Chapter One: Ordinary

"You raised my rent again and you didn't even give me a reason."

Sloane stood at the counter with her arms crossed, staring down her landlord like she wasn't half his size. He hated when she did that. Good, let him hate it.

"Market rates," he muttered, not looking up from his clipboard. "Everything is going up."

"Everything isn't going up by two hundred dollars."

"Take it or leave it, Miss Calloway."

She almost laughed. Take it or leave it, as if she had somewhere else to go or anyone was lining up to help her figure out rent, or bills, or anything else that came with being twenty years old and completely on her own. She'd stopped waiting for backup a long time ago. Nobody was coming, and that was fine. She'd learned to fight her own fights.

"Fine," she said. "I'll take it. But you're fixing the heater this time."

He grunted something that wasn't quite a yes and walked off toward the back office, leaving her standing there with her jaw tight and her hands curled into fists at her sides. The little diner around her kept moving, plates clattering, someone laughing too loud in a corner booth. Her whole life had been built out of normal sounds like these. Rent arguments, double shifts. Nothing that ever made her look twice.

The bell over the door rang.

She didn't turn around at first. People came and went all day. But something about the way the air shifted made her glance up anyway, and that was when she saw him.

He was tall, dark hair, moving through the room like he was searching for someone, not her. His eyes swept past the booths, the counter, the kitchen door, like he was tracking something specific and she wasn't it. He looked tense and alert. Like a man who'd walked into the wrong place at the wrong time and knew it.

For half a second their eyes met by accident.

Sloane felt it before she understood it. A pull, sharp and sudden, like something inside her chest had been asleep for twenty years and just opened its eyes. Then the burning started.

It ripped across her collarbone like someone had pressed a hot iron straight into her skin, and she gasped, grabbing at her own throat like she could tear it off her body. She looked down and the words died in her mouth.

A mark was blooming right there under her shirt collar, glowing faint gold, curling out in a shape she had never seen before in her life. It's not a rash or a burn but something that looked like it belonged to her, like it had always been there, just waiting for a reason to show itself.

The diner went quiet around her. She could feel eyes on her from the nearby booths, but she couldn't look away from her own skin, from the light pulsing under it in time with her racing heart.

"That's not possible."

She looked up. The stranger had gone completely still, his face drained of color, staring at her collarbone like he was looking at something that should not exist in the world he knew. His hands had curled at his sides. His whole body had gone rigid, like every instinct in him was screaming at once.

"What," Sloane managed, voice shaking more than she wanted it to. "What is this? What's happening to me?"

He didn't answer. He just kept staring, and for the first time in her life, Sloane saw real fear on someone else's face, not for himself, but because of her.

"Who are you?" she demanded, backing up a step, the mark still burning faint under her collar like it hadn't finished with her yet. "What did you do to me?"

"I didn't," he started, then stopped himself, shaking his head slowly like he was trying to wake up from something. His eyes never left her skin. "I didn't do anything. This isn't, this can't be real."

"It's burning," she said, and her voice cracked right down the middle. "It's actually burning, tell me what's happening to me right now."

He took one step closer, and every person in that diner seemed to lean back at the same time, like they all felt something shift in the air even if they didn't understand it. Sloane's pulse hammered so hard she could hear it in her own ears. She didn't know this man. She had never seen him before in her life but her body was reacting to him like it had been waiting for him for twenty years, and that terrified her more than anything else that had happened so far.

His mouth opened, closed and opened again, like he couldn't muster the courage to speak.

"That's not possible," he said again, quieter this time, almost to himself, like saying it twice might make it less true. "She's not supposed to exist."