Naelii woke to fluorescent light and the smell of bleach.
The Guild clinic was cold, all glass and white tile. A hum filled the air—machines monitoring things she didn't want to name. Her left wrist burned. When she looked down, a dampener ring blinked softly against her skin.
"Don't move," a voice said. "You'll make me regret keeping you breathing."
The medic was red-haired, her hands precise and bored. "Name's Mira," she said. "You don't have a mark, but you dropped a monster. That makes you interesting and dangerous. Mostly dangerous."
"I didn't mean to," Naelii croaked.
"Intent rarely matters."
Kade leaned against the far wall, his rune-mark pulsing faintly. "She's not lying."
"She's also not normal," Mira said. "You sure about bringing her in?"
Kade didn't answer. His eyes never left Naelii's arm.
"What did it say to you?" he asked softly.
Naelii hesitated. The memory of that voice was still carved inside her bones. "It called me child."
Mira froze mid-motion. "Ink doesn't talk like that."
"I know," Naelii whispered. "It said we belong to the same wound."
Silence filled the room like smoke. Mira's face went still. "That's not a mark," she said. "That's a problem."
Outside, alarms pulsed faintly in the distance—Audit officers combing for anomalies. Kade's jaw tightened. "We log her as latent activation," he said. "Observation only."
"That's a fancy word for cover-up," Mira muttered.
"I'm good at those," Kade said.
Naelii looked between them. "What happens if you log me?"
"You disappear," Mira said. "They'll test you, tag you, break you down to code."
Naelii swallowed hard. "And if I don't?"
"Then you run," Kade said. "With me."
Mira gave him a sharp look. "You can't protect her from Audit forever."
"Don't need forever," Kade said. "Just long enough to find answers."
Naelii's voice was barely a whisper. "Why me?"
He studied her. "Because whatever that was—it knew you."
Mira sighed. "You've got ten minutes before Audit knocks on my door. Take your miracle and get out."
Kade unclipped the heavy dampener and replaced it with a thinner, field-grade band. "Try not to explode," he said.
Naelii slid off the cot. Her knees shook, but she stood.
The hallway outside was quiet except for the low buzz of lights. Aris waited near the door, arms crossed, vine-tattoo dimmed to a faint green. "Audit's on their way," they said. "You owe me for this."
"Add it to my tab," Kade replied.
They slipped into the corridor. Twice they had to duck into shadow while Audit officers passed. Naelii's pulse synced with the faint flicker of the dampener. The thing inside her coiled tighter, restless.
Down, she thought. Please.
It obeyed.
They reached the service door. Kade keyed the lock, and heat poured in like breath. The Mojave night had teeth.
"Where are we going?" Naelii asked.
"Old Quarter," Kade said. "Somewhere the Guild doesn't own."
They moved fast through the alleys. The city hummed with neon and rot—billboards promising power, the stink of burned ink in the air. Naelii's body ached, but adrenaline kept her upright.
At one point, Kade glanced back. "What did you pray for?"
Naelii hesitated. "To not die."
He gave a low hum of approval. "That's a good prayer. I've used it myself."
They reached the edge of the sunken tracks—old rails swallowed by sand and time. A derelict train car sat half-buried, charms hanging from its roof like dead stars.
Kade stopped and knocked. A slit opened. An eye, pale and sharp. "No Guilds," a voice rasped.
"Not Guild," Kade said. "Worse."
The slit widened. A woman stood inside—scarred, her throat inked with constellations that shifted when she moved.
"Bring her in," the woman said. "And pay at the door."
Kade handed over a chipped credit. "We're not buying answers," he said. "We're buying time."
The woman's gold tooth flashed. "Then sit."
Inside was a shrine of shadows—incense, charms, old copper. Naelii sat on a low cushion across from the woman, heartbeat pounding against the dampener's pulse.
"What did the Gate give you, little Not-Inked?" the woman asked.
"Something that knew my name before I did," Naelii said.
The woman nodded slowly. "Then look."
She set a bowl of water between them. The surface gleamed like glass. Naelii leaned over it—and gasped. Her reflection rippled. A dark crescent swam beneath her face, rising like a moon drowned in ink.
Her reflection opened its mouth.
The room seemed to breathe.
"Tell me its name," the woman whispered.
Naelii stared. "It doesn't have one," she said. "Only the memory of one."
The woman's expression tightened. "Then we are already late."
Kade stepped closer. "What is it?"
The woman's voice dropped, reverent and afraid. "A Returner. A mark from before marks. A god that was killed, and learned how to be a wound instead."
Naelii froze. The air went cold. Under her ribs, the thing uncoiled, stretching along her spine like a blade remembering its edge.
"Good," it breathed. "Finally, someone remembers."