A rattle. I hold my breath. The door trembles.
— Who's there?
Silence. A harsher scrape. My hand grips my side, pain pulsing. The Mark shivers beneath my skin, impatient. I smother it.
— You really think you can sneak in quietly? The soldiers are prowling.
A sharp rasp. The handle turns. My throat tightens. I back up, stumble against the wall. The smell of the fog still clings to my clothes.
— Open, quick! whispers a voice from the other side. They're changing the watch in a moment.
— Why help me? Who do you work for?
No answer. The door cracks open, just enough for an eye to peek through. I make out a figure, hood low.
— I don't have time. Take this.
A hand slips a small vial through the gap. Dark liquid. I frown.
— What is it?
— You want to survive the Mark? Drink. It slows the awakening. You don't want it to eat you, do you?
The Mark growls, wary. I feel cold metal press against my wound. I don't trust it, but the pain gnaws at me.
— Why help me? Say it!
— Fewer questions. Drink, or give it back.
I stare at the liquid. My heartbeat hammers in my temples.
— If I drink, you'll let me out?
— No. Not yet. I'll return when the guard changes. Thirty heartbeats, not one more.
I close my eyes. I swallow a mouthful. A taste of iron, of bark. My throat burns. I stagger, the world sways. The Mark recoils, furious. My wound throbs harder.
— It'll pass, the voice whispers. The Mark hates it. It'll want revenge when the effect fades.
— What's your aim? You want me dead?
— I want to see if you endure. There's no way out otherwise.
The door slams shut. I curl up, knees to chest. My hands tremble.
Footsteps in the hall. A different rattle, not the same rhythm. The Captain?
— Still alive, sorcerer? growls a voice outside.
— For now.
The pain spreads, but duller. The Mark snarls, lurking. I feel it waiting, like an animal starved of meat.
— Want to get out of here? You'll have to pay. You know the rules.
I rise, step toward the door.
— I've already paid. Blood, time, pain.
A burst of laughter.
— Not enough. Nothing here is free. Show me what your Mark can really do.
I shut my eyes. The Mark pulses. I let it creep to the surface, just a sliver. My skin glows faintly green. The burn climbs my arm.
— Now that's a show. You could heal, you could kill… but you won't let go.
— If I let it out, it'll devour me. You want to see that?
A pause. I hold my breath.
— Maybe, he breathes, lower. We'll see tomorrow, Tracer.
Footsteps fade. I collapse, gasping. The Mark snarls, ramming against my skull.
Again, that scrape. The lock. The secret visitor returns already—or someone else?
I strain my ears. My heart pounds.
The door trembles. A new voice, rough, hissing:
— You won't last until tomorrow…