of the room.
A man. Or what used to be one. Suspended upside-down, ribs
flared open like wings, his chest cavity a black void that
seems to drink the light.
HANNAH
Oh, hell no.
IVY
Revenant. But not natural - someone
accelerated the decay.
The body jerks, then drops - landing hard, rising on its
hands and feet like a spider.
JAKE
Hold the perimeter!
The revenant SHRIEKS, a piercing, metallic cry that shatters
every bulb in the room. Total darkness.
Dash’s flashlight skitters away - a strobe of lightning
reveals the creature sprinting between columns.
HANNAH
Jake, left-!
She lunges, narrowly dodging a swipe of claws that carve
through a crate. Sparks fly as metal scrapes bone.
Jake ignites a FLARE, red light flooding the space. The
revenant looks almost human now - eyes white, veins black
with rot, half-corporeal.
JAKE
Circle formation! Contain it!
They tighten up - staff, blade, sigil-chalk - coordinated,
trained.
It works for a moment.
Then the revenant SHIFTS, body liquefying and reforming
behind Hannah. It tackles her, smashing her into the floor.
She screams, stabbing upward, blade in its throat - but it
keeps coming.
IVY
(chanting)
Leirigh an solas!
Her staff flares emerald - she slams it down, energy
rippling. The revenant bursts apart in a blast of black vapor
- half-gone, half crawling away.
DASH
(catching breath)
Is it dead?
JAKE
No. Just angry.
It reforms - but now its body is shuddering, breaking apart.
From its back TENDRILS OF SHADOW WHIP OUTWARD, catching Ivy’s
ankle, dragging her toward the open pit in the floor - a
flooded drain full of bones and sludge.
HANNAH
(yelling)
I got her!
She dives, catches Ivy’s hand - the tendrils tighten. Jake
drops his flare and drives his blessed blade through the
creature’s chest. It SCREAMS - the tendrils dissolve - and
the body collapses into black water.
Steam hisses from the puddle where it fell.
Silence - except for the rain hammering the roof.
JAKE
(low)
Revenant’s not the problem. It’s
whoever’s making them.
HANNAH
Then we find whoever’s that stupid.
Ivy winces, checking her ankle. Dash retrieves his gear,
still shaking.
As they move toward the exit, Hannah’s flashlight catches a
symbol etched into the wall - the same serpent-crowned cross
seen before.
She stares at it, unsettled.
IVY
Let’s go, Boudreaux. We’ve stirred
up enough ghosts for one night.
They head out into the storm. Behind them, unseen - a single
blood-red eye opens in the puddle, then fades to black.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Action"]
Ratings
Scene
30 -
Ritual of Shadows
INT. CHURCH BASEMENT –- NIGHT
A narrow stone staircase descends into a subterranean chapel
lit by candles and gaslight. Walls lined with crosses, masks,
relics, and jars of river salt. The faint hum of jazz filters
through the vents above — faint, ghostlike.
The team enters — still dirty, bleeding, winded.
Jake drops a canvas bag onto a worktable. It CLANGS with the
weight of metal and bone.
JAKE
Revenant’s ash and the talisman.
It was channeling something bigger.
IVY
Something ancient.
At the far end of the chamber, a figure in deep indigo robes
turns — Mambo Celeste, her eyes sharp and knowing, her
presence commanding without words.
MAMBO CELESTE
Then let’s make sure it stays dead.
She gestures to the altar — a mix of Catholic iconography and
Voodoo offerings: candles, veves drawn in chalk, and a silver
bowl of holy water laced with crushed herbs.
MAMBO CELESTE (CONT'D)
Set it down, Jake.
Jake does. Celeste traces a sigil in the air; it flares faint
gold, burning like spirit fire.
MAMBO CELESTE (CONT'D)
The dead remember when they’ve been
defied. You all should, too.
Hannah watches, mesmerized. The air vibrates as Celeste
chants — French and Creole, words older than the city itself.
HANNAH
What language is that?
IVY
The first one she ever spoke,
maybe.
Jake smirks but lowers his head respectfully.
Celeste sprinkles the ash and bone dust into the water. It
hisses and turns black.
A long moment passes — then a single flame rises from the
bowl, blue and pure.
MAMBO CELESTE
Cleansed.
She looks to Hannah.
MAMBO CELESTE (CONT'D)
Step forward, child.
Hannah hesitates, then obeys. Celeste presses two fingers to
her forehead.
MAMBO CELESTE (CONT'D)
You carry fire and shadow both.
That balance will be your greatest
weapon... or your undoing.
Hannah swallows hard. The candlelight flickers — shadows seem
to move.
Genres:
["Supernatural","Mystery","Horror"]
Ratings
Scene
31 -
Guardians of the Veil
INT. UNIVERSITY LIBRARY -- RARE MANUSCRIPTS ROOM -- NIGHT
Rows of locked glass cases gleam in candlelight. Hannah,
Jake, and Ivy stand around Professor Lemaire, who’s sliding a
centuries-old grimoire across the table.
PROF. LEMAIRE
Every culture has a word for it -
the Veil, the Curtain, the Divide.
A boundary drawn by the Creator to
keep the living and the dead from
touching.
He opens the book. An etching shows a human figure standing
between two worlds: one luminous, one shadowed.
PROF. LEMAIRE (CONT'D)
Cross it, and you’re no longer
entirely in either realm. That’s
where spirits, revenants, and worse
find footing.
HANNAH
So it’s like... a wall?
PROF. LEMAIRE
A membrane. Thin as breath in some
places - torn in others. New
Orleans sits on one of the thinnest
spots on Earth. Every prayer, every
death, every storm pulls at it.
He turns another page. The image shows blood flowing through
a sigil.
IVY
And La Croix wants to tear it open.
PROF. LEMAIRE
He wants to control it. The blood
of one born under a blood moon - on
All Saints Day - can open the
passage. But once opened, there is
no controlling what crosses
through.
Hannah absorbs this, her expression shifting from one of
curiosity to unease.
HANNAH
So it’s not just ghosts he’s after.
He’s trying to break death itself.
PROF. LEMAIRE
Or rewrite it.
A beat of silence.
JAKE
That’s why we exist. To keep that
line intact. To hold the night back
from the living.
PROF. LEMAIRE
Exactly. The Society’s oldest oath:
We guard the Veil so others never
have to see it.
Genres:
["Horror","Supernatural","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
32 -
Thanksgiving at the Boudreauxs
EXT. METAIRIE -- BOUDREAUX HOME -- AFTERNOON
Hannah’s car pulls into the driveway of a middle-class two-
story home. There are already a few cars parked in the
driveway and the street in front of the house. Hannah and
Monica exit the car and head for the front door.
MONICA
Are you sure this is okay? I don’t
want to impose.
HANNAH
I’m positive. Once my parents heard
you were going to be spending
Thanksgiving alone at the dorm,
they insisted that I bring you.
MONICA
Okay. It will be nice not to be
eating ramen alone.
HANNAH
Well, this won’t be ramen, and you
most definitely will not be alone.
Hannah opens the door and they head inside.
INT. BOUDREAUX HOME –- DINING ROOM –- NIGHT
A classic Creole home in Metairie: warm light, brick floors,
and the smell of turkey and gumbo vying for dominance. Family
photos line the walls - Mardi Gras parades, fishing trips,
one of young Hannah with her grandmother, both covered in
flour.
A long table packed with food — TURKEY beside GUMBO, sweet
potatoes beside CANNOLI. Every inch of tablecloth covered.
Warm chaos. Ceiling fan turning slow. Dr. John hums from a
small kitchen radio.
Her father, Remy, carves the turkey.
ELENA BOUDREAUX (mid-40s, Italian-American from Baton Rouge,
elegant but no-nonsense) moves between table and kitchen with
the authority of a general.
Monica, polite but overwhelmed, sits beside Hannah, wide-eyed
at the spread. Two of Hannah’s aunts sit across the table,
AUNT CELINE (50s) and AUNT MARIE (late 40s).
REMY
Now tell me, Miss Monica -
Illinois, right?
MONICA
Yes sir. About two hours from
Chicago.
REMY
And y’all eat turkey without roux?
MONICA
(grinning)
I’m sorry, what’s “roo”?
Gasps around the table.
AUNT CELINE
Cher Seigneur, the child don’t know
what a roux is!
ELENA
Remy, don’t start another food
sermon.
REMY
That ain’t no sermon, that’s
education. Down here, a good roux
is the line between life and
blandness.
Laughter again. Hannah smiles, looking relaxed.
MONICA
(whispering to Hannah)
You weren’t kidding - dinner with
your family’s like a cooking show
with subtitles.
HANNAH
And that’s when they’re sober.
They both laugh. Elena passes a piece of pie to Monica.
ELENA
You eat, honey. You’re too thin for
a Southern winter.
MONICA
Thank you, Mrs. Boudreaux. This is
all amazing.
ELENA
Call me Elena. “Mrs. Boudreaux
makes me feel like I’m about to
grade papers.
Laughter. Elena rolls her eyes but smiles as she lights a
candle near a framed photo of GRAND-MÈRE COLETTE. Elena
notices.
ELENA (CONT'D)
(softy to Hannah)
You miss her.
Hannah nods.
HANNAH
Every day.
The room ripples with easy laughter.
Remy claps his hands, drawing attention again.
REMY
All right, everybody grab a glass.
To family, to friends, to food, and
to the folks we miss.
Everyone echoes “to the folks we miss,” raising glasses. They
drink.
Monica looks genuinely moved. Hannah hides a smile of silent
pride for her family.
As the CAMERA glides past Hannah’s plate — gumbo beside
stuffing — it lands on the flickering candle near Grand-Mère
Colette’s photo. For a split second, the flame bends, as if
acknowledging her.
Genres:
["Drama","Family","Slice of Life"]
Ratings
Scene
33 -
Cajun Science and Family Bonds
INT. BOUDREAUX HOUSE -- KITCHEN -- LATER
Dinner’s done. Empty plates, pie crumbs, and half-finished
wine glasses crowd the counter.
From the adjoining dining room, laughter echoes - Remy leans
over to show Monica the finer points of Louisiana gumbo
technique, complete with wild gesturing and exaggerated
storytelling.
REMY
Now, you don’t measure the roux.
You feel it. When it smells just
shy of burnt, that’s when its
perfect.
Monica laughs.
MONICA
That’s insane!
REMY
That’s Cajun science, cher.
Hannah and Elena watch from the kitchen doorway. She hands
Hannah a dish towel.
ELENA
You two clean, they cook. That’s
the rule.
They start washing and drying dishes in easy rhythm. Silence
for a few beats except for the clink of silverware.
ELENA (CONT'D)
You’ve been quiet tonight.
HANNAH
Just tired.
ELENA
(gentle)
You were born tired, baby. Even
when you were little, you’d sit by
the window and think too much.
HANNAH
(faint smile)
Guess I still do.
ELENA
You’re father thinks you’re just
adjusting to college. I think
there’s something else.
Hannah doesn’t answer. Elena watches her daughter - reading
more than Hannah wants her to.
ELENA (CONT'D)
(softly)
You don’t have to tell me, but...
whatever it is, make sure it’s
worth what you’re keeping from us.
HANNAH
I’m just tryin’ to figure out who
I’m supposed to be.
ELENA
Then start with who you already
are. That girl’s worth knowin’.
From the dining room: a sudden burst of laughter as Dad
accidentally slings roux onto the counter.
MONICA
You’re gettin’ it everywhere!
REMY
That’s flavor, baby!
Elena and Hannah both laugh - the tension breaks.
ELENA
Go help him before he sets the
kitchen on fire.
They exchange a knowing look - mother and daughter - before
Hannah steps into the chaos with a laugh.
Genres:
["Drama","Family"]
Ratings
Scene
34 -
Protocol Breach
EXT. ALLEY BEHIND THE FRENCH MARKET -- NIGHT
Steam rises from a storm grate. Neon flickers off puddles.
Hannah and Ivy move like shadows - fast, professional, in
sync.
IVY
Target’s human. We wait for
extraction.
HANNAH
He’s not alone.
A low whimper - a young WOMAN, maybe twenty, pinned by a
possessed dockworker whose eyes glow faintly red. The thing
growls, teeth lengthening.
IVY
(hissing)
We hold position til backup-
HANNAH
No time.
Hannah bolts. Ivy swears and follows.
The demon turns as Hannah shoulder-slides under a swing,
knocking the girl free. Hannah drives a silver stake into its
ribs - too shallow. It backhands her into a dumpster.
IVY
Bloody hell, Boudreaux!
Ivy strikes with her staff, a bright arc of runic light. The
creature grabs it, yanks her forward - claws raking her arm.
Hannah recovers, draws her short blade, and slashes its
throat, black ichor spraying the wall.
The thing collapses. Silence but for Ivy’s heavy breathing.
IVY (CONT'D)
(furious)
You broke protocol. Again.
HANNAH
She’d be dead if I hadn’t.
IVY
And I nearly was.
Hannah looks at the frightened girl trembling behind them.
Her voice softens.
HANNAH
But she isn’t.
Blue lights approach - local police. Ivy glares.
IVY
You handle the Society. I’m not
covering for you this time.
She stalks off, clutching her wounded arm. Hannah watches her
go, guilt etched across her face.
Genres:
["Supernatural","Action","Horror"]
Ratings
Scene
35 -
Council Confrontation
INT. ST. DISMAS HALL -- COUNCIL CHAMBER -- NIGHT
A candle-lit room lined with portraits of long-dead members.
At a central table sit Mambo Celeste, Professor Lemaire, and
two other elites. Hannah stands before them, bruised but
defiant. Jake stands beside her, calm but coiled.
PROF. LEMAIRE
Her disregard for protocol
endangered a senior operative.
MAMBO CELESTE
And yet, a civilian walks away
alive. Hard to weigh the scales of
right and wrong when both hands are
bloody.
ELITE MEMBER #1
We have rules for a reason. The
Society survives by discipline, not
impulse.
HANNAH
Discipline didn’t have time to save
her.
PROF. LEMAIRE
And next time, it might not save
you.
Jake steps forward.
JAKE
She made a call. I’ve seen worse
judgment from seasoned hunters. You
want soldiers who wait for orders
while innocents die? Then you don’t
need Hannah Boudreaux - you need a
firing squad.
A long silence. Celeste studies Hannah.
MAMBO CELESTE
You trust your instincts too much,
child. But sometimes that’s what
keeps the rest of us alive.
She looks to Lemaire.
MAMBO CELESTE (CONT'D)
No suspension. Field duty limited,
under Jake’s supervision.
Lemaire exhales through his nose, displeased.
PROF. LEMAIRE
One more breach, and she’s done.
The board members rise and file out. Celeste lingers, eyes
softening.
MAMBO CELESTE
(quietly to Hannah)
You got fire, cher. Just make sure
it don’t burn the ones beside you.
She exits. Jake turns to Hannah.
JAKE
You saved a life. Good. Now learn
to do it without almost losing one
of ours.
He starts to leave. Hannah calls after him.
HANNAH
Thanks for not letting them hang
me.
JAKE
You earned the rope yourself. I
just loosened it.
He’s gone. Hannah exhales, half-smile, half-bruise.
Genres:
["Supernatural","Drama","Action"]
Ratings
Scene
36 -
Finding Confidence in the Shadows
INT. ST. DISMAS HALL -- HALLWAY -- CONTINUOUS
Ivy leans against the corridor wall, her arm bandaged, a
fresh line of stitches visible beneath gauze. She’s been
listening.
Hannah steps out, startled to find her there. A long beat.
IVY
You’re still on active duty, then.
HANNAH
Guess they couldn't find a firing
squad on short notice.
Ivy studies her - irritation flickering on her face.
IVY
Try not to get me killed next time.
She pushes off the wall and walks away down the dark hall,
boots echoing. Hannah watches her go quietly.
Jake and Mambo Celeste enter the hallway, talking as they
walk.
HANNAH
Maybe I’m not built for this.
Everybody else seems to just...
(MORE)
HANNAH (CONT'D)
know. Like they read the rulebook
before I even got here.
Jake chuckles softly, stepping closer.
JAKE
That’s because they did read the
rulebook. And half of them think
the book is magic.
MAMBO CELESTE
Faith can make fine soldiers. But
it don’t make thinkers.
HANNAH
So what does that make me?
MAMBO CELESTE
A problem.
(pauses)
The right kind.
Jake leans against the wall, arms crossed.
JAKE
Ivy believes in form, ritual,
precision. You - you got something
different. You cook your way
through it.
HANNAH
Cook?
JAKE
Yeah. Like gumbo. You throw in what
you got, taste as you go, make
something that works. Doesn’t look
pretty sometimes... but it feeds
the soul.
Mambo Celeste gives a slow, approving nod.
MAMBO CELESTE
Magic, faith, fightin’ - it’s all
gumbo, chere. Little bit from
everywhere, stirred with love and
heat. That’s why you scare’em. You
remind’em the world’s bigger than
their bowl.
Hannah smiles for the first time all night.
Genres:
["Supernatural","Action","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
37 -
Glamour and Grit
INT. ST. DISMAS HALL -- SOCIETY TRAINING CHAMBER -- NIGHT
The room normally dedicated to combat training has been
transformed into a makeshift dressing area. Mirrors lean
against concrete walls. Garment bags hang from pipe racks.
Ivy straightens the lapels of Jake’s tux, smirking. Dash, in
rolled-up sleeves, struggles with an earpiece and a bow tie
simultaneously.
Then Hannah steps out from behind a curtain. She’s in a
sleek, dark gown — minimal jewelry, hair pinned up. For a
moment, the room freezes.
IVY
Well damn, Boudreaux. Didn’t know
we kept a runway model in the
arsenal.
DASH
(laughing)
Yeah, somebody warn security — the
real danger just arrived.
HANNAH
(straight-faced)
Y’all keep talkin’. I’ll make you
carry my heels back.
Jake turns. For once, the usually composed mentor looks
genuinely startled.
JAKE
You clean up real good, chère.
HANNAH
(half-smiling)
So do you. Though I didn’t take you
for a bow-tie guy.
JAKE
Wasn’t my choice. Ivy threatened
bodily harm if I wore boots with
the tux.
IVY
Because we’re infiltrating a
ballroom, not a honky-tonk.
They share an easy laugh. Then Jake checks his watch — mood
shifting.
JAKE
All right. Ivy, Dash — you two
handle outside surveillance. Hannah
and I play guests. If La Croix is
planning anything tonight, we’ll
find out.
IVY
Or he’ll find us first.
Beat. Jake nods grimly.
Genres:
["Action","Thriller","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
38 -
A Dance with Danger
EXT. HOTEL MONTECLARE -– FRENCH QUARTER –- NIGHT
A historic hotel bathed in Christmas lights. Carriages roll
by on slick cobblestones. Jazz drifts through the open doors
as guests in evening wear glide inside, their laughter
echoing under gas lamps. Thunder rumbles far off the river.
A sleek black car pulls to the curb. Jake steps out, helping
Hannah from the car. Both scan the crowd with discreet
awareness before walking up the steps and vanishing inside.
INT. HOTEL MONTECLARE –- GRAND BALLROOM –- NIGHT
The ornate hall glows under chandeliers. Jazz hums, champagne
flows, and the city’s elite glitter with old-money charm.
Jake and Hannah enter through a pair of tall mirrored doors.
Their reflections glide beside them — perfect guests.
HANNAH
(low)
If I’d known we were going
undercover as royalty, I’d have
brought a crown.
JAKE
You already got the attitude.
They mingle — polite, poised, alert. Ivy’s voice crackles
faintly in their earpieces.
IVY (V.O.)
Cameras show Duvall near the east
bar. No sign of the Baron yet.
Jake nods slightly, scanning the crowd. Then, a murmur.
Guests part. Baron La Croix enters with Duvall at his
shoulder. La Croix is charisma in motion — silver suit, cane,
wolfish smile.
He spots Jake first, then Hannah.
LA CROIX
Ah. Jacques. It’s been far too
long. And you’ve brought... an
angel.
HANNAH
(smiling politely)
Just a student, sir.
LA CROIX
(study in charm)
All saints were students once.
Until they met their teacher.
(pause)
Baron Lucien La Croix.
He steps closer, takes her hand, and kisses it lightly — an
old-world gesture that somehow feels like possession.
Jake stiffens.
HANNAH
Hannah Boudreaux.
LA CROIX
Charmed.
JAKE
You throw quite the party, Baron.
LA CROIX
Christmas is a time for rebirth, is
it not? For masks and miracles.
He glances toward the windows, where thunder flickers on the
horizon.
LA CROIX (CONT'D)
Storm’s coming. Cleanses the air.
Reminds us we’re all mortal...
except, of course, when we’re not.
HANNAH
Seems like you’ve seen a few storms
yourself.
LA CROIX
I’ve been a few.
He chuckles — low and dangerous — then hands her a glass of
champagne he never poured.
LA CROIX (CONT'D)
To the season. And to faith —
whatever form it takes.
Neither drinks.
LA CROIX (CONT'D)
(to Jake)
Always a pleasure to see the
faithful still walking the earth.
Tell your Society I admire their
persistence.
JAKE
And we admire your restraint.
LA CROIX
Ah, but restraint is the luxury of
men who still believe they have
time.
He tips his head slightly, smiles at Hannah once more, and
moves off. Duvall follows, but his eyes linger on Jake.
HANNAH
(quiet)
That wasn’t small talk. That was a
warning.
JAKE
No. That was an invitation.
Outside, lightning flashes.
Genres:
["Thriller","Mystery","Supernatural"]
Ratings
Scene
39 -
Shadows of St. Dismas
EXT. ST. DISMAS UNIVERSITY -- QUAD -- NIGHT
The humid night air is a stark contrast to the ballroom’s
chilled opulence. The campus is silent, deserted. Gas lamps
push back against the mist, their light catching the dew on
the magnolias.
Jake and Hannah walk slowly across the quad. He’s in his tux,
jacket slung over his shoulder, bow tie undone. She’s in her
dark gown, heels dangling from her fingers.
They come to a stop not far from her dorm. Ahead, the cracked
marble statue of St. Dismas is illuminated by a single lamp.
HANNAH
You ever wonder why they named a
school after a thief?
Jake follows her gaze. He looks tired, the gala’s composure
finally shed. More human.
JAKE
He wasn’t just any thief. Dismas
was crucified next to Christ. One
of the last people He spoke to.
A pause. A distant streetcar bell clangs.
JAKE (CONT'D)
Dismas didn’t ask to be saved.
Didn't’ think he deserved it. Just
asked to be remembered.
(beat)
Christ told him, “Today, you’ll be
with me in paradise.”
Hannah absorbs that. Her eyes are on the cracks in the
marble.
HANNAH
So... redemption?
JAKE
No. Recognition. Even in his worst
moment, he saw what was real. That
was enough.
(beat)
That’s why Celeste chose this
place. Not because it’s holy.
Because it remembers the broken.
Hannah shifts, the silk of her gown whispering.
HANNAH
You believe all that?
Jake smirks, soft.
JAKE
I believe people like us don’t get
saints. We get shadows. And the
chance to walk beside them.
(beat)
That’s something.
A long silence. The cicadas hum.
HANNAH
You ever think about what happens
after?
JAKE
All the time.
He doesn’t meet her gaze, his eyes still on St. Dismas.
JAKE (CONT'D)
I just want someone to remember I
fought for the right thing. Even if
I lost.
Another beat. He turns to leave, slow.
JAKE (CONT'D)
It’s okay not to believe in saints.
Just know who you’d die for.
He gives her a final, tired nod and walks off, his formal
shoes quiet on the stone path. The mist swallows him quickly.
FADE TO BLACK.
Genres:
["Drama","Supernatural","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
40 -
Reconnaissance and Risks
INT. ST. DISMAS HALL -- SOCIETY TRAINING CHAMBER -- DAY
A long table buried in maps, relic sketches, and glowing
laptop screens. The air hums with low jazz bleeding from
someone’s phone speaker.
Jake, Ivy, Hannah, and Dash sit around the table. Dash spins
a flash drive between his fingers - his trademark nervous
tic.
DASH
Tip came in through one of my
Quarter contacts. A drop’s
scheduled tonight - something
small, but the buyer’s connected.
Guess who’s handling the exchange?
He taps the keyboard. The monitors flicker - a surveillance
photo fills the screen: a tall man in a dark sport coat, face
cool and unreadable.
IVY
(snarls)
Duvall.
HANNAH
Who is he?
JAKE
Marcel Duvall. The Baron’s right
hand man. Handles money, messages,
property.
HANNAH
So, he’s a vampire?
JAKE
No. Worse. He’s human. The Baron’s
daylight hand. He buys silence,
cleans the blood, signs the checks.
When the creatures need to move
something through the city... it
goes through Duvall.
Jake looks straight at Hannah.
JAKE (CONT'D)
If you ever see him, don’t play
hero. Call it in.
HANNAH
I got it.
JAKE
This is a recon, not a fight. If
Duvall’s involved, it means the
Baron’s moving again. We need to
know why.
(he sharpens his tone)
You’re good, Boudreaux. But you’re
still new. Promise me - no heroics
tonight.
HANNAH
Yeah. Promise.
Genres:
["Thriller","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
41 -
Chasing Shadows
INT. ROYAL ORLEANS HOTEL -- LOBBY -- NIGHT
A thin jazz trio plays in the corner. Tourists laugh over
cocktails. The lobby glows with antique chandeliers and the
tired charm of old money.
At the bar, Hannah sits in a corner booth, trying to look
like a tourist. A half-finished beignet and iced coffee sit
in front of her. He eyes stay locked on the reflection in the
gilded mirror.
Across the lobby, a TALL MAN IN A DARK SPORT COAT finishes
his drink. Immaculate. Calm. Moves like someone used to being
watched. He drops a folded note to the concierge. The
envelope bears an ornate was seal - crimson, marked with a
serpent.
Hannah’s phone buzzes. She checks a text: a photo of the same
seal, captured on a relic fragment weeks ago. From: Dash.
She exhales. Speaks softly into her phone mic.
HANNAH (INTO MIC)
Your tip was good, Dash. The
target’s here. Same symbol from the
museum case. He just handed
something to the desk. I think it’s
Duvall’s courier.
She snaps a photo - discreetly. The man looks up. For a brief
second, their eyes meet. A flicker of recognition? Or
something worse.
He smiles faintly... and leaves through the side door.
HANNAH (CONT'D)
Oh, hell.
She’s up and moving, slipping through the crowd.
EXT. FRENCH QUARTER -- ROYAL STREET -- CONTINUOUS
Warm light from the Quarter spills onto slick cobblestones.
Hannah follows at a safe distance - her hoodie up, phone in
hand.
The tall man moves fast for someone not in a hurry. He turns
down St. Peter Street, toward the noise and pulse of Bourbon
Street.
Hannah lifts her phone again.
HANNAH
Jake. I’ve got a tail on the
courier. He’s heading up to
Bourbon. I think it’s Duvall.
INTERCUT WITH:
INT. NIGHT SOCIETY VAN -- MOVING -- SAME
Jake, driving, checks the GPS on the mounted tablet. Ivy sits
shotgun, eyes narrowed.
JAKE
Stay put, Hannah. Don’t engage.
We’re across the river - fifteen
minutes out, minimum.
IVY
He’s not joking, Hannah. If it is
Duvall, you’re outmatched.
HANNAH
Relax. I’m just tailing. Promise.
She ends the call before they can reply.
Genres:
["Thriller","Mystery","Action"]
Ratings
Scene
42 -
Chasing Shadows in the French Quarter
EXT. FRENCH QUARTER -- ST. PETERS STREET -- CONTINUOUS
Hannah pauses at the edge of the Bourbon crowd. Neon and
chaos. Music pounds from every doorway. A tourist in a
feathered mask stumbles into her.
She catches herself - and spots the tall man again, cutting
through the crowd. He glances over his shoulder. Sees her.
Smiles again.
HANNAH
(to herself)
So much for not engaging.
She disappears into the swirl of Bourbon Street lights -
EXT. FRENCH QUARTER –- BOURBON STREET –- NIGHT
Neon lights. Brass band on the corner. Beads flying.
Laughter, shouting, phones up filming everything.
New Orleans in full, rowdy bloom.
Through all that color, Hannah shoves upstream, focused,
hunting.
Her eyes are locked on the tall man weaving fast through the
crowd up ahead, clutching a messenger bag.
In her ear — a COMM CHANNEL, low and staticky, just for her:
JAKE (V.O.)
Hannah. Do not engage alone.
Repeat, do not—
HANNAH
(into mic, low)
He’s right in front of me. He’s
about to disappear.
JAKE (V.O.)
Then let him.
HANNAH
Can’t do that.
The target glances back and SEES her. Target bolts. Hannah
curses under her breath and takes off after him.
The brass band HITS HARD — horns blasting. The chase is on.
Genres:
["Action","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
43 -
Chase Through Chaos
EXT. BOURBON STREET -– CONTINUOUS
This is chaos.
The target barrels straight through a PACK OF TOURISTS
wearing feathered masks, sending them spinning.
Hannah shoulders through after him — slipping on spilled
beer, catching herself, never breaking stride.
A DRUNK GIRL in a tiara screams, delighted.
DRUNK GIRL
Oh my God is this, like, a show?!
Hannah almost collides with a rolling DAIQUIRI CART. She
plants a hand, VAULTS it clean, lands running.
He shoves past a STREET PERFORMER in angel wings — Hannah
ducks under the wings at full sprint.
Dash’s voice crackles in her ear now.
DASH (V.O.)
I am running your location,
Boudreaux. I repeat, I am running
your location. Stay moving, we are
enroute.
HANNAH
Then hurry up.
She loses sight for a half-second. Then — there. The target
cuts hard into a narrow SIDE ALLEY, between a daiquiri shop
and a voodoo tourist trap.
Hannah follows.
Genres:
["Action","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
44 -
Ambush in the Alley
EXT. SERVICE ALLEY –- CONTINUOUS
Instant tone shift, from neon and brass and heat to stone and
shadow and the buzz of one weak security light. The sound of
the party drops out like someone closed a door on it.
The alley is narrow, wet, hemmed in by old brick and rattling
AC units. A flicker of bad fluorescent light.
The target is GONE.
Hannah stops. Breathing hard. Listening.
Her hand slides behind her back, drawing a short blade. Her
stance lowers. She turns slow.
HANNAH
(into mic, low)
He ducked an alley off Bourbon
between St. Peter and Toulouse. I
think he—
A SHAPE steps in behind her. Another in front. Another to her
left.
Then two more.
They’re men. Human, mostly. Civilian clothes. But wrong in
the eyes — too flat, too calm. Dead loyalty.
They circle her. She’s not hunting. She’s boxed in.
LEAD GOON
(smiling)
Evenin’, sweetheart.
Hannah doesn’t answer. Blade up.
LEAD GOON (CONT'D)
You run fast. Boss wanted to see
what you could do.
HANNAH
Who’s the boss?
LEAD GOON
You’ll meet him. If you live.
He moves first — FAST.
He lunges for her wrist. She pivots off him, buries an elbow
in his throat, drops him against the brick.
The second swings — she traps his arm, knees his ribs twice,
then STOMPS his knee sideways. He folds screaming.
Third comes from behind — GRABS her ponytail and SLAMS her
forehead into the wall.
White flash of pain.
Her mic cracks against brick. The channel dies to static.
She staggers. Vision doubling.
Fourth grabs her jacket, yanks her back against a dumpster,
forearm to her throat.
FIFTH MAN steps in, calm, like this is routine.
FIFTH MAN
On your knees, girl.
Hannah snarls, tries to pry the forearm off her throat.
Her lungs start to scream. Her heel kicks uselessly at slick
concrete.
Her blade hand is pinned.
FIFTH MAN raises a knife.
FIFTH MAN (CONT'D)
Baron La Croix sends his regards.
Hannah’s eyes flare just hearing the name.
And then — FLASH —
A HAND grabs Fifth Man’s wrist mid-stab. Not Hannah’s.
Jake yanks the man forward and HEADBUTTS him hard enough to
drop him cold.
Jake moves quick but deliberately.
Long coat, damp with sweat and night. Blade on his hip. Calm,
deadly eyes.
JAKE
(to Hannah, half-growl)
I told you not to engage alone.
At the mouth of the alley, Ivy swings in like a storm.
Her long DRUID STAFF whistles through the air and CRACKS the
kneecap of Goon #2 as he tries to stand. Bone goes sideways.
One fluid motion. No wasted motion. She’s surgical.
IVY
(livid)
You absolute eejit. You’re not
cleared for solo pursuit!
HANNAH
(choking, catching breath)
Hi. Nice to see you too.
Jake hauls Hannah forward, out of the chokehold, then SPINS
and buries a short sword in the ribs of the guy who had her
pinned.
Clean. Efficient. No hesitation.
That man drops.
Three more figures flood into the alley behind Ivy, armed and
fast.
DASH slides in last, backpack of gear slung, compact light-
gun already in his hand.
DASH
(panicked, fast)
Please tell me this is not the part
where we get expelled.
Genres:
["Action","Thriller","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
45 -
Rain of Loss
EXT. JACKSON SQUARE / ST. LOUIS CATHEDRAL COURTYARD –-
MOMENTS LATER
They break out of the alley and into open space — and it’s
like stepping into a painting.
The ST. LOUIS CATHEDRAL looms over them, lit pale against a
bruised sky.
Thunder rolls somewhere out past the river. Rain starts to
fall. Slow, heavy drops. The square is mostly empty at this
hour. Street vendors have packed up.
Just wet stone, iron lamplight, and the echoes of Bourbon
still bleeding in from the distance.
And then—
Shapes step out of the dark.
Ten. Twelve. Fourteen.
Not drunks now. Not street muscle.
These are La Croix’s loyalists and half-turned things. Eyes
wrong. Movements too smooth. Duvall’s work.
They close in. Semi-circle.
Hannah, Jake, Ivy, and Dash are surrounded.
Hannah’s breathing is ragged. Jaw clenched. She’s bleeding at
the hairline.
Jake takes a step forward, blade in hand, shoulders square.
JAKE
(into the dark)
You boys sure you want to do this
in front of a church?
A VOICE answers from the shadows near the statue of Andrew
Jackson.
Smooth. Educated. Cruel.
DUVALL (O.S.)
Oh, I do love when you pretend
you’re righteous.
Marcel Duvall steps into the light. The tall man in the dark
suit. No rush. No fear.
He smiles.
DUVALL (CONT'D)
Bonsoir, enfants.
Ivy lifts her staff. Dash raises his light-gun. Hannah wipes
blood from her brow and squares up.
Jake never looks away from Duvall.
JAKE
You brought a crowd.
DUVALL
You brought a freshman.
His eyes flick to Hannah. He studies her like a specimen.
DUVALL (CONT'D)
Baron La Croix is... curious.
Hannah spits blood onto the stones.
HANNAH
Tell him I ain’t impressed.
Duvall’s smile widens. He flicks his hand. Everything
explodes. The courtyard detonates with motion.
Fourteen on four.
Ivy meets the first wave head-on. She spins her staff in a
tight arc, CRACKS one attacker across the temple, sweeps the
legs on a second, then reverses and drives the butt of the
staff up under a sternum - lifting the guy off his feet and
slamming him into the wrought iron fence.
Her style is elegant and violent all at once.
IVY
(yelling back)
Dash — on me!
Dash moves in behind Ivy, covering her blind spot. Not a
brawler. But smart. He whips a compact emitter from his belt
and FIRES a burst of blinding white light point - blank into
an oncoming face.
The guy screams, clutching smoking eyes.
DASH
Eyes down, eyes down, eyes down—
The burst hits three of them — they stagger, disoriented. Ivy
uses that opening. No wasted motion. One clean strike each.
Three bodies drop.
On the other side of the square:
Jake is a storm.
Two attackers swing blades — Jake PARRIES, steps in, elbows a
throat, knees a ribcage, SLASHES an Achilles.
Somebody lunges from behind with a jagged bottle — Jake traps
that arm, SPINS him, and DRIVES his sword clean between ribs
and out.
He moves like muscle memory. Calm. Efficient. He looks
untouchable.
He takes on four men by himself and drops all four in under
ten seconds.
Hannah is shaking out the daze, tasting blood, finding her
footing.
Another loyalist comes charging for Jake’s blindside with a
length of chain.
Hannah intercepts.
She steps into him low, inside his swing. PALM STRIKE under
the chin. Heel KICK to the inside of his knee — sideways. The
guy buckles.
Hannah grabs the chain and yanks him forward face-first into
the stone bench. Skull cracks. He goes limp.
Jake glances at her, still fighting.
JAKE
That’s it. Plant your hips. Don’t
fight tall.
HANNAH
(grinning through blood)
Yes, coach.
Dash gets grabbed from behind — an arm around his throat,
dragging him backward.
Dash is NOT built for that.
DASH
(gasping)
Nope, nope, nope, nope—
He claws at the forearm, panicking.
Hannah SEES IT.
She sprints, dives, and shoulder-tackles the attacker off
Dash — they HIT the stones together hard.
The guy recovers faster, rolls on top of her, both hands on
her throat, pinning her.
Hannah’s eyes go wide. She can’t get air.
She twists, finds his thumb, and SNAPS it sideways with a
quick, vicious jerk. He howls and his grip breaks. She
HEADBUTTS him in the nose. He crumples.
She scrambles up, coughing hard, throat raw.
Dash stumbles to her, wide-eyed.
DASH (CONT'D)
Oh my God I love you in a purely
professional situational capacity.
HANNAH
(barely breathing)
Stay behind Ivy.
IVY
(over her shoulder)
Absolutely he will.
More of La Croix’s thralls close in. It’s a swarm. They’re
all breathing harder now. Getting nicked, getting tired.
Duvall just watches. Calm. Studying.
ON JAKE -
Three rush Jake at once. He almost smiles.
JAKE
(to himself)
Allons-y.
He surges forward instead of back.
Slash across one throat.
Spin. Knee into a gut.
Elbow back — CRACK — into a jaw.
Reverse grip, blade up through a ribcage.
Four hits, four bodies on the ground.
Jake bleeds from his eyebrow now, rain cutting pink tracks
down his face, but he doesn’t slow.
One last loyalist charges and Jake just SIDE-STEPS, grabs the
back of his head, and BOUNCES his face off the cathedral
steps. The man doesn’t get up.
ON IVY -
One of the Baron’s half-turned beasts, bigger than all the
others, goes straight for Ivy — bull rush, no finesse.
He’s fast. He SLAMS her back against the iron fence so hard
the fence rattles.
Her staff skitters away across stone.
He leans in, snarling, hands on her shoulders, strength way
above human.
Ivy hisses through her teeth and SLAMS her forehead into his
nose. He reels back just enough.
She hooks her boot behind his ankle and DRIVES him sideways
into the iron fence post. Brutal, efficient, street mean.
Then — with no weapon — she drives her thumb hard and deep
into his eye.
He SCREAMS. Drops.
IVY
(panting, furious)
That’s my staff.
She yanks it back with a sweep of her heel and spins it up
again like death came on a stick. She takes a deep breath.
ON HANNAH -
Three of Duvall’s men clock Hannah as “the weak link” and
converge.
Big mistake.
They spread and try to flank her. She doesn’t back up. She
goes FORWARD.
She slams her shoulder into the first one’s chest like a
linebacker, drives him back into the fountain — CRACK — ribs
first.
Second swings — she ducks under, comes up with an elbow under
his jaw. Teeth spray.
Third grabs her from behind. She stomps down on his arch and
whips her head backward into his face. He howls, staggering.
Then — she just keeps hitting.
Not pretty. Not clean. Furious and scared and fast.
By the time it’s over, all three are down and not getting
back up. Hannah is heaving, drenched, shaking, blood at the
corner of her mouth.
Duvall finally moves.
He loosens his cuffs like this is a sport and strolls toward
Jake, blade in hand — long, thin, ceremonial, old.
DUVALL
You could’ve aged out quiet,
Monsieur Tresvant. Let the young
ones take the night shift. Instead
you’re still bleeding in courtyards
for orphans.
Jake steps between Duvall and the others, never dropping his
blade.
JAKE
Hannah. Stay with Ivy.
Hannah doesn’t move.
HANNAH
I can help—
JAKE
(sharp, without looking
back)
Stay. With. Ivy.
She freezes.
The world narrows to Jake and Duvall, circling each other
under the cathedral lights in the rain.
Duvall lunges, elegant, fencing-fast.
Jake PARRIES high, steps inside Duvall’s guard, and DRIVES an
elbow into Duvall’s ribs. Sharp, economical.
Duvall gasps, surprised that hurt.
Jake follows: hilt-strike to the jaw. Duvall’s lip splits.
Duvall responds meaner. He fights dirty — heel stamps, throat
jabs, inside kicks to the knee. He’s not trying to win
pretty. He’s trying to MAIM.
Jake absorbs, redirects, punishes. He’s better. He’s smarter.
He’s done this longer.
Steel flashes. Sparks jump.
Hannah watches, breath held, heart in her throat.
Ivy, blood in her hair, staff braced like she’ll kill anyone
who tries to get to Hannah.
Dash, shaking, gun back up, scanning for movement.
The storm cracks over the Quarter. Thunder rumbles down the
street.
Duvall feints high, then goes low and inside.
Jake reads it, almost.
Almost.
Duvall DRIVES the blade up under Jake’s ribs. Deep.
Jake’s breath catches. His knees almost buckle.
Hannah’s face breaks.
HANNAH
Jake!
Duvall leans in close, blade still buried, almost intimate.
DUVALL
(low)
He’ll take her next.
Jake ANSWERS by slamming his forehead into Duvall’s face so
hard it splits Duvall’s eyebrow wide open.
Duvall actually reels back, stumbling. Furious. He rips the
blade free.
JAKE, SOMEHOW STILL UP, explodes forward with the last of his
strength.
He doesn’t run. He ADVANCES.
He hammers Duvall with a flurry — body shots, forearm smash,
knee to the gut, driving him backward across the slick stone.
Duvall stumbles, slips, barely catches himself on the edge of
the fountain. He’s leaking.
Duvall glares at Hannah over Jake’s shoulder — bloody smile.
DUVALL (CONT'D)
It’s started, cher.
Then he whistles — a short, sharp call — and melts into
shadow with two still-standing loyalists, retreating into the
rain and darkness of the Quarter.
He’s gone.
The courtyard is suddenly, violently quiet except for
breathing and distant Bourbon Street noise.
All of Duvall’s people are DOWN. All of them.
Hannah. Ivy. Dash.
And Jake.
That’s the squad. They won. They’re still standing.
But Jake is swaying on his feet, blood soaking his shirt,
running down his side, mixing pink with the rain.
Jake’s knees finally give.
Hannah lunges forward and CATCHES him before he hits the
stones, easing him down, hands shaking, already pressing both
palms to his side to stop the bleeding.
HANNAH
(nonstop, panicking)
Stay with me, stay with me, you’re
okay, you’re okay—
Dash drops to his knees on Jake’s other side, already tearing
open his pack.
DASH
I got pressure wrap, I got trauma
pads, I watched like three videos
for this, statistically you are
fine—
IVY
Dash.
Ivy’s voice is soft. Final.
Dash stops talking. His face crumples.
Hannah is still pressing, frantic.
HANNAH
We’re taking you to Celeste. Right
now. She’ll fix it, she’ll fix it,
she always—
Jake reaches up — shaky — and takes Hannah’s wrist, halting
her hand. He makes her look at him.
JAKE
Hey.
She does. Eyes wet, jaw clenched so hard it’s shaking.
JAKE (CONT'D)
You did good tonight.
Hannah actually barks a laugh-sob at that, furious.
HANNAH
I almost got you killed.
JAKE
(smiling, breath thin)
No, chère. I got me killed.
Hannah shakes her head, refusing that.
HANNAH
Don’t say that. Don’t talk like
that.
Jake’s gaze flicks to the small CRUCIFIX at his own throat.
He fumbles it loose, bloody fingers clumsy, and presses it
into her palm. He curls her fingers around it, makes her hold
it tight.
JAKE
Listen.
It’s barely a whisper now.
JAKE (CONT'D)
You don’t fight like them. Don’t
start. You fight like you.
Hannah is crying now. Silent, angry tears.
HANNAH
I can’t lead ‘em. I’m not you.
Jake actually laughs — a tiny sound — even bleeding out on
cathedral stone.
JAKE
They ain’t need another me.
He pulls her closer, like he’s telling her a secret.
JAKE (CONT'D)
They need you.
His eyes stay on her for one last heartbeat.
Then they go still.
The rain keeps falling. Nobody speaks.
For a long moment, the only sounds are rain hissing on hot
stone, and all three of them breathing like they just came
out of drowning.
Dash bows his head over Jake’s body. His shoulders shake. He
doesn’t try to hide it.
Ivy turns away. One bloody hand over her mouth, eyes clenched
shut. She won’t cry in front of Hannah. She won’t break where
Hannah can see.
Hannah stays where she is, on her knees in pooled rain and
Jake’s blood.
She’s holding the crucifix in her fist like a weapon.
Her chest heaves. Her face hardens.
Something in her changes here. It’s visible. This is the
line.
ANGLE: HIGH BALCONY OVER JACKSON SQUARE
A shadowed balcony, old wrought iron, two stories up.
La Croix watches from above in the darkness. Perfect.
Ageless. Patient. Hands resting on the rail like a king
surveying his city.
Lightning flickers across his face as he smiles.
Genres:
["Action","Thriller","Supernatural"]
Ratings
Scene
46 -
Aftermath in Jackson Square
EXT. JACKSON SQUARE -- MINUTES LATER
The storm is breaking. Steam is starting to rise off the
pavement.
The cathedral sits white and silent behind them.
Hannah, Ivy, and Dash move in a slow stagger across the
square toward a black van tucked in the shadows by the curb.
They are destroyed.
Ivy’s lip is split and she’s holding her ribs like they’re on
fire. There’s blood matted in her hairline.
Dash has a blackening eye and a shaking left hand he can’t
quite unclench.
Hannah’s shirt and throat are streaked with blood that’s not
all hers. Jake’s crucifix is still wrapped tight in her fist.
She hasn’t let go.
No one speaks.
As they reach the van, Ivy fumbles with the keys, hands
shaking so hard she can barely get the lock. Dash climbs in
the back and just sits there, head in his hands, trying not
to fall apart.
Hannah turns, just once, and looks back across Jackson
Square. The courtyard where they fought is empty now. Just
rainwater, pink at the edges.
Her jaw locks. Her eyes go cold.
She gets in the van and SLAMS the door.
The van pulls away from St. Louis Cathedral and disappears
into the wet New Orleans night. The square goes quiet again,
like nothing happened.
Genres:
["Action","Thriller","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
47 -
A Night of Mourning and Resolve
INT. THE SANCTUM -- NIGHT
The air in the underground chamber is thick with incense and
silence. The usual hum of purpose has been replaced by a
heavy, mournful stillness.
Every candle is lit, their flames casting long, dancing
shadows on the vaulted brick ceiling. The room is PACKED.
We see faces we know: Hannah, numb and hollow-eyed, Jake’s
crucifix clenched in her fist. Ivy, standing rigid, her
knuckles white on her staff, a fresh cut on her cheekbone.
Dash, looking young and lost, his tech gear shoved in a
backpack at this feet.
But we also see OTHERS. Dozens of them.
Professor Lemaire stands solemnly near the relic cases, his
academic demeanor replaced by the grim bearing of a soldier.
A few well-dressed men and women in their 40s and 50s - CITY
ELITES, a judge, a philanthropist - stand alongside grizzled,
tattooed men and women who look like they work the docks. A
handful of other students, young recruits like Hannah, watch
with wide, sober eyes.
At the center of the room, on the stone table usually used
for weapons, lies Jake’s body. He has been cleaned and
wrapped in a dark linen shroud embroidered with the Society’s
silver sigil. A single, large candle burns at his head.
Mambo Celeste moves to the head of the table. She is the
still point in the room’s sorrow. She places a hand on the
shroud over Jake’s forehead and closes her eyes. The soft
murmur of the gathering falls completely silent.
MAMBO CELESTE
We send one of our best back to the
river. Jacques Tresvant. A son of
this city. A keeper of its quiet
hours.
Her voice, low and resonant, fills the chamber without
effort.
MAMBO CELESTE (CONT'D)
He walked in the dark so that
others could sleep in the light.
(MORE)
MAMBO CELESTE (CONT'D)
He carried the weight of our
history so the future wouldn’t have
to remember the terror. That was
his choice. His sacrifice.
Her gaze sweeps the room, lingering on Hannah, Ivy, and Dash.
MAMBO CELESTE (CONT'D)
Do not mistake sacrifice for
failure. The dark took him, but it
did not break him. It did not turn
him. He fell on holy ground,
defending what we hold sacred.
There is no cleaner end for a
warrior of this Society.
She picks up the large candle, its flame wavering.
MAMBO CELESTE (CONT'D)
His fire is out. But embers remain.
She turns her ancient, knowing eyes directly to Hannah.
MAMBO CELESTE (CONT'D)
The work does not end. The night
does not forgive a pause. His
legacy is not a memory. It is your
breath. It is your will. It is the
next step you take into the dark.
Celeste lowers the candle, touching the flame to a prepared
bowl of herbs and resin at the foot of the table. It ignites
with a soft WHOOSH, releasing a plume of fragrant smoke that
curls toward the ceiling like a rising soul.
MAMBO CELESTE (CONT'D)
Go now, in peace and in fury. Guard
the night.
The crowd echoes, voices low and united.
EVERYONE
Guard the night.
The ritual is over. People begin to shift, to murmur, to
approach Ivy and Dash with quiet condolences. Hannah remains
frozen, watching the smoke rise.
Professor Lemaire places a comforting hand on her shoulder.
She doesn’t react. He moves on.
Ivy steps close to Hannah, her voice a raw whisper.
IVY
He’s gone. Standing here won’t
change that.
Hannah finally turns her head, her eye’s meeting Ivy’s. The
grief in them has already begun to harden into something cold
and sharp.
HANNAH
I know.
Ivy holds her gaze for a long moment, then gives a single,
grim nod.
Hannah looks back at the shrouded body one last time, then
turns and walks away, pushing through the crowd, leaving the
sanctum behind.
Genres:
["Drama","Action","Fantasy"]
Ratings
Scene
48 -
The Veil's Bridge
INT. LA CROIX’S STUDY -- NIGHT
A clock ticks softly in the background. A thousand candles'
cast an amber glow across bookshelves, relics, and the faint
smoke of incense. The room feels suspended in time - part
cathedral, part tomb.
La Croix sits behind an antique desk, one hand resting on a
crystal decanter. Duvall stands near the door, hat in hand,
his face still marked from the fight the night before.
DUVALL
The girl got lucky, that’s all.
There’s nothing special about her.
LA CROIX
Is that what you tell yourself,
Marcel? That luck kills thirteen of
your kind and walks away?
A flicker of discomfort crosses Duvall’s face.
DUVALL
She’s well-trained, I’ll give her
that. But she bleeds like anyone
else.
LA CROIX
No. Not like anyone else.
La Croix rises, moving toward a display case in the corner.
Inside rests the relic mask we saw at the museum - the eyes
hollow, the edges etched with strange sigils.
LA CROIX (CONT'D)
Born on La Toussaint - All Saint’s
Day - under the shadow of a blood
moon. The same alignment that
marked the Veil’s creation. It
happens... every few centuries.
He turns, the candlelight dancing across his face.
LA CROIX (CONT'D)
The child born under it carries the
resonance of both worlds - mortal
and unseen. She is the bridge the
gods built... and forgot to
destroy.
Duvall steps closer, wary.
DUVALL
You think her blood can open it?
LA CROIX
Not open, Marcel. Unravel. The Veil
was a wound in the world. Her blood
can make it whole again... or tear
it clean apart.
He unlocks the case and traces a finger along the mask’s cold
surface.
LA CROIX (CONT'D)
The ritual requires the relic, the
moon, and the willing blood of one
born beneath it. When the next
lunar convergence comes, the
balance will shift.
DUVALL
And what happens to the world then?
La Croix’s eyes flicker - for a moment, the veneer of
civility breaks
LA CROIX
The world? It will remember what it
was before light.
A silence. The only sound is the low hum of the candles.
DUVALL
And if she won’t come willingly?
La Croix looks back, expression unreadable.
LA CROIX
Then we remind her that saints die
like sinners.
He replaces the mask, locking it carefully.
LA CROIX (CONT'D)
Find her, Marcel. Apply the
appropriate pressure.
Duvall nods, uneasy, and exits.
La Croix stands alone in the flickering light, gazing out the
tall window toward the moon - red and swollen on the horizon.
He whispers something in Creole, ancient and mournful.
Genres:
["Fantasy","Supernatural","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
49 -
Silent Storms
INT. DORM ROOM –- NIGHT
The lights are dim. A thunderstorm rumbles far off. Monica is
curled up on her bed, a half-eaten granola bar on the
nightstand. She watches Hannah from across the room.
Hannah sits on her own bed, back turned, still wearing Jake’s
jacket. Her shoulders are stiff, eyes fixed on something no
one else can see.
MONICA
You haven’t said anything. Not even
during breakfast. Which, I remind
you, was coffee and air.
No answer.
MONICA (CONT'D)
You look like someone carved out
your heart and forgot to stitch you
back up.
Still, silence.
MONICA (CONT'D)
You said you were just tired. But I
don’t think that’s true.
Hannah doesn’t move for a moment. Then-
HANNAH
Someone I... trusted. He’s gone.
And I keep hearing his voice like
he’s still got something to say.
Monica slowly sits upright.
MONICA
Do I know him?
HANNAH
You saw him once. That night by the
library. The guy in the coat.
Monica frowns, remembering.
MONICA
The “I handle things the police
can’t” guy?
(beat)
What happened?
HANNAH
He died saving people who’ll neve
even know his name. People like
you. People like me.
MONICA
So... what does that make you?
A long silence. Hannah finally looks over - eyes hollow, but
clear.
HANNAH
Someone who fights things that
don’t show up on security cams.
Monica’s face shifts - realization flickering behind her
eyes.
MONICA
Is this about... that thing by the
bike racks? The one you said was a
mugger?
Hannah nods, once.
MONICA (CONT'D)
And then, that night when you threw
something at a dog, and took off
running after it?
Hannah nods again.
HANNAH
Not everything in this city is a
ghost story. But some of it is. And
I’m part of what keeps the stories
from swallowing people whole.
Monica stares. Her voice drops.
MONICA
You’re not kidding.
HANNAH
I wish I was.
Monica slides off the bed, sits beside her.
MONICA
Does it hurt?
HANNAH
Only when we lose someone good.
Monica puts her hand on Hannah’s.
MONICA
If you ever need backup... I’ve got
a mean swing with a hot glue gun
and no fear of the dark.
(beat)
You don’t have to carry it all
alone.
A breath. Hannah nods, almost a smile breaking through.
HANNAH
Thanks. Really.
They sit in quiet. For the first time in a long while, Hannah
lets herself rest - even if only for a moment.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Urban Fantasy"]
Ratings
Scene
50 -
Confrontation and Resolve
INT. ST. DISMAS HALL -- SOCIETY TRAINING CHAMBER -- DAY
The air is thick with silence and incense. The usual hum of
purpose is gone.
Hannah is alone, meticulously cleaning a blade at a wooden
table. Her movements are sharp and efficient. Jake’s crucifix
hangs around her neck, a stark contrast against her dark
shirt.
The heavy door CREAKS open. Ivy steps in, still moving
stiffly from her injuries. Her eyes are red-rimmed but dry,
her jaw set in granite.
She moves to a rack of staffs without looking at Hannah. She
runs her fingers over the wood.
IVY
(without looking up)
You’re using the wrong oil.
(MORE)
IVY (CONT'D)
It gums the mechanism. Jake showed
you twice.
HANNAH
I’m using what was on the shelf.
IVY
The shelf if for amateurs. The good
stuff is in the lacquered box. The
one he kept.
Hannah sets the blade down with a controlled click.
HANNAH
What do you want, Ivy?
Ivy finally turns, her gaze hard.
IVY
I want to know what he said to you.
HANNAH
You were there.
IVY
I was securing the perimeter while
you knelt in his blood. I saw his
lips move. What were his last
words? His final, brilliant lesson
for the prodigy?
Hannah stands.
HANNAH
He told me I did good. That’s all.
Ivy laughs a quiet, bitter laugh.
IVY
“Did good.” He bled out on the
cathedral stones and he gave you a
gold star. Of course he did.
HANNAH
What is that supposed to mean?
IVY
It means he saw something in you
the rest of us didn’t. And it got
him killed.
HANNAH
He made his own choices. He told me
not to engage. I didn’t listen.
(MORE)
HANNAH (CONT'D)
He came in after me. That’s on me.
But the blade was Duvall’s.
IVY
And why was Duvall there? Why was
any of it happening?
(beat)
Because La Croix is “curious” about
you, Hannah. From the moment you
fought that nightwalker, you were a
beacon. And Jake, being Jake,
decided the only way was to stand
in front of you. To make himself
the target.
She takes a step close, her voice dropping to a venomous
whisper.
IVY (CONT'D)
He spent years being careful.
Calculating. He survived things
that would have torn the rest of us
to shreds. Then you show up with
your local ghost stories and your
bright, shiny potential, and he
throws it all away ina back-alley
brawl. For what?
HANNAH
(voice trembling with
rage)
If you think I asked for this... if
you think I wouldn’t trade my place
for his in a heartbeat-
IVY
But you can’t! That’s the point!
He’s gone, and you’re here,
cleaning his blades with the wrong
damn oil!
Ivy sweeps a jar of oil off the table. It shatters against
the stone floor, the viscous liquid spreading like a dark
stain. Both of them are breathing heavily, chests heaving in
the sudden silence.
The outburst takes its toil on Ivy. The rigid anger in her
posture softens into pure exhaustion.
IVY (CONT'D)
(quiet, defeated)
He was my partner. For three years.
He had my back, and I had his. And
then... he had yours.
Hannah looks at the broken glass, then at Ivy’s shattered
composure. Her posture relaxes.
HANNAH
He told me... “They need you.” His
last words.
Ivy closes her eyes, absorbing the blow.
A long pause.
IVY
Then he was a fool until the end.
She turns and walks to the door, pausing with her hand on the
frame. She doesn’t look back.
IVY (CONT'D)
Dash found a lead. He thinks he
knows where to find Duvall. Be
ready at sundown. We finish this.
Genres:
["Action","Thriller","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
51 -
A Dark Discovery
INT. DORM ROOM -- NIGHT
The room is dim. One small desk lamp burns, casting long
shadows.
Hannah pushes the door open, looking drained. She’s still
wearing Jake’s crucifix, her knuckles white from clenching
it. She doesn’t turn on the main light as she enters.
HANNAH
(weary)
Mon? You awake?
Silence.
Her eyes adjust to the dim light and she freezes. The room is
in disarray. A desk chair is overturned. Monica’s fairy
lights are torn down, lying in a tangle on the floor. A
textbook is splayed open, pages crumpled.
Hannah’s breath hitches. All of her fatigue evaporates,
replaced by a look of cold, sharp dread.
HANNAH (CONT'D)
(whispering)
Monica?
She moves further into the room, scanning the corners. Her
foot kicks something small and metallic.
She looks down. On the floor, precisely placed in the center
of the walkway, is a calling card.
It’s the same high-quality cardstock Jake once use, but this
one is blood-red. Embossed on it is not the Society’s sigil,
but a different one: the cross-and-serpent symbol of Baron La
Croix.
Hannah kneels, her hand trembling as she picks it up. She
flips it over. On the back, in elegant, sharp handwriting she
recognizes from the black card, is a message:
“A token of insurance. The company in the swamp grows. Don’t
keep us waiting. - D”
Beneath the note, paper-clipped to the card, is a single,
familiar object: Monica’s silver “M” initial necklace.
Hannah crumples to her knees, a choked sound escaping her
throat. She clutches the red card and the necklace in one
fist, and Jake’s crucifix in the other.
She slowly looks up, her eyes blazing with intensity.
HANNAH (CONT'D)
(voice low, shaking with
rage)
Duvall.
Genres:
["Thriller","Mystery","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
52 -
Confrontation at the Warehouse
EXT. OLD WAREHOUSE –- NIGHT
The air smells of rust and river mud. A single bulb swings
over a loading dock, casting frantic shadows.
Duvall leans against a rusted shipping container, binding a
wound on his arm with a torn shirt. He’s pale, his
aristocratic composure frayed. Two loyalists, just as
battered, stand watch.
From the darkness, a pebble clinks. The loyalists snap to
attention. Too late.
Hannah and Ivy move in from opposite flanks like twin storms.
Hannah doesn’t break stride. She feints high at the first
man, then drives a brutal low kick into his already-injured
knee. A sickening CRACK echoes. He screams, collapses.
The second loyalist raises a pistol. A blur of motion - Ivy’s
staff whips through the air, smashing his wrist. The gun
clatters to the concrete. He barely has time to gasp before
she reverses the staff and cracks it against his temple. He
drops.
Rainwater drips from iron balconies above. Lightning flashes.
Duvall limps away from the shipping container, clutching a
wounded side, blood in his mouth.
Hannah, Ivy, and Dash corner him — weapons drawn.
DUVALL
You came yourself. I hoped you
would. The little prodigy. Jake’s
pet.
Hannah steps forward, drenched and calm. Jake’s crucifix
gleams at her throat.
HANNAH
Where is she?! Where’s Monica? You
tell me she’s alive, or I’ll make
your death last for hours.
DUVALL
Your Jake died for a symbol. Will
you let your friend die for one,
too? She’s waiting for you in the
dark, Boudreaux. She’s so very
frightened.
Lightning flares. Hannah flinches — eyes full of fury.
HANNAH
Where Duvall?!
DUVALL
(spitting blood)
You think this ends with me? You’ll
never reach him. The swamp itself
kneels before him.
Ivy presses her staff against his throat.
IVY
Then we’ll burn the swamp down.
Duvall’s grin fades; his eyes darken — unnatural. In a flash,
he catches Ivy off guard, slamming her into a wall, and
lunges for Hannah.
A blur of movement — the dagger in his sleeve cuts across her
ribs. She gasps, blood seeping through her shirt.
Dash fires a shot that grazes Duvall’s shoulder — but the man
moves with inhuman speed, twisting the gun away and sending
Dash sprawling.
He grabs Hannah by the hair and slams her into the fountain’s
stone edge. Her crucifix clatters across the courtyard.
DUVALL
Jake begged before I killed him.
Wondered if you’d even last this
long.
Hannah’s hand closes around the fallen crucifix — Jake’s
cross. When she looks up, her eyes are fierce, steady.
HANNAH
You don’t get to speak his name!
She drives her knee up, flips him with a self-defense move
(echoing something Jake taught her), and wrests his dagger
free.
The fight turns — raw, close, muddy. Duvall grabs her throat
— she drives the dagger under his ribs.
He staggers back, staring down at the blade.
DUVALL
(hoarse)
He’d be proud. You learned... to be
predictable.
Hannah just stares at him. Hard. He sinks to his knees. The
rain beats harder.
Hannah presses him for the truth — voice low, almost kind:
HANNAH
Tell me where he is.
DUVALL
(breathing shallow)
We saved the honor for the Baron.
He’s waiting for you at the family
estate... Bayou Noire. Consider
this your formal... invitation.
He coughs, a spray of blood.
DUVALL (CONT'D)
It’s not a hideout. It’s an altar.
And you’ve walked your friend right
to it.
HANNAH
Then let’s not keep him waiting.
She pushes the blade in cleanly. His body slumps against
Hannah’s, until she lets in slide off and land face down in
the mud.
Silence.
Hannah collapses back against the fountain, clutching her
bleeding side. Ivy rushes to her, catching her before she
slides down.
IVY
You’re bleeding bad.
HANNAH
I’m not finished bleeding.
(beat)
They have Monica at Bayou Noire.
IVY
Then it’s a trap we’re walking
into.
Lightning flashes — Hannah looks east, toward the unseen
bayou.
Genres:
["Action","Thriller","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
53 -
Into the Swamp: A Reckoning Approaches
INT. VAN -- MOVING -- NIGHT
The van hums down a narrow two-lane highway cutting through
the flooded outskirts of the city. Rain still falls in
sheets, blurring the lights of passing trucks.
Inside, it’s dim - the only light comes from the dashboard
glow and occasional lightning flashes through the windshield.
Ivy drives. Her hands are tight on the wheel, knuckles white.
Hannah sits in the passenger seat, slumped against the
window, eyes half-open but alert. Dash rides in the back,
Duvall’s black leather bag open on the bench beside him.
The cabin is quiet for a long time, only the low thrum of
tires on wet asphalt.
DASH
(quietly)
He kept everything. Names, dates,
symbols... all of it.
He flips through a small, water-damaged notebook inside the
bag - pages scrawled with ritual diagrams, sketches of blood
circles, and a map of southern Louisiana drawn in red ink.
DASH (CONT'D)
There’s one place circled more than
any other.
(shows them)
Maison La Croix.
Ivy exhales, staring ahead into the dark highway.
IVY
The old plantation. Deep in the
bayou.
Hannah shifts, wincing from her wound, her voice low but
resolute.
HANNAH
That’s where it ends.
DASH
We’re not ready for that kind of
fight, Hannah.
HANNAH
Neither is he.
Lightning flashes - for a split second, her reflection in the
window looks ghostlike, streaked with rain and blood.
IVY
You sure you can even stand, cher?
HANNAH
Don’t need to stand. Just need to
finish.
The van rolls deeper into the dark, headlights cutting
through the swamp mist. The city fades behind them.
Genres:
["Action","Thriller","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
54 -
Dawn of Defiance
INT. MAISON LA CROIX -- PARLOR -- DAWN
A grand parlor lit only by candlelight. The ceiling fans turn
lazily, stirring humid air.
Monica sits in an old armchair, wrists bound but not cruelly.
A glass of water sweats on the table beside her - untouched.
Her hair is a mess, but her glare is sharp. Defiant.
Baron Le Croix stands before her, a crystal decanter in one
hand, pouring a glass of deep red wine. His movements are
slow, elegant, deliberate. Two of his servants wait by the
ornate door.
LA CROIX
My lieutenant told me you were
terrified. That you would beg for
mercy if I so much as looked your
way.
MONICA
Guess he was wrong.
La Croix smiles - that faint, charming curl of lips that
never reaches his eyes.
LA CROIX
He often was.
He circles her chair slowly, the way a historian might study
an artifact.
LA CROIX (CONT'D)
Tell me, Mademoiselle Owens... what
is it you think you’re friend will
do when she arrives? She’s lost so
much already. Wouldn’t it be
merciful to let her rest?
MONICA
You don’t know her.
LA CROIX
(amused)
No? She was born for this moment.
And I was born to end it.
He leans closer, voice a whisper near her ear.
LA CROIX (CONT'D)
The world turns because of blood
and sacrifice. Perhaps hers...
perhaps even yours, will be the
last drop that tips the balance.
MONICA
If you’re so sure of that... why do
you keep talking?
For the first time, La Croix’s expression flickers - the
smallest sign of surprise. He straightens, adjusting his
cufflinks with irritation.
LA CROIX
You have her stubbornness. It won’t
save you.
He gestures toward a nearby servant.
LA CROIX (CONT'D)
See that she’s... comfortable.
Until the hour comes.
He exits the room, leaving Monica alone in the candlelight.
Genres:
["Thriller","Supernatural","Action"]
Ratings
Scene
55 -
Reflections in the Night
EXT. GAS STATION -- NIGHT
An old Louisiana highway, miles outside the city. The team’s
van sits parked next to the gas pumps as they fill it up.
Cicadas hum. The air hangs heavy with swamp mist.
Inside the van, Dash works on his laptop - fingers moving
fast, eyes red. Ivy sits across from him, cleaning her blade
with quiet precision. Hannah leans against the open door,
staring into the distance - her body still sore, her shirt
bloodstained from the fight with Duvall.
Silence.
Only the hum of the laptop fan, the whirring of the gas pump,
and the distant croak of frogs.
Finally, Ivy breaks it.
IVY
You should rest. Both of you. We’ll
need everything we have for what
comes next.
DASH
(sardonic)
Rest? Sure. Maybe after I unsee
Jake dying in front of us.
Ivy keeps wiping the blade.
HANNAH
You could’ve walked away, Dash.
After tonight, nobody’d blame you.
Dash finally looks up, eyes wet behind the exhaustion.
DASH
You think I do this because I have
to? No. Hannah. I do this because I
watched by little brother get torn
apart by something I couldn’t even
see. It left me alive so I’d
remember. Every time I make a new
gadget, every time I find a way to
track what shouldn’t exist - that’s
me making it pay.
A long beat.
HANNAH
I didn’t know.
DASH
Wasn’t your story to know.
He goes back to his laptop. Hannah looks at Ivy.
HANNAH
What about you? You ever wonder why
you still do this? You could go
back to Ireland, wherever you came
from. Be a professor, a
priestess... whatever Druids do.
Ivy sets the blade down carefully. Her voice is softer than
usual - tinged with something ancient.
IVY
We used to think we could bargain
with the dark. Keep it fed so it
stayed quiet. My grandmother taught
me that. But the dark never stops
asking. It only changes what it
wants.
She looks at Hannah - eyes steady.
IVY (CONT'D)
So now I hunt it. Because if I
don’t, someone else’s grandmother
will have to make that bargain. And
maybe she won’t survive it.
HANNAH
Guess that makes us all liars, huh?
Telling ourselves we’re saving the
world, when really we’re just
trying to live with what it’s
already taken.
A faint smile from Dash.
DASH
You’re learning fast, Boudreaux.
IVY
Pain’s the fastest teacher.
HANNAH
Then let’s hope we’re fast enough.
Genres:
["Action","Thriller","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
56 -
Eerie Arrival at Maison La Croix
EXT. HIGHWAY TO THE BAYOU -- NIGHT
The rain has eased to mist. Spanish moss sways from the trees
as the van hums down the empty road.
Headlights carve pale ribbons through fog that clings low to
the waterline.
INT. VAN -- MOVING -- CONTINUOUS
Dash is asleep in the back, head tilted against the window,
one arm over Duvall’s bag. The cabin is dim and humming - the
low static of the radio, the hum of tires on wet pavement.
Hannah drives, staring at the endless stretch of road ahead.
Ivy rides shotgun, eyes fixed, posture rigid - both women
bruised, both silent for a long beat.
Finally-
IVY
You don’t follow orders worth a
damn.
HANNAH
Never claimed to.
IVY
That’s your problem. You think
instinct’s the same as wisdom. It
isn’t.
Hannah glances over, but Ivy doesn’t meet her eyes.
HANNAH
Jake didn’t seem to mind my
instincts.
IVY
Jake’s dead because we all got
sloppy. Don’t make that some kind
of blessing.
Silence. Only the sound of the engine and the occasional
croak of frogs outside. Hannah looks back at Dash, still
asleep, then returns to the window.
HANNAH
I didn’t mean to get him killed.
IVY
No one means to. That’s the point.
Another long pause.
Lightning flickers somewhere far off, just bright enough to
reflect in Ivy’s eyes.
HANNAH
You ever think maybe the reason we
keep losing people is ‘cause we’re
too afraid to do things different?
Ivy exhales - not quite a sigh, not quite anger.
IVY
Different doesn’t mean better,
lassie. It just means untested.
Hannah gives a small, tired smile.
HANNAH
Guess we’ll find out soon enough.
The van rumbles over a narrow bridge, fog rising thick from
the swamp below. In the distance, a faint orange glow
flickers - the direction of Maison La Croix.
IVY
(softly)
You sure you wanna die on this
road?
HANNAH
I just wanna make it mean
something.
The mist thickens around them, swallowing the van as it
presses on into the dark.
EXT. BAYOU ROAD -- PRE-DAWN
Fog continues thickening around the van as it bumps along the
last mile of road. The headlights sweep over black water and
gnarled cypress knees. Crickets and frogs fall silent, one by
one.
A sign leans half-buried in the mud:
MAISON LA CROIX - EST. 1792
The letters are carved deep and almost glowing with lichen.
INT. VAN -- MOVING -- CONTINUOUS
Dash stirs awake as the tires crunch to a stop. The windows
are fogged, breath frosting the glass despite the Southern
heat.
IVY
We’re here.
No one moves for a moment. The engine idles. The swamp
answers back with its own sounds.
Finally, Hannah turns off the van and opens her door; humid
air rushes in, heavy and wet.
EXT. MAISON LA CROIX -- DAWN
They step out into ankle-deep mud. The plantation house rises
through the mist like a memory - white columns stained with
mildew, balconies sagging, iron gates half-swallowed by
vines.
A few faint lanterns still burn on the upper veranda.
Hannah looks up, jaw tightening.
IVY
(quietly)
Feels like the air’s praying.
DASH
No. It’s listening.
Genres:
["Thriller","Action","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
57 -
Confrontation at Maison La Croix
INT. VAN -- MOMENTS LATER
They pop open Duvall’s bag. Hannah pulls out the blood-
stained dagger, its silver dulled by swamp moisture. She
wipes it once with her sleeve, studies her reflection in the
blade.
HANNAH
Duvall used this to take Jake. I’ll
use it to finish La Croix.
IVY
Then we go in careful. No speeches,
no second chances.
HANNAH
Understood.
EXT. MAISON LA CROIX -- CONTINUOUS
They cross the overgrown lawn. Every step squelches.
Lightning flickers far off - silent, but lighting the columns
in bursts.
From inside drifts a faint piano melody - “Clair de Lune.”
Soft, haunting, heartbreakingly precise.
DASH
(whispering)
He’s playing.
HANNAH
Let him. I want him to hear us
coming.
They mount the front steps. The massive doors loom ahead,
carved with crosses worn smooth by centuries.
Hannah looks to Ivy. Ivy nods.
Together they push the doors open.
INT. MAISON LA CROIX -- FOYER -- DAWN
The hinges groan.
Water drips from their coats onto cracked marble tile etched
with wax sigils. Candles flicker down a long corridor leading
deeper into shadow.
At the far end - a glimpse of motion, a silhouette by the
grand piano.
IVY
(low)
Welcome home, Baron.
Genres:
["Thriller","Action","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
58 -
Ritual of Sacrifice
INT. MAISON LA CROIX –- RITUAL HALL -– NIGHT
The storm outside is relentless — wind shrieking through
broken shutters, thunder rolling like drums of war.
Candlelight flickers across a vast chamber lined with
crumbling portraits and half-melted saints.
At the center, a circular ritual platform glows faintly blue
beneath carved symbols.
Monica lies bound at its heart, wrists glowing with threads
of spectral light that pulse in time with the storm.
Hannah, Ivy, and Dash move through the doorway, weapons
ready. Their boots crunch across shattered marble.
They’re bruised, bloodied, exhausted — but their eyes are
alive.
A voice drifts from the shadows, smooth as silk.
LA CROIX (O.S.)
It took you long enough.
He emerges from behind a massive piano, coat immaculate, face
calm and ageless.
The lightning paints his silhouette in brief white flashes—a
man out of time, elegant and terrible.
LA CROIX (CONT'D)
Three of you left. I expected more.
Though I suppose that makes this...
intimate.
He gestures lightly. The circle around Monica brightens; she
groans, eyes fluttering open.
HANNAH
Let her go. Now.
LA CROIX
And spoil the ritual? Never. You
came for her life, I came for
yours. But unlike my lieutenant,
I’m civilized. I offer choice.
A trade. You take her place —
willingly — and she walks free.
He steps closer, unblinking. His voice softens.
LA CROIX (CONT.) (CONT'D)
You were born under a Blood Moon,
on All Saints’ Day. A child touched
by both Heaven and Hell. Your blood
is a key. With it, the veil opens,
and death itself must yield.
IVY
You talk too much.
She hurls a knife; it whistles through the air and pins a
follower to the wall.
For a heartbeat, silence — then chaos. The chamber explodes
with motion.
A dozen of LaCroix’s acolytes rush from every direction —
eyes black, weapons crackling with unnatural energy.
The heroes form up fast:
Ivy spins her staff, arcs of green flame slicing through two
attackers.
Dash fires twin bolts from his gauntlet — one acolyte drops
screaming, another explodes in sparks.
Hannah meets a sword stroke, turns it, drives her dagger
home, kicks free another foe.
The Baron watches, hands clasped behind his back, amused.
He circles like a conductor overseeing a symphony of
violence.
LA CROIX
Bravery without comprehension. Jake
Tresvant understood balance. You?
You mistake chaos for courage.
Hannah lunges, slashing at him — the dagger’s silver grazes
his cheek.
He doesn’t flinch, but smoke hisses from the wound.
He backhands her with supernatural speed — she crashes
against the altar, gasping.
MONICA
Hannah—!
HANNAH
Stay down!
The Baron raises his hand. The candles erupt into spiraling
columns of fire.
Their heat bends the air; the walls begin to shudder.
Ivy leaps between him and Hannah, blocking a strike that
sends sparks across the floor.
Her staff shatters one of the symbols glowing on the stone,
dimming the entire circle.
IVY
He’s feeding off the ritual! Break
the sigils!
DASH
On it!
Dash dives forward, detonates a charge — half the room
explodes in dust and debris.
Two acolytes vanish into ash, but the Baron barely glances
over.
LA CROIX
You desecrate sacred ground. You
think explosives can unmake what
took me centuries to make?
He slams his palm onto the air — the energy surges. A
spectral wave blasts the trio backward.
Hannah hits a pillar, rolling to her feet. Blood trickles
from her lip.
Her voice shakes, but her will doesn’t.
HANNAH
You talk about centuries. I’ve had
eighteen years — and I’m still
faster.
She charges again, ducking a fire blast, carving through
another acolyte, only to be tackled from behind.
They crash through pews, splintering wood. She twists, stabs
the dagger upward—
The attacker disintegrates into mist.
When she looks up, the Baron is watching, impressed.
LA CROIX
You have the same heart as Jake. He
would be proud... before you get
him killed a second time.
The heroes regroup in the center, forming a triangle. Their
breathing is ragged; their blood stains the marble.
Still, they stand.
IVY
He’s too strong.
HANNAH
Then we break his rhythm.
She feints left, dashes forward, hurls the dagger.
The Baron catches it mid-air, examines it almost lovingly.
LA CROIX
Duvall’s little toy. Poetic that it
ends here.
He tosses it aside — but the moment of distraction lets Dash
fire a concussive bolt into his chest. The blast throws him
across the room. For the first time, he bleeds.
He snarls — a feral, ancient sound.
The remaining acolytes close in, sensing his fury.
The three heroes form a broken triangle - breath ragged,
blades trembling.
Hannah swings the sword wild, catching one acolyte across the
chest, but a second buries claws into her shoulder, spinning
her to the floor, the sword flying away. She screams in rage
and pain.
Ivy fights beside her, blood running from a gash on her
scalp, her staff cracked and sparking. She’s struck from
behind, slammed into a pillar hard enough to splinter wood.
Dash drags her clear, firing again and again, until a blade
punches through his side. He fires point-blank in the
attacker’s face and collapses beside the others.
Hannah kneels amid the chaos - hands shaking, covered in
blood. Her sword lies just beyond her reach, slick with
blood.
Ivy is down, barely conscious. Dash lies next to her, firing
off the last charge of his weapon. The acolytes keep coming.
Hannah tries to rise. Falls again. La Croix laughs. Monica is
bound to the altar, wrists bleeding against the ropes.
La Croix steps forward, unscathed, elegant in ruin. His voice
carries calm authority.
LA CROIX (CONT'D)
You see this as an ending, child. I
see it as a homecoming. For two
centuries, I have been a guest in
this world, never a part of it. My
blood is ink, my breath a memory.
Your blood... is a key. It can
unlock my cage. What spills out
after... is regrettable. But what
is one world, weighed against an
eternity of this?
He reaches out his open hand towards Hannah.
LA CROIX (CONT'D)
You’ve fought long enough, chère.
Let it end. Surrender to me... and
I will let your friend go.
MONICA
(desperate)
Don’t-! Hannah, don’t listen to
him!
LA CROIX
(smooth)
Her life is yours. One soul
willingly given... and the other
walks free.
DASH
Hannah... no!
Hannah stares at Monica - bruised, terrified - then at her
own blood-soaked hands. The crucifix around her neck glints
faintly in the candlelight.
HANNAH
You promise she walks out alive?
You give me your word?
La Croix tilts his head. Almost tender.
LA CROIX
I am a man of my word.
MONICA
Hannah, please. Don’t-
HANNAH
It’s okay, Mon. I can end this.
Hannah drops her blade. The sound echoes like thunder. Her
breath trembles. She takes a step forward. Then another.
IVY
No, Hannah! That’s not how we win-
HANNAH
Maybe it’s the only way.
La Croix smiles. He extends a hand.
LA CROIX
Come to me, little saint.
Hannah moves closer to the altar. Monica sobs echo through
the hall.
MONICA
Please don’t leave me.
HANNAH
(through tears)
I’m not. Not really.
Hannah climbs the first step.
And then—
A LOW RUMBLE shakes the floor. Candles flicker wildly, then
implode into darkness.
A VOICE cuts through the chaos, quiet but absolute.
MAMBO CELESTE (O.S.)
Enough.
The air ripples.
Every candle ignites again, bursting outward in a shockwave
of light.
Most of the acolytes evaporate — their black smoke torn into
motes that vanish like fireflies.
Standing in the doorway, untouched by the storm, is Mambo
Celeste. She wears a simple dark coat, hood drawn back.
Her eyes gleam faintly violet. Power hums in the floorboards
beneath her feet.
LA CROIX
Always arriving late, chère.
MAMBO CELESTE
I go where I’m needed, not where
I’m wanted.
LA CROIX
You could’ve joined me. Once.
MAMBO CELESTE
Once, you were worth joining.
Her hand lifts — dozens of small spirit-lights rise from the
ashes of his followers, orbiting her like fireflies.
The Baron’s rage flickers, gives way to something like
sorrow.
Hannah presses a hand over the bleeding wound in her side as
she struggles to her feet. She walks to her sword nd picks it
up.
HANNAH
Our father, who art in Heaven...
A revenant lunges - she drives her blade through it mid-
sentence.
HANNAH (CONT'D)
Hallowed be Thy name.
The crucifix at her neck glows. The air shifts.
HANNAH (CONT'D)
Thy kingdom come... Thy will be
done... on Earth as it is in
Heaven...
Two acolytes run at Hannah and she strikes them down with one
sweeping blow.
HANNAH (CONT'D)
Give us this day our daily bread-
and forgive us our trespasses... as
we forgive those who trespass
against us.
Behind them, the grand piano shudders. Its keys depress on
their own. The soft, haunting strains of “Clair de Lune” fill
the hall.
Even the storm seems to quiet around it. La Croix smiles as
he hears it and looks away from Hannah and towards Mambo
Celeste, then back to Hannah.
LA CROIX
You kept it? After all these years?
MAMBO CELESTE
Some things deserve to be
remembered... if only to remind us
why we forget.
HANNAH
And lead us not into temptation...
He looks back to Celeste, locking eyes with her, suddenly
vulnerable — and that’s all the opening Hannah needs.
HANNAH (CONT'D)
... but deliver us from evil.
She dives for the fallen silver dagger, rolls up, and drives
it straight into his chest.
The impact freezes the air — light erupts from the wound,
cracks running through his skin like lightning across glass.
LA CROIX
(hoarse, surprised)
So the child becomes executioner.
He grabs her wrist — his strength still monstrous — but she
doesn’t let go.
They’re locked together, inches apart, eyes locked.
HANNAH
I didn’t come to execute. I came to
end it.
She twists the blade.
He gasps — black smoke pouring from his mouth like ink in
water.
Ivy pulls Monica free from the altar. Dash drags debris to
block the door as the building begins to quake.
The Baron staggers, falls to his knees.
Hannah stands over him, chest heaving.
LA CROIX
Do you know what waits when the
veil tears, Hannah Boudreaux?
Nothing. Silence. All this death —
for silence.
He looks to Celeste, eyes soft now.
LA CROIX (CONT'D)
Do you still hate me?
MAMBO CELESTE
No, Lucien. I remember you. That’s
worse.
He almost smiles — almost.
Then, quietly:
LA CROIX
Then perhaps... remember this too.
He touches the dagger’s hilt and pushes it deeper himself.
The floor sigils flare, then collapse inward — a blinding
flash. When the light fades, he’s gone — reduced to ash that
swirls upward and vanishes into the rafters.
The piano plays one last fragile note and falls silent.
For a long moment, no one moves. Only the drip of rain
through broken windows, the distant rumble of thunder.
IVY
He’s gone.
DASH
And the veil?
MAMBO CELESTE
Sealed — for now.
She looks to Hannah, who is still holding the dagger,
trembling.
MAMBO CELESTE (CONT'D)
(softly)
Your blood bought more than his
death. It bought balance.
HANNAH
Then let’s keep it.
Celeste nods once. Behind her, dawn light begins to filter
through the cracked shutters.
The storm is breaking. The first rays of sun spill across the
floor, scattering the last traces of the Baron’s ashes.
The survivors exchange a look — bloodied, spent, alive.
FADE TO BLACK.
Genres:
["Action","Fantasy","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
59 -
A New Sentinel
INT. ST. DISMAS HALL -- SOCIETY TRAINING CHAMBER -- DAY
Soft lamplight glows across the old oak-paneled chamber. The
Night Society’s crest gleams faintly above the long table
where professors and senior members gather. Candles burn low.
The air feels sacred - not mournful, but settled.
The door opens. Hannah, Ivy, and Dash enter. The look
exhausted but alive - uniforms marked with dust and blood,
shoulders squared.
Conversation stills. Every eye turns toward them.
Professor Lemaire rises.
PROF. LEMAIRE
You’ve returned.
(beat)
And La Croix?
Hannah hesitates - not for drama, but for the weight of it.
HANNAH
Gone. For good, I hope.
Lemaire exhales. Ivy rests a hand on Hannah’s shoulder - a
simple, wordless show of unity.
From the corner, a slow, steady tap of a cane. Mambo Celeste
steps forward, her presence commanding as always - elegant,
timeless, a flicker of silver in her dark hair.
MAMBO CELESTE
Hope’s a fragile word, chere. But
today, it’ll do.
She gives a faint smile, studying Hannah with quiet pride.
MAMBO CELESTE (CONT'D)
You’ve carried the cross we set
before you - maybe not the way we’d
have done it, but that’s why you
lived to tell the tale.
Hannah half-smiles, shaking her head.
HANNAH
Reckon I don’t fit the mold.
MAMBO CELESTE
Good. The mold needed breaking.
Mambo points with her cane at Jake’s crucifix hanging around
Hannah’s neck.
MAMBO CELESTE (CONT'D)
He left that behind for whoever
could bear the weight. Looks like
that’s you, child.
Hannah closes her fingers around it, nodding quietly.
Across the table, Ivy stands - battered but upright. Her
usual severity is softened now.
IVY
You still act before you think. But
today, it worked.
(MORE)
IVY (CONT'D)
(beat)
Just don’t let it go to your head.
HANNAH
Wouldn’t dream of it.
Dash, leaning against the wall, smirks faintly.
DASH
So what now? Do we get medals?
Pizza? Or is this one of those
“secret victory” things?
The room ripples with subdued laughter. Even Celeste
chuckles, shaking her head.
MAMBO CELESTE
Rest while you can. There’ll come
another veil to close, another
night to keep watch.
PROF. LEMAIRE
(to Hannah)
You’ve earned your place here, Miss
Boudreaux. Officially and
otherwise.
Hannah nods, humbled.
HANNAH
Thank you, Professor. But I didn’t
do it alone.
She glances to Ivy and Dash - the faintest spark of a smile
between them.
Celeste looks to the Society’s crest - the torch-and-sigil
emblem carved in stone above them.
MAMBO CELESTE
(to all)
Let it be known - from this day
forward, Hannah Boudreaux stands as
a sentinel of La Société de la
Nuit.
A respectful silence follows. No applause. No ceremony. Just
quiet understanding.
Hannah looks up at the sigil - the candlelight flickering
across her face. For a moment, the faint shimmer of blue
light plays over her eyes.
HANNAH
(softly, to herself)
Watch the night... and guard the
dawn.
The camera lingers as Celeste watches her - proud, knowing, a
hint of sadness behind her smile.
Genres:
["Supernatural","Action","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
60 -
A Taste of Home
INT. BOUDREAUX HOUSE -- KITCHEN -- DAY
The sunlight is golden and thick. The kitchen looks lived-in
again - half-washed dishes, a radio playing faint zydeco, a
dog barking somewhere outside.
Monica is trying (and failing) to chop okra properly while
Remy hovers nearby, insisting she’s doing it wrong. Elena
stirs a pot, rolling her eyes at both of them.
Hannah lingers in the doorway, watching with a soft smile.
She’s got a bandage on her arm, a faint scar on her temple.
But no uniform, just a comfortable Saints t-shirt and sweats.
REMY
Lord, child, you’re murdering that
okra. You don’t saw it - you slice
it.
MONICA
You wanna cook, old man, be my
guest.
ELENA
(sighs)
Every time I let y’all in my
kitchen, it turns into the Battle
of New Orleans.
They bicker good-naturedly. The noise, the clutter - it’s
chaotic, human, alive.
Hannah finally steps in and steals the spoon from her mom.
HANNAH
Let me, before y’all poison half
the parish.
They laugh. Monica bumps her with an elbow.
MONICA
You still owe me for the last
batch.
HANNAH
I saved your life. I think we’re
even.
The family freezes for a split second - a beat of silence
where everyone knows there’s more truth in that than they’ll
ever fully understand. Then Remy claps his hands.
REMY
Alright, who’s setting the table
before the rice burns?
ELENA
Not it.
MONICA
Not it!
HANNAH
Guess it’s me. Story of my life.
She grabs plates, smiling as she walks to the dining room.
The voices fade behind her - warmth and laughter echoing.
Through the kitchen window, sunlight hits her face. She
pauses, looks toward the distant city skyline.
For just a second, a shimmer of blue light dances across the
glass - the faint trace of the Veil. She sees it, breathes
in, and smiles.
HANNAH (CONT'D)
(softly, to herself)
Not today.
She turns back toward the noise, the laughter, the clatter of
silverware and gumbo bubbling on the stove.
FADE OUT.