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The mark pulsed steadily, like a second heartbeat. Whatever had claimed me that night, whatever plans the First had, they were about to learn that some pawns could fight back.

And we had a Prince of Hell to hunt.

19

MARK OF THE PAST

City lights painted shadows across my apartment walls, turning familiar spaces into something darker, more uncertain. Sean sat across from me, elbows on knees, hands clasped tight enough to whiten knuckles. The events in Sterling's office still hung between us, heavy with implications neither of us had been ready to face.

“Tell me everything,” Sean said finally.

I stood, needing to move, to put space between us before his intensity cracked what little control I had left. The mark on my chest throbbed steadily, like it knew we were finally confronting what I'd spent years avoiding.

“I don't,” I started, then stopped, running a hand through my hair. “Most of it's just fragments. Impressions. The snow was falling. My parents were already...” I swallowed hard. “There was a voice. In my head, maybe. Or everywhere. It asked if I wanted to live.”

“And you said yes.” His voice wasn't accusatory, just stating a fact.

“I said yes.” The admission felt like betrayal, though I couldn't say of what. “That's all I remember clearly. Everything else is just darkness. Cold. Pain.”

Sean watched me pace, his eyes tracking every movement with hunter's focus. “But that's not all, is it?”

I moved to my desk, unlocking the bottom drawer with hands that barely shook. The leather journal inside was worn smooth from years of handling, its pages stuffed with loose notes and sketches. Evidence of an obsession I'd never quite been able to explain.

“I started keeping track when I was young with my best friend Kai and his father Leo,” I said, setting the journal between us like a confession. “Every strange dream, every unexplained incident. I tried to approach it methodically, find patterns in the chaos.”

Sean opened the journal carefully, like he understood the weight of what I was sharing. His expression shifted as he flipped through pages of detailed sketches of creatures glimpsed in shadows, notes on supernatural patterns, symbols that had haunted me since childhood.

“You've been tracking things connected to this mark for years,” he said softly. “Long before you joined CITD.”

“I had to.” The words came out sharper than intended. I resumed pacing, unable to stay still under his scrutiny. “I didn't have a choice. Every answer I got just led to more questions. Every pattern I found suggested something bigger, something I couldn't quite...”

“Couldn't quite what?” Sean pressed, and there was something almost gentle in his tone that made it worse. “What were you really looking for, Cade?”

“I don't know!” I spun to face him, control finally fraying. “Answers? Understanding? Some logical explanation why I survived when my parents didn't? Why I can see things otherpeople can't? Why every supernatural creature we encounter looks at me like they know something I don't?” My analytical mind had been searching for patterns for so long, and still I had nothing concrete.

Sean stood in one fluid motion, closing the distance between us. “Or maybe you were looking for the truth about what owns you.”

“No one owns me.” The denial was automatic, defensive.

“The mark says different.” His hand reached for my chest, not quite touching where the sigil burned beneath my shirt. “Whatever saved you that night, whatever gave you this power, it wasn't charity, Cade. These kinds of gifts always come with a price. Nothing's ever free in this business.”

I knocked his hand away, anger and fear and something else making my voice raw. “What do you want me to say? That I'm afraid of what I am? That every time this thing burns, every time it reacts to something we're hunting, I wonder if I'm becoming one of them? If my research is leading me somewhere I don't want to go?”

“I want you to stop pretending you can handle this alone.” Sean caught my wrist, his grip firm but careful. “Stop acting like you've got everything under control when we both know you're barely holding on. You can't research your way out of everything.”

The contact sent electricity through my skin, the mark flaring in response. Sean's eyes widened slightly, he'd felt it too, that surge of power neither of us understood.

“I can't,” my voice caught. “I can't let go, Sean. The moment I do, the moment I really think about what this means...”

“Then what?” His other hand came up to cup my face, the gesture startlingly gentle for someone who killed monsters for a living. “The world ends? Reality breaks? Or maybe you just finally admit you need someone in your corner?”

“I have people in my corner,” I protested, but it sounded weak even to me.

“You have people you protect,” he corrected. “People you help. People you'd die for without hesitation. But when's the last time you let someone protect you? You can't always be the responsible one, Agent.”

“That's rich, coming from you. Mr. 'Kill-first-ask-questions-never.' You think everything's so simple, don't you? Just black and white, monsters and humans? You don't even try to understand what we're dealing with.”

“At least I'm honest about what I am.” Sean's voice rose to match mine. “I don't hide behind badges and bureaucracy, pretending I'm not neck-deep in this world. At least I don't pretend I can analyze my way out of everything.”