Kael didn't move for several long seconds, staring at the street that had suddenly returned to normal. Cars rolled past, lights hummed steadily, and ordinary life continued as if nothing had happened. The hum of electricity filled the air once more, comforting and yet somehow alien after the blackout.
But Kael couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't alone. The shadow from the blackout, tall and impossibly thin, had followed him home. Its presence lingered at the edge of his mind, a weight pressing just beyond sight.
He pulled up the sleeve of his jacket and stared at the black lines on his forearm. They pulsed faintly, curling subtly beneath the skin, as if alive. The warmth running along them was unsettling, almost electric, yet strangely compelling. It made the hairs on his arms stand on end. He flexed his fingers, watching as the lines shifted slightly, responding to him, almost communicating.
A soft scratching sound at the window made him jump. He froze, listening. Outside, the city was quiet and ordinary again, but the lines on his arm throbbed sharply, like a warning he didn't understand. He pressed his back against the wall and sat down slowly, breathing fast.
Minutes stretched into hours. Kael didn't sleep. Every shadow in the room seemed heavier, as if it carried awareness. Each creak of the floorboards, the faint buzz of a lightbulb, even the flutter of his curtains in the breeze amplified his anxiety. The mark pulsed sporadically, spreading subtly toward his elbow, curling and twisting like living ink.
By the time the first hints of dawn colored the sky, Kael had made a decision. He couldn't ignore the mark. Whatever had come with the blackout had chosen him, and it wasn't finished. The lines on his arm seemed to pulse in agreement—or perhaps warning.
He leaned back against the wall, staring at his arm. Fear and curiosity churned in equal measure. The shadow hadn't left. And somehow, he knew it was only a matter of time before it acted.