The veins didn't stop.
Ember woke to find them halfway across his shoulder. Dark lines under his skin like roots through dead wood. He counted them. Eleven. Maybe twelve. Hard to tell where one ended and another began.
His fingers wouldn't stop shaking. Hadn't stopped since the nest.
Time felt wrong here. Like it moved differently. Or maybe that was just him falling apart.
He sat up. His back hurt from the stone floor. No blankets. No padding. Just cold stone and the sound of his own breathing.
Kaelen was awake. Always awake.
"You talk in your sleep."
Ember's throat was dry.
"What did I say?"
"Numbers. Counting something."
The veins. I was counting the veins.
He wrapped the cloth around his wrist. His hands fumbled with the knot. Fingers wouldn't cooperate.
"They're spreading faster."
"I know."
"You should eat."
"I'm not hungry."
A lie. He was starving. But food made his stomach turn.
"Eat anyway."
Kaelen stood. Sat beside him.
She stared at his wrapped arm. At the glow bleeding through.
"My brother had a mark. Different from yours. Smaller. But it spread the same way."
Ember looked at her.
"He lasted six weeks. By the end, the veins reached his eyes. He couldn't see anymore. Just the mark. Just the hunger."
"What happened?"
"He walked into the dunes one night. Never came back."
She stood.
"Don't give up. You're just making it easier for the mark."
Six weeks. Her brother lasted six weeks. How much faster is mine?
He couldn't stay in the shelter. The walls felt too close.
"I need air."
"Bad idea."
"Everything's a bad idea."
Outside, the camps were different. Louder. People moved like hunters. Eyes sharp. Hands near weapons.
Ember kept his wrapped arm against his chest. Tried to walk like he belonged.
Didn't work.
A woman stared as he passed. Eyes on his arm.
She knows. They all know.
"You're the one."
Ember stopped.
A man. Older. Missing his left arm. The stump wrapped in grey cloth.
"I don't know what—"
"The nest. Thirty scavengers. The trader told everyone."
He stepped closer. Two others emerged from behind a tent. Flanking.
Three of them. Not one.
The man smiled. Wrong. Too many missing teeth.
"Marks that work are valuable."
Ember stepped back. His wrapped arm pulsed.
"I'm not interested."
"I am."
The man's hand pulled out a knife. Curved. Dirty.
The other two drew blades. Spread out.
Ember's heart slammed.
They're not asking. They're taking.
"Stay back."
The man lunged.
Ember threw himself sideways. Too slow. The blade caught his shoulder. Tore fabric. Pain flared. Hot. Sharp.
He hit the ground. Sand in his mouth. His wrapped arm blazed.
The second attacker came in. Blade aimed at his wrist.
Going to cut it off. Going to take the mark and leave me bleeding.
The mark **screamed**.
Not in sound. In *rage*.
The cloth exploded. Violet light blazed.
Ember's hand shot up. Grabbed the second man's ankle.
The mark *pulled*.
But Ember yanked his hand back. Hard. Fighting it.
"No. Not killing. Not humans."
The man stumbled. His leg grey where Ember had touched him. But alive. Gasping. Collapsing but breathing.
The first man froze. Stared at his companion writhing on the ground.
"What did you—"
Ember rolled. His hand grabbed the man's wrist. The one holding the knife.
The mark started to drink.
Ember tore his hand away. Before it could finish.
The man's wrist turned grey. He screamed. Dropped the knife. Fell backward clutching his arm.
Alive. Hurt. But alive.
The third attacker stared. Then ran.
Ember stared at his hand. Blazing violet. The mark was furious. *Hungry*.
*More. Finish. Kill.*
"No."
Two men on the ground. Grey skin spreading where he'd touched them. Gasping. Weak. But breathing.
People were staring. Dozens. Silent.
Then someone shouted.
"The marked one attacked Grevin!"
"He's draining people!"
Footsteps. Running. Multiple directions.
Ember stumbled to his feet. His shoulder screamed where the blade had cut him. Blood soaking through his shirt.
They're coming. All of them.
He ran.
The camps blurred. Tents. Fires. Faces.
Behind him, the sound of pursuit. Boots on sand. Shouts. Blades being drawn.
A figure stepped out. Blocked his path. Young. Scared. Holding a makeshift spear.
"Don't move!"
The spear jabbed at him.
Ember dodged. Barely. Grabbed the spear shaft.
The mark pulled.
Ember let go. Fast. Before it could drain him.
The young man fell. Gasping. His hands grey where they'd gripped the spear.
Alive. Hurt. Terrified. But alive.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"
More pursuers behind him. Closer.
The shelter. Where is it?
He turned. Saw the largest Spire. Ran.
A hand grabbed his injured shoulder. Pain exploded.
Ember spun. His marked hand caught the attacker's wrist. Just for a second.
The man screamed. Fell back. Clutching his grey arm.
The shelter entrance. Right there.
Wick appeared. Bow drawn. Arrow nocked.
"GET DOWN!"
Ember dropped.
The arrow flew. **Whist.** Black flame streaked over his head. Hit the ground behind his pursuers. Exploded. Fire and smoke.
The pursuers scattered.
Wick grabbed Ember's collar. Dragged him through the entrance.
Inside, Wick shoved him against the wall.
"What did you do?"
Ember couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. His hand was still blazing.
"They attacked—three of them—I touched them—hurt them—but I didn't kill. I stopped before—"
"How many?"
"Four. I hurt four people. Drained them. But they're alive."
Kaelen appeared. Saw his hand glowing. Saw the veins spreading up his arm. Darker. Angrier.
"You pulled back."
Ember nodded. Gasping.
"The mark wanted to kill them. Wanted to drink them completely. But I stopped it. I fought it."
She knelt. Examined his shoulder where the blade had cut him.
"This needs binding."
"They're still out there."
"Let them come."
She wrapped cloth around the wound. Tight. Ember hissed.
"You hurt four people but didn't kill them."
"I tried. I pulled away before the mark could finish."
"And how did that feel?"
Ember looked at his hand. The mark was furious. Raging. Unsatisfied.
*Hungry. Finish. Kill.*
"It's angry. It wanted to drain them completely. And I..."
He met Kaelen's eyes.
"Part of me wanted to let it."
Her jaw tightened.
"That's the problem."
Night fell.
Outside, the camps were loud. Voices. Arguments. Someone shouting about the marked one. About grey skin. About people left gasping in the sand.
Ember sat in the corner. Staring at his hand.
The veins had spread further. To his collarbone. Visible through his shirt.
Four people. I hurt four people today. Drained them. Left them grey and gasping.
But alive. They're alive.
And the mark hated him for it.
*Weak. Foolish. Should have fed.*
"I'm fighting it."
Kaelen was awake. Always awake.
"For now."
"What does that mean?"
"It means the mark is getting stronger. And you're getting weaker. How long can you keep pulling away?"
Ember didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
Outside, beyond the Spires:
**THOOM.**
Closer than before.
The Reaper.
The mark pulsed.
*Recognition.*
"It's waiting for me to stop fighting."
Wick looked up from his bow.
"Yes."
"What happens when I can't pull away anymore?"
"Then you become what the Reaper's been waiting for."
The mark pulsed again. Furious. Hungry. Unsatisfied.
And this time, Ember heard it.
Not a whisper. Not a feeling.
A voice. Quiet. Patient. *Disappointed.*
*Soon. You will stop resisting. Soon.*