Chapter 9 · The Other Mark Behind the Door

The voice coming through the rift was his.

Not similar. Not close. His. Same cadence. Same way he cleared his throat before saying something he did not want to say. Mark stood three feet from the tear in reality, and his own voice spilled out of it like audio from a phone he had left in another room.

"I know you can hear me." The other Mark sounded steadier. Younger, maybe. Less tired. "You need to listen. They're going to close this."

Behind him, Veran was shouting something. The high priestess had both hands raised, light pouring from her palms into the edges of the rift. The old priest in the black robe was chanting, low and fast. The summoning circle under Mark's feet buzzed like a live wire, and his bad knee burned where it always burned when the weather changed, except this was not weather. This was magic trying to decide if he counted as an anchor or a mistake.

"Mark." The voice again. Insistent. "Mark Chen. Forty-one. Unemployed as of six weeks ago. Divorced as of—what, three days before they grabbed you?"

Mark's throat closed.

Three days. Not official. Not signed in front of a notary yet.