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ECHOES IN THE BONE

CADE

I stood in a dimly lit hallway, its walls shifting like smoke caught in a breeze, never quite settling into solidity.

The floorboards beneath my feet seemed to stretch out impossibly far ahead, warping perspective like a funhouse mirror.

The air felt thick, almost syrupy as I tried to move through it.

This place... I knew it. The faded wallpaper with its floral pattern, the creaking third step on the staircase to my right, the faint smell of cinnamon that always lingered in the air.

My childhood home. But wrong, distorted, as if viewed through rippling water.

The doors along the corridor were too narrow, stretched tall like the entrance to a mausoleum.

The ceiling hung too low, pressing down with a weight I could almost feel.

Voices whispered through the walls. Fragments of conversations floated past me like debris in a current.

“...never should have brought him back...”

“...the mark is spreading...”

“...can't contain what's inside him much longer...”

I turned, trying to follow the sounds, but they came from everywhere and nowhere at once. A soft click made me freeze. One of the doors had swung open, just a crack. A sliver of red light spilled out, painting a thin line across the warped floorboards.

My feet moved toward it without conscious thought, drawn by some pull I couldn't resist. The door creaked as I pushed it wider, the sound unnaturally loud in the whispering corridor.

The room beyond was my old bedroom, but like the hallway, everything was wrong. Where my bed should have been stood a tall, ornate mirror in a frame of twisted metal that resembled vines... or perhaps bones. I approached it cautiously, my reflection coming into view.

Only it wasn't quite my reflection.

The figure that stared back had my face, my build, wore my clothes... but its eyes were black, flickering with embers like a dying fire. Dark veins pulsed beneath its skin, spreading like ink through water, a web of corruption that seemed to be consuming it from within.

I stopped, but my reflection continued moving, tilting its head with a curious smirk that twisted my features into someone I didn't recognize.

“Did you think you could come back whole?” it asked, my voice but with something else layered beneath it, a rasping, guttural undertone that made my skin crawl.

I stepped back, but the reflection's hand shot forward, slamming against the glass from the inside. The mirror shattered with a sound like a thousand screaming voices, shards exploding outward, slicing through the air toward me.

The room twisted, shifted, reality folding in on itself.

I was suddenly on my knees, heat engulfing me.

Flames licked at my skin, but they didn't burn—they seemed almost to caress, to welcome.

The air was thick with the scent of burning flesh, the crackle of fire a constant, terrible music.

Someone was screaming. Was it me? I couldn't tell anymore.

Hands clawed at my shoulders, my back, my legs, pulling me deeper into the inferno. Through the smoke and the haze, dozens of black eyes watched, hungry, eager.

“Your rightful place,” a voice whispered, so close it could have been inside my head. “Where you belong.”

“No,” I tried to say, but my mouth filled with ash. “This isn't me.”

“Cade!” Another voice cut through the roar of the flames, familiar, desperate. “You have to wake up!”

A light flashed, blindingly bright against the red-orange glow of the fire.

A hand grabbed my wrist, yanking me upward, away from the clutching fingers and hungry flames.

I stumbled, gasping for air that wasn't saturated with smoke and suffering.

The pain lingered, phantom burns that throbbed with each heartbeat.

As my vision cleared, I looked up to see who had pulled me from the fire. Someone was stood over me, immaculate in his dark suit, not a hair out of place. He tilted his head, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“See you soon,” he said softly.

Everything collapsed into blackness.

I gasped awake, sitting up so fast my vision swam with floating dark spots. My heart pounded against my ribs like it was trying to break free. Sweat soaked body, cold against feverish skin. For a moment, I was disoriented, the nightmare still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.

Sean's bedroom. I was in Sean's bed in his warehouse. The familiar sight of his weapons on the wall, the ancient books stacked on the nightstand, the faded band posters he insisted on keeping... it should have been comforting. Instead, I felt like an intruder, like I didn't belong here anymore.

The dream was already slipping away, details blurring and fading with each passing second, but the feeling—it was still in my blood. A sense of wrongness, of corruption, of something alien shifting beneath my skin.

I ran a hand over my chest, feeling clammy skin, my pulse hammering where the mark rested.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed myself out of bed.

The floor was cool beneath my bare feet, grounding me somewhat in reality.

I grabbed fresh clothes from the duffle I'd brought over and headed for the shower.

I needed to be clear-headed. We had a war meeting to attend, and I couldn't afford to be distracted by nightmares or the strange sensation that had taken up residence in my chest since my soul had been returned.

As the hot water pounded against my back, I tried to piece together what I knew. My soul was back where it belonged. That should have been a good thing. So why did I feel so... contaminated? Like there was a stain spreading through me that no amount of scrubbing could remove?

I shut off the water with more force than necessary, the pipes groaning in protest. No time for existential crises. There was a job to do.

I had a war to prepare for.

I stepped into Sean's makeshift war room, my hair still damp from the shower.

The space was cluttered with maps, ancient tomes, and weapons spread across a large table that dominated the center.

Everyone was already there—Sean leaning against the wall, arms crossed; Sterling in a chair at the head of the table, nursing what looked like whiskey despite the early hour; Hawk examining some papers, Skye bent over their laptop, fingers flying over the keys, and Cassiel was sitting with Roxie on his lap.

All conversation stopped as I entered. Five pairs of eyes turned to me, and I felt uncomfortably exposed, like they could see right through me to the shadows writhing beneath my skin.

Sean was at my side in an instant, moving with that fluid grace that always made me a little envious. “You good?” he asked, voice low, eyes searching my face with barely concealed worry.

I nodded, not trusting my voice. I wasn't—not by a long shot—but I didn't want to talk about it now, not with everyone watching. Clearing my throat, I asked, “What's going on?”

Sean hesitated, his hand twitching like he wanted to touch me but thought better of it. Finally, he said, “Hawk may have found the last seal.”

That got my full attention. “Where?”

Sterling leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking ominously. He looked tired, the kind of bone-deep weariness that comes from too many battles and not enough victories. His cap was pulled low over his eyes, but I could still feel his sharp gaze assessing me.

“Before we get into that,” he said gruffly, “where's the angel? Figure he'd want to be in on this, considering he's been breathing down our necks about these seals for months.”

Hawk straightened in his chair, eyes sharpening. “So where is the angel Sterling mentioned.”

Sean sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose in a gesture I recognized as his 'I already regret everything about this conversation' face. Then he tilted his head back slightly and called out, “Cassiel.”

The air in the room shifted, a subtle change in pressure that made my ears pop. In an instant, Cassiel was there, appearing between the weapon-strewn table and the wall of arcane texts. His trench coat was as rumpled as ever, his tie askew, but his eyes were sharp and alert.

Hawk nearly tipped his chair over, scrambling backward with a string of colorful curses. “What the fuck,” he managed when he'd regained his balance. “A little warning next time?”

“My apologies,” Cassiel said, though his tone suggested he wasn't particularly sorry. His gaze found me immediately, and I felt a strange pull in my chest, like the mark was responding to his presence.

“Now that the gang's all here,” Sterling drawled, “maybe we can get down to business.”

Hawk, still eyeing Cassiel warily, spread a map across the table.

“Right. So like Sean said, I think I found the last seal.” He pointed to a location marked in red.

“It's here in New York, in an old subway station that's been abandoned since the 60s.

It's deep underground, beneath what used to be a holding facility for supernatural entities.

Place has been sealed off for decades, but I've been tracking some weird energy readings around it.

Plus, there's been a spike in demonic omens in the area—cattle deaths, electrical storms, the whole nine yards.”

“You sure it's the seal and not just regular demon activity?” Sean asked, leaning over to study the map.

Hawk shrugged. “As sure as I can be without walking in there myself. Which, given what happened to the last team that tried, I'm not eager to do.”

“What happened to them?” I asked, a sense of dread pooling in my stomach.

“They went in, never came out,” Hawk said simply. “Communications just... stopped. That was three days ago.”

Skye, who had been quiet until now, tapped away at their laptop. “I can track the energy signature, see if it matches what we know about the other seals. But it's not instant. I'll need time to run the algorithms.”

Sean nodded sharply. “Start now. We don't have time to waste.”