Page 5

5

JACKSON

W e’re halfway down the block when I feel it.

A sharp sting at the base of my neck—just below the collar—and then this... heat. Like something’s pressing a brand into my spine. I stumble, catching myself on a brick wall as my vision flashes white for a second.

“Shit,” I mutter, blinking. “What the hell...”

Sera turns fast. One second she’s walking, the next she’s at my side, her hands hovering over me like she’s deciding if touching me will make it worse.

“What’s wrong?”

“I—I don’t know. Neck feels like it’s on fire. You tell me, you’re the magical one here.”

She doesn’t correct me. That’s the first red flag.

The second is how her face goes cold.

Not blank. Not guarded. Cold.

Like someone just pulled the floor out from under her.

“Take your jacket off,” she says.

Her voice is tight. Clipped.

I don’t argue. Not with that tone. I shrug out of my coat and pull my shirt down to show her the spot that’s burning like hell.

She leans in.

Breath held.

“Fuck,” she whispers.

Not good.

“What?” I ask. “Is it, like, a supernatural tick bite? Do I need a vaccine? A tetanus shot?”

She ignores me.

Her fingers hover just above my skin. “There were four attackers,” she says slowly. “We saw three drop.”

“Wait—one got away?”

“Not got away. Vanished. That sigil on your back—it’s a brand. Magical in origin. It was planted on you deliberately.”

“Well that’s fucking comforting.”

She looks around, jaw tight. Then she grabs my arm.

“We’re leaving.”

“I mean, that was already the plan?—”

“No,” she snaps. “We’re not going back to PEACE headquarters. Not to your apartment. We’re going somewhere... private.”

There’s something in her voice I don’t recognize.

Panic.

And that’s the third red flag.

We end up in an industrial district on the outskirts of the city, where the warehouses don’t belong to corporations—they belong to secrets. Seraphine drives us down an alley that looks like it hasn't seen sunlight in a decade and pulls into a side lot that’s completely unmarked.

She mutters something under her breath—too fast for me to catch—and the wall in front of us shimmers and vanishes like smoke on glass. Behind it, a narrow garage opens up with a small steel door set into the far wall.

“What is this place?”

“Mine,” she says. “Don’t ask how.”

Inside, the air is cooler. Cleaner, somehow. Like a layer of the city got stripped off the second the door closed behind us. There’s a faint scent of herbs—sage, pine, something electric.

A woman’s waiting for us.

Tall. Bronze skin. Gray streaks in thick black braids. Eyes like dark moons. She wears leather pants and a crimson tunic that looks like it belongs in a cult or a runway show. Could go either way.

“Sera,” the woman says. “This better be good.”

“He’s been marked,” Seraphine replies.

The woman glances at me. Looks unimpressed.

“Human?”

“Unfortunately,” Sera mutters.

“Still has all his teeth?”

“Barely.”

“I can work with that.”

She gestures for me to sit on the low table in the center of the room. Everything in here is soft light and polished stone. No medical equipment. Just rows of herbs, glass jars, a single mirror, and a black bowl full of saltwater.

“Name’s Hessa,” she says as she circles me. “Hold still. This is going to hurt.”

“How much—” I start to ask, but then her fingers press to the base of my neck and fuck.

My spine lights up. Feels like someone’s jamming live wires into my back and pouring ice water down the nerves. I hiss, clench my fists, try not to leap off the table.

“Talk to me, Cole,” Seraphine says, suddenly right in front of me. “Stay conscious.”

I try to focus on her face, but everything’s blurring at the edges.

“You... you got really big eyes,” I mumble.

She scowls. “He’s losing coherence.”

“Good sign,” Hessa mutters, totally unbothered. “Means the mark’s reacting. It’s not permanent yet.”

“Yet?” I grind out.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “If it were permanent, you’d already be dead.”

Great.

Love that for me.

The pressure eases. My breath evens out.

When I can finally lift my head again, I realize I’m drenched in sweat.

“Next time someone says we’re ‘just investigating a lead,’ remind me to wear a hazmat suit.”

“Shut up,” Seraphine says, but it’s not cruel. It’s... weary.

She leans against the wall, arms folded tight across her chest like she’s trying to hold something in.

“What was that thing?” I ask. “The mark?”

“A locator,” Hessa replies, rinsing her hands in the saltwater bowl. “Tied to blood. Might’ve even tried to bind to your soul if it had fully set. Whoever placed it meant to track you. Or use you.”

“Use me?”

“Human anchor. Very old magic. Most witches won’t touch it. Too dangerous. Too unstable.”

“Which means someone powerful enough to know how and desperate enough to try.”

Hessa nods.

Sera looks away.

“So,” I say slowly, “you brought me to your secret healer. One who works with magic the rest of your world pretends doesn’t exist.”

“She owes me,” Sera replies.

I glance at her. “You risked exposing yourself for this.”

She meets my eyes. “You were marked. I couldn’t trust PEACE. Or anyone else.”

That hits harder than I expect.

I swallow, flexing my fingers.

“So,” I say, trying to fill the silence, “we’re partners now, huh?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I just had your mystical friend pull a demon GPS out of my spine. Pretty sure that makes us trauma bonded.”

She actually laughs. Just a short breath, but it’s real.

I’d call that progress.

But then she straightens, expression shifting back to steel.

“This changes everything,” she says. “Someone’s not just targeting the supernatural anymore. They’re using humans. Maybe for power. Maybe for politics. But it means you’re in this now, whether I like it or not.”

“Good,” I mutter. “Would’ve been pissed if I went through all that screaming for nothing.”

She smirks. “You didn’t scream.”

“Damn right I didn’t.”

She steps closer, then pauses. Like she wants to say something else. But instead she just nods.

“We’re not done.”

“I figured.”

She glances at Hessa. “Burn the residual. I want the sigil dust analyzed.”

“And the boy?”

“He comes with me.”

“Try not to get him killed,” Hessa says.

“No promises,” Sera replies.

And I follow her out, marked, bruised, and maybe starting to see the truth in the shadows she walks through.