Page 9

“I'm not violent,” I answered the unspoken question. “Not unless threatened. I'm just... different.”

Sterling nodded slowly, processing. Then he gestured to the maps and printouts. “While you were gone, things got complicated. Demon activity spiked after the gate opened, more possessions, more omens, more bodies dropping. Pattern suggests organization, purpose.”

I leaned forward, examining the data with clinical interest. Red markers indicated supernatural activity, concentrated in urban centers but with tendrils extending into smaller communities. The pattern wasn't random, it showed intelligence, strategy.

“Asmodeus,” I said, the name emerging unbidden. The mark on my chest pulsed once in response, as if recognizing the demon prince's designation.

Sterling's gaze sharpened. “You remember him?”

I frowned, probing at the edges of the wall in my mind. “Fragments. He was there when the gate opened. Wanted the demons released to wreak havoc on Earth.” My hand moved unconsciously to my chest, where the mark burned steadily. “I stopped him. Or thought I did.”

“You slowed him down,” Sterling corrected. “Gate closed, but not before a lot of nasty things slipped through. Been hunting them ever since, but they're organized, strategic.” He tapped one of the maps. “Moving in patterns we're still figuring out.”

I absorbed this, fitting it into the fragmented timeline in my mind. “And Sean? He's been hunting them too?”

Sterling's expression darkened. “Sean's been hunting everything that moves. Reckless. Taking risks no sane hunter would consider. Half avenging you, half punishing himself for not stopping you from going into that gate.”

The information registered with the detached clarity that seemed to be my new normal. Sean was self-destructive. Logical, given his personality structure and past behavior patterns when facing loss. Predictable. Manageable, with proper approach.

“I need to see him,” I said.

Sterling's jaw tightened, protective instinct evident in the subtle shift of his posture. “Like I said yesterday, not until we know exactly what came back through that gate with you.”

“What do you want to know?” I asked, pragmatic rather than defensive.

“Like how did you get out?”

“I don't know,” I answered honestly. “That part is blank. The only thing I remember was waking up in Central Park.”

Sterling studied me, decades of hunter's experience reading truth and lies in equal measure. Whatever he saw in my face, he seemed to accept the limitation.

“The mark,” Sterling said, gesturing to my chest. “It's changed, hasn't it?”

I hesitated, then nodded once. “Yes. It's stronger now. More... active.”

“Show me.”

I unbuttoned my borrowed shirt, revealing the mark centered over my heart. What had once been a subtly raised scar tissue now pulsed with a dull crimson glow, the edges more defined, the pattern more complex. It no longer resembled a natural birthmark or childhood injury but something deliberately inscribed, a sigil of power burned into living flesh.

Sterling leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he studied the mark. He didn't touch it, hunter's instinct warning against direct contact with unknown supernatural elements, but his gaze was clinical, assessing.

“That's not the mark you left with,” he said finally.

“No,” I agreed.

“Any idea what it means? What it does?”

I considered the question. The mark was changing me, that much was clear. Filling the hollow spaces with... a force. A force that wasn't me, wasn't human, but wore my skin with increasing comfort.

“It gives me abilities,” I said carefully. “Enhanced strength. Speed. Senses. I can see things, supernatural things, more clearly than before.”

“At what cost?” Sterling asked, the hunter's pragmatism cutting to the heart of the matter.

I met his gaze directly. “I don't know yet. But there is one. There always is.”

Sterling nodded, accepting this fundamental truth of the supernatural world. Power never came without price. The only questions were how high and when it would come due.

“Button up,” he said finally. “We've got work to do.”