Chapter 6

                                                                          The Mark

Nell didn't sleep.

She sat on her bed with her palm facing the moonlight, watching the crescent mark glow faintly in the dark. It wasn't painful anymore. Just warm. Present. Like a second heartbeat under her skin.

She touched it with her other hand. The skin was smooth. No raised edges. No scar. Just a pale crescent that hadn't been there this morning.

Where did you come from?

The mark didn't answer.

But somewhere in the house, she heard footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Pacing.

Lena's footsteps. She knew them now.

Nell pulled her sleeve over her palm and lay down.

She didn't close her eyes.

The next morning, Nell wrapped her hand in a strip of cloth before going downstairs.

She didn't know why. The mark wasn't ugly or scary. But she didn't want Lena to see it. Didn't want anyone to see it. The mark felt private. Secret. Like something she wasn't supposed to have.

Breakfast was quiet.

Finn was drawing on a piece of paper. Rue was staring out the window. Caleb was pouring tea like a ghost.

Lena sat at the head of the table, watching Nell.

"You're quiet this morning," Lena said.

"I'm always quiet."

"You're quieter."

Nell tore a piece of bread into small pieces. "Didn't sleep well."

"Bad dreams?"

Nell thought about the mark. The photograph. The name Elara circling her head like a ghost.

"Something like that."

Lena reached across the table and touched Nell's wrapped hand. "What happened to your hand?"

"I bumped it."

"Let me see."

"It's fine."

Lena's eyes flickered. Just for a second. "Let me see, Nell."

Nell pulled her hand back. "I said it's fine."

The table went silent.

Finn stopped drawing. Rue stopped staring out the window. Caleb's hand froze mid-pour.

Lena smiled. It didn't reach her eyes.

"Of course," she said. "My apologies."

She went back to her tea.

But her eyes kept drifting to Nell's wrapped hand.

After breakfast, Nell went to the garden.

Silas was there, carving another bird. He looked up when she approached and his eyes went straight to her wrapped hand.

Nell sat beside him. Unwrapped her palm.

The crescent mark glowed faintly in the morning light.

Silas stared at it. His hands went still.

"What is it?" Nell asked.

He didn't answer. He just kept staring.

"Silas. What is it?"

He picked up his stick and wrote in the dirt.

When did this appear?

"Last night. I went to bed and it wasn't there. I woke up and it was."

Did anyone touch you?

Nell thought about it. "Lena touched my hand yesterday. At breakfast."

Silas's eyes widened.

"She said she was just being friendly."

Silas wrote. No one touches you without reason.

"What does that mean?"

He looked at her for a long moment. Then wrote.

It means she marked you.

"Marked me for what?"

Silas erased the words. Wrote again.

For belonging.

Nell stared at the words. Her blood went cold.

"I don't belong to anyone."

Silas nodded slowly. Then wrote.

She doesn't know that yet.

That afternoon, Nell avoided Lena.

She stayed in her room. Sat on her bed. Stared at the mark on her palm.

For belonging.

She thought about the photograph. Elara. The woman with her eyes who died in this house.

She thought about the voice in the basement. The chains. The way he said  ‘this isn't a shelter, it's a cage.’

She thought about Silas's hands trembling when he wrote Lena.

Something was very wrong in Haven House.

And she was starting to think Lena was the reason.

That night, Nell pressed her ear to the floorboards.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"I'm here," she whispered.

"You came back." The voice was weaker than before. A thread.

"Always."

A pause. Chains rattled.

"Your voice sounds different," the voice said. "Something changed."

Nell looked at her palm. The mark glowed.

"Something did change," she said. "But I don't know what."

"You will."

"How do you know?"

A long pause.

"Because I can feel it," the voice said. "Even down here. Even in the dark. I can feel you changing."

"Who are you?"

Silence.

"Please," Nell whispered. "Who are you?"

Footsteps in the hallway.

Not fast. Slow. Coming closer.

The voice didn't answer.

"Go," it said.

"No …"

"GO."

The door opened.

Lena stood in the doorway. No candle. No light. Just her silhouette, black against the dark hallway.

"You talk in your sleep every night," Lena said.

Nell's heart pounded. "Bad dreams."

"Same bad dream every night?"

Nell nodded.

Lena walked into the room. Sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped.

"What do you dream about?"

Nell thought fast. "My parents. The night they died."

Lena was quiet for a moment. Then she reached out and touched Nell's wrapped hand.

"You never told me how they died."

"There's nothing to tell. They died. I was alone."

Lena's fingers traced the cloth wrapped around Nell's palm.

"We're alike, you and me," Lena said. "Both alone. Both searching for something."

"What are you searching for?"

Lena smiled in the dark. "Family."

She stood up. Walked to the door. Paused.

"Get some sleep, Nell. Tomorrow is a new day."

She left.

Nell lay in the dark, her heart racing, her mark burning.

She didn't sleep at all.