Page 55 of Ashen Souls

I had slept, and technically my body was rested. But the physical void he left behind felt like a fresh wound.

A sharp, burning prickle flared along my left wrist.

It wasn't painful, just pointed enough to demand my attention. I lifted my hand into the morning light, trying to process what I was looking at.

The mark on my wrist had changed. It was no longer an uneven patch of damaged tissue. It was no longer healing the way human skin should.

The edges had sharpened.

Intricate, deliberate lines spidered outward from the center, as if something beneath the flesh was actively carving its way out.

I dragged my thumb across the marred skin. The pulse beneath the surface surged, rising eagerly to meet my touch.

A fragmented image flashed through my periphery.

Ash.

Copper.

A geometry I almost recognized.

Almost.

I stared at it for one second longer, then yanked the cuff of my shirt down, hiding it as if the mark itself might be watching me.

I swallowed the rising nausea and slammed a mental door on the panic. The mutating glyph was a problem for later, preferably for a version of me running on more than five hours of sleep.

Right now, the only priority was daylight.

And caffeine.

Careful not to wake Harper, I eased off the mattress, pulled on a pair of leggings and a sweater, and stole down the cramped, creaking flight leading to the ground floor. The aroma of roasted espresso and burnt sugar hit me the second I opened the street door.

By the time I returned with a paper bag of pastries and two dark roasts, the apartment pipes were rattling. Harper was in the shower. There was no sound carrying through the door, only the unceasing, punishing rush of water.

When she finally emerged, I had already set the small table with our breakfast. Her towel-dried hair was piled haphazardly on her head, and she was engulfed by one of my oversized T-shirts. She sank into the chair opposite me, clasping both hands around the cardboard cup like it was the only thing keeping her rooted to the floor.

“God,” Harper muttered, lowering the cup. “I feel like I went ten rounds with the concrete.”

“You look like someone who survived it,” I answered.

She let out a harsh, scraped sound that barely qualified as a laugh. She shredded the edge of her croissant, reducing it to crumbs she made no move to eat. “You know what the ultimate punchline is? I actually thought this one was safe. He’s a law student, Aves. Clean haircut, expensive cologne, parents in local politics. A total departure from my usual walking red flags.”

I stopped moving, my coffee halfway to my mouth. “Wait. You mean Thomas? Thomas from Contracts?”

Harper clenched her teeth, her fingers tightening to reveal the livid, forming bruises around her wrists. “Yes. The golden boy with the Rolex and the rehearsed smile. He asked me out last week, and I thought, why not? Let's try stability for once. He opened doors. Paid for the overpriced dinner. Laughed at my jokes. He was the perfect gentleman.” Her voice went flat. “Right up until I told him the night was over.”

“What exactly did he do?”

“At first? He just laughed. Like my boundaries were just part of the flirtation. Then he escalated: pinning me against the upholstery, hands everywhere, whispering absolute filth. I had to claw my way out of his grip. When I finally broke his hold, he looked at me like I was garbage. Called me a tease. Then he shoved me out onto the curb and peeled off in his precious BMW.”

My fingers curled into fists under the table, my nails biting into my palms. “Harp, you have to report him. We’ll go to the station. Now.”

Harper shook her head, staring at the cardboard sleeve of her coffee.

“To who, Aves? The campus security? The local precinct?” She looked up. “Thomas is a top-tier law student. He knows exactly where the lines are drawn and how to blur them. His father is practically on a first-name basis with the city council. In their world, he’s a future star of the bar association, and I’m just... a girl who had too many drinks and changed her mind too late.”

Her fingers tightened around the cup until the cardboard buckled. “The law doesn't protect people like me from people like him. The system is built to keep him untouchable. Reporting him wouldn't be justice. It would be social suicide.”