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The hollowness inside me made these calculations simple, uncluttered by emotional responses that would have complicated the equation before. Fear, hope, grief, joy—all absent, leaving only clear, cold logic. A benefit, perhaps. An adaptation to whatever I had become.

Another flash hit me without warning.

Heat and sulfur and screaming, my own voice raw with agony as something carved into me, reshaping me from the inside out. A voice like broken glass: You're mine now, boy. My masterpiece.

I gasped, gripping the edge of the sink as the vision receded, leaving me cold and clammy with sweat. My heart hammered against my ribs, the only indication of distress my body still seemed capable of producing.

I straightened, forcing the thought away. Focus on practicalities. Next steps. Survival. The mark settled, cooling against my skin as if approving my priorities.

In the mirror, for just a moment, my eyes flickered with something that wasn't entirely human—a flash of orange-gold like embers catching light. Gone so quickly I might have imagined it, except I knew better. Another adaptation. Another change to catalog and control.

Outside the gas station, I considered my options with methodical thoroughness. I could disappear, forge new identity documents, build a life disconnected from my previous existence. The skills were there, automatic and intact despite everything else I'd lost.

Sterling would have resources. Sean would have information about the supernatural landscape. Together, they represented my best chance of understanding what had happened.

The decision made, I set my course. Sterling's house first—closer, and the man was less likely to shoot me on sight. Then Sean, once I had more information, more context, more control over whatever I had brought back with me.

I started walking, my stride longer and more confident now as my body continued relearning its capabilities. The night enfolded me, shadows seeming to reach for me with eager fingers before retreating. The city sprawled before me, familiar yet newly strange, like a photograph I recognized but couldn't remember taking.

Somewhere in the darkness behind me, something watched. Something that had followed me back, or perhaps had never left. I felt its presence like a cold spot between my shoulder blades but didn't turn to look. Acknowledging it would give it power I wasn't prepared to grant.

The cityat night transformed into something primal, stripped of daytime pretensions. Street corners became territories, alleys turned to hunting grounds, the unending drone of traffic like the growl of some massive beast. I moved through this concrete wilderness with the heightened awareness of someone who knew he was both predator and prey.

My route took me through neighborhoods that grew progressively more residential, the density of humanity thinning as I left Manhattan behind. Each step brought me closer to finding a way to contact Sterling, to the first test of my return. How would Sterling react? With joy? With suspicion? With a shotgun loaded with salt rounds?

All valid responses. I would accept any of them with the same detached calm that seemed to be my default state now.

Street lights cast my shadow in elongated patterns before me, sometimes one shadow, sometimes more, as if the darkness itself couldn't quite decide what shape I should take. I moved without fatigue, my body functioning despite the trauma it had endured. Another adaptation. Another change to note.

Three men emerged from an alley ahead, their body language screaming predator to my heightened senses. Switchblades glinted in the diffuse city glow. Their stances widened, blocking the sidewalk in the practiced formation of experienced muggers.

“Wallet. Phone. Now,” the centermost one demanded, blade extended.

I stopped, assessing. Three opponents. Armed but untrained. Likely under the influence of something that made their movements slightly uncoordinated. Not supernatural. Just human predators who had chosen the wrong prey.

The mark on my chest warmed, eager for violence.

“I don't have either,” I replied, my voice still rough from disuse but steadier now. “Let me pass.”

The leader laughed, the sound sharp with chemical courage. “Guess we'll take your jacket then. And those boots. Nice boots.”

They closed in, confident in their numerical advantage, in the weapons they held, in the routine nature of this transaction. They didn't recognize what stood before them.

The first knife thrust came fast but telegraphed. I sidestepped with unnatural speed, my hand closing around the attacker's wrist. Bone snapped with minimal pressure. The man screamed, the sound oddly satisfying to some deep, newly awakened part of my mind.

The second attacker hesitated, witnessing his friend's arm bent at an angle nature never intended. The third, braver or stupider, lunged forward with his own blade.

I moved again, the world seeming to slow around me. My body responded with mechanical exactness, neutralizing the threat with brutal skill. No wasted motion. No hesitation. No mercy.

It ended in seconds. Three bodies on the ground, not dead but wishing they were. I stood over them, breathing steady, unmarked by the encounter. I felt nothing—no fear, no anger, no satisfaction. Just a cold acknowledgment of obstacles removed.

The mark on my chest pulsed once, twice, as if disappointed by the brevity of the violence. I ignored it, stepping over the groaning men and continuing my journey without a backward glance.

Dawn threatened the horizon when I found what I was looking for—a 24-hour convenience store with a payphone outside, a rarity in the digital age. I stood before it, considering my options. I had no coins, no card, nothing to make a call with.

The store clerk watched me warily through the window, a hand likely hovering near the silent alarm button.

I entered anyway, moving with deliberate calm to appear less threatening. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in harsh, unforgiving clarity.