Chapter 8 · The Deep Just Marked You

"Get your hands off me!" Lira hissed, her boots skidding on the slick, obsidian-like stone of the perimeter.

Jace didn't let go. He had her wrist pinned, his fingers digging into the pulse point where her skin felt like ice. He didn't care about her protest. He could feel it—the Dread. It wasn't just outside the walls anymore; it was leaking through the air, a thick, oily pressure that made the back of his throat taste like copper and old graves.

"Shut up and look," Jace snapped, hauling her closer.

Lira stopped fighting, her breath hitching. She followed his gaze to the horizon, where the sky of the Deep wasn't black, but a bruised, pulsing purple. A single, jagged tear had opened in the atmosphere. It wasn't a storm. It was a signature. A beacon of pure, concentrated terror that looked like a bleeding eye staring down at their makeshift sanctuary.

"What the hell is that?" Lira whispered, her voice trembling. "Jace, that’s not a normal swarm. That’s... that’s a Mark."

"A Mark?" Jace let go of her wrist, but he didn't step back.