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The mark had reached my elbow by the time I got home.
I kept my sleeve pulled down on the bus. Kept my wrist tucked against my ribs. The black lines didn't hurt exactly. They felt cold. Like someone had traced my veins with ice water and left it there to sit.
Nina was awake when I came through the door. She was always awake. Paramedic schedules did that to a person. She looked up from her laptop, took one look at my face, and closed the screen.
"Where were you?"
"Work."
"Try again."
I kicked off my boots. My hands were shaking. I shoved them in my pockets. "I picked up a job. Some old hotel. It ran late."
"Mara."
"What?"
Nina stood. She had that look. The one she used on OD patients who lied about what they'd taken. Calm. Steady. The kind of steady that made you feel like an idiot for even trying.
"You smell like rust and something else. Something burnt. And you've been gone for nine hours."
I didn't have an answer for that. The burnt smell was probably the door. Or Elias. Or the blood he'd smeared on the frame to keep the Wardens off me. I pulled my sleeve down tighter.
Nina's eyes dropped to my wrist. "Let me see."
"It's nothing."
"Mara."
"I said it's nothing."
She moved fast. Grabbed my arm before I could pull back. Shoved the sleeve up.
The black lines were worse under the kitchen light. They branched like tree roots. Like something growing. Nina went very still.
"What the hell is this?"
"I don't know."
"Bullshit."
I yanked my arm back. "I don't know, okay? I got cut. It got infected or something. I'll clean it."
"That's not an infection." Nina's voice was flat. She was using her triage tone. The one that meant someone was about to die and she was deciding how to keep them alive long enough to reach the ER. "That's under your skin. That's in your veins."
I wanted to tell her. I wanted to say a guy chained to a door made a deal with me and now I had a countdown to midnight or the mark would reach my heart and I didn't know what happened after that. But Nina would call someone. A hospital. The cops. And the Wardens would find me faster.
I pulled my sleeve back down. "I'll handle it."
"Like hell."
"Nina—"
The lights flickered.
Nina looked up. So did I. The kitchen light strobed once, twice, then steadied. The fridge hummed louder. The air smelled like ozone.
Nina took a step back. "What's happening?"
I didn't answer. I was staring at the door to my bedroom. It was open. I always left it open. But the space inside looked wrong. Too dark. The street light from my window should've been spilling through. Instead, the doorway was black. Completely black.
And there was someone standing in it.
"Mara," Elias said.
Nina spun. Her hand went to the drawer next to the sink. The one where she kept the gun. The one she wasn't supposed to have but kept anyway because she'd done too many night shifts in bad neighborhoods.
She had it out in two seconds. Pointed at Elias. Her hands didn't shake.
"Who the hell are you?"
Elias didn't move. He looked the same as he had in the hotel. Same torn shirt. Same chains hanging off his wrists. Same wrong angles to his shoulders. But he looked worse under my apartment lights. His left hand was twisted wrong. The fingers bent back at the knuckles. The black veins running up his neck were darker.
He wasn't looking at Nina. He was looking at me.
"You need to come back."
"It hasn't been midnight," I said.
"Doesn't matter. They're coming."
Nina's gun didn't waver. "I asked you a question."
Elias finally looked at her. His eyes were still too dark. Still too far back in his head. "You should leave."
"This is my apartment."
"It's hers," Elias said. "And it's not safe."
The lights flickered again. This time they didn't come back. The kitchen went black. The only light was the streetlamp outside and the glow from Nina's laptop screen.
Nina took a step toward me. The gun stayed on Elias. "Mara. Get behind me."
I didn't move. I was staring at the doorway behind Elias. At the darkness there. It looked like the hotel hallway. Like the space behind the black door. I could smell rust again. And something else. Something rotting.
"You opened it," I said.
Elias nodded. "You have the mark. The door follows you now."
"I didn't ask for that."
"You put your hand on it. You bled on it. That's all it needs."
Nina's voice was sharp. "Mara. What is he talking about?"
I didn't know how to answer. The mark on my wrist was burning now. Not cold anymore. Hot. Like someone had pressed a brand into my skin.
Elias stepped forward. Nina's finger moved to the trigger.
"Don't," I said.
Nina didn't lower the gun. "He's in our apartment. He came through your bedroom. He's talking about doors and marks and—"
"I know."
"Then tell me what the hell is going on."
I opened my mouth. Closed it. The black doorway behind Elias was getting wider. I could see shapes in it now. Movement. The sound of footsteps.
Elias heard it too. He turned. His jaw tightened. "They're faster than I thought."
"Who?" Nina demanded.
"Wardens," I said.
The word tasted like metal. Like blood. Elias looked at me. Something almost like respect crossed his face.
"You remember," he said.
I didn't remember. But I knew. The same way I knew the mark on my wrist wasn't going to stop at my elbow. The same way I knew the man stepping out of the darkness behind Elias wasn't human anymore.
He was tall. Taller than Elias. He wore a long coat that didn't move right. The edges of it blurred. Like smoke. His face was pale. Sharp. His eyes were the same black as the doorway.
Nina's gun swung toward him. "Don't move."
The man didn't stop. He looked at her the way you'd look at a bug. Annoying but not worth the effort.
Then he looked at me.
"Mara Quinn," he said.
His voice didn't sound like it came from his mouth. It came from everywhere. From the walls. From the floor. From inside my own chest.
Nina fired.
The shot was deafening in the small kitchen. I flinched. Elias didn't. The man in the coat didn't either.
The bullet hit him center mass. I saw the impact. Saw his coat ripple. But he didn't bleed. Didn't fall. He just stopped walking and looked down at the hole in his chest like it was mildly interesting.
Then he looked back at Nina.
"You can't help her," he said.
Nina fired again. This time the man moved. Fast. Faster than anything that size should move. He was across the kitchen before the sound of the shot faded. His hand closed around Nina's wrist.
She screamed.
I moved without thinking. Shoved myself between them. My hand hit his chest. The mark on my wrist flared. Hot. Bright. The man let go of Nina and stepped back.
He was staring at my wrist. At the black lines crawling up my arm.
"Interesting," he said.
Elias was beside me. I didn't see him move. Didn't hear him. But he was there. His hand on my shoulder. His body between me and the man in the coat.
"Silas," Elias said. "She's under contract."
Silas. The name felt familiar. Wrong. Like something I should know but didn't.
Silas smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "I know. That's why I'm here."
"She has seven nights."
"She has a name," Silas said. He looked at me again. Through me. Into me. "Don't you, Mara? A name the door wants. A name you've been looking for."
My throat was dry. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do." Silas tilted his head. "You've been asking questions. Digging through records. Trying to find out what happened to her."
Nina was on the floor. Holding her wrist. She was staring at me. I couldn't look at her.
"Who?" I said.
Silas stepped closer. The air around him was cold. Colder than the mark. Colder than anything.
"June," he said.
The name hit me like a fist. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. June. My sister. Dead three years. No body. No explanation. Just gone.
"How do you know that name?"
Silas didn't answer. He was looking past me. At the doorway behind Elias. At the darkness there.
Something was moving in it.
Not footsteps this time. Something dragging. Something wet. The smell of rot got stronger. I could hear breathing. Slow. Ragged. Wrong.
Elias's hand tightened on my shoulder. "Mara. Don't look."
I looked.
A hand came through the doorway. Pale. Bloated. The skin was peeling. The nails were black. It reached toward me. Fingers stretching. Grasping.
And I knew those fingers. I knew the scar on the thumb. The crooked knuckle on the index finger.
I knew that hand.
"June?" I whispered.
The hand stopped. The fingers curled. And from somewhere deep in the darkness, something answered.