Chapter 5: The Marking

CHAPTER FIVE — THE MARKING

I don’t sleep.

Ezra doesn’t either.

We sit in the living room as the storm presses against the windows, wind clawing at the glass like a creature trying to get in. The lights flicker every few minutes, casting long, sickly shadows across Ezra’s face. He keeps glancing toward the door like something on the other side is whispering his name.

He’s restless in a way I’ve never seen.

Coiled.

Wired.

On the edge.

And the whole time… he never stops watching me.

“Aiden,” he says softly, “come closer.”

I’m already sitting beside him, but he pats the empty space right at his side, eyes dark and unblinking.

I hesitate.

Just a second.

His expression fractures—hurt, sharp, defensive all at once. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know.”

And I do. Mostly.

But fear is a slippery thing. It comes from shadows you don’t see.

I move closer.

Ezra’s shoulders ease by a fraction.

His hand rests on the back of the couch behind me—close but not touching. Like he’s holding himself back with iron restraint.

Outside, thunder cracks.

Inside, the house answers with a low, groaning creak.

Ezra tenses immediately.

“They’re still here,” he murmurs. “They haven’t left.”

“The shadows?” I whisper.

He shakes his head once. “Not shadows. Not ghosts. Something older.” His eyes lock on mine. “Something that recognizes you.”

Cold seeps down my spine.

“Why me?”

“I’ve been asking myself that since the day I met you,” he says quietly. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight. “I don’t know why you draw them. But I know I’m the only thing that stands between you and whatever they are.”

He says it like a confession.

Or a curse.

I swallow hard. “Ezra… what are you really?”

His jaw tightens. “A failure.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He gives a humorless smile. “You won’t believe the real one.”

“Try me.”

He studies me for a long moment—long enough that the tension in the room feels like a third presence. Then he reaches for my hand.

My breath stalls.

His fingers tremble as they wrap around mine, warm and cold at the same time like his blood can’t decide what temperature to settle on.

“If you want the truth,” he murmurs, “you have to let me show you.”

Something in his voice sinks into my bones.

Part warning.

Part plea.

Before I can respond, there’s a sound from upstairs.

A faint thump.

Then another.

Slow. Measured.

Like footsteps.

Ezra’s head snaps up.

He releases my hand, stands, and positions himself between me and the staircase.

“Stay here,” he orders.

“No—Ezra, we should stay together.”

His expression softens at the edges, but only barely. “I won’t let anything near you. I can deal with it faster if you’re not in the way.”

That stings.

Even if he didn’t mean it that way.

“Ezra—”

But he’s already moving, climbing the stairs in silence.

I stand too, because every instinct screams that being alone is worse. The house feels alive again, the air vibrating with a low hum, like dozens of breaths layered together.

Something shifts behind me.

I freeze.

The kitchen doorway yawns open, pitch black.

A shape stands just beyond the threshold.

Tall.

Thin.

Unmoving.

A mask glints faintly.

My pulse spikes.

“Ezra—!” I shout, stumbling backward.

Footsteps thunder down the stairs.

Ezra appears instantly, gaze snapping to me—then to the darkness behind me.

His expression changes.

Not fear.

Not anger.

Recognition.

The masked figure steps forward.

Moonlight catches the edge of his mask, revealing only the glossy black surface and the suggestion of hollow eyes beneath.

He lifts one hand slightly.

A gesture of peace.

“Don’t,” Ezra snarls, placing himself fully in front of me. His body trembles—not with fear, but with barely controlled violence. “You don’t get to come into this house.”

The masked man tilts his head, a slow, deliberate movement.

Ezra’s breathing quickens. “Aiden,” he murmurs without looking back, “go to the stairs. Slowly.”

I don’t move.

The masked man moves instead—one step, soft and soundless, toward the living room.

Ezra lunges.

It happens too fast to track—the blur of Ezra’s body, the flash of the masked man shifting aside, the shudder of impact as Ezra’s shoulder hits the wall.

Plaster cracks.

Ezra growls.

An inhuman, guttural sound.

The masked man retreats several feet, hands lifted in a non-threatening gesture. He doesn’t fight back. He doesn’t strike him. He simply stands there… watching me.

“Aiden,” he says.

My name in his voice has weight. Familiarity. Like he’s said it a thousand times before in a place I don’t remember.

Ezra freezes.

“Don’t talk to him,” he whispers, voice shaking.

The masked man tilts his head again—as if studying Ezra’s reaction, testing boundaries, learning the shape of Ezra’s protection.

Then his attention slides back to me, voice low:

“I told you not to open the door.”

Ezra explodes forward.

This time he tackles the masked man fully, both of them crashing into the dining table. Chairs splinter. Wood shatters.

“Ezra!” I cry.

The masked man slips away like smoke, evading every blow, every strike. He moves wrong—too fluid, too silent, too aware of Ezra’s next move even before Ezra makes it.

Ezra slams his fist into the floor where the masked man’s head was a moment ago, cracking the tile.

My stomach flips.

No human moves like that—not Ezra, not the masked man.

Ezra’s chest heaves, muscles taut, veins standing out beneath his skin.

The masked man finally speaks again.

Not to Ezra.

To me.

“You’re marked now.”

My breath stops.

“What?” My voice breaks. “What do you mean—?”

Ezra whirls on me. “Don’t listen to him!”

The masked man straightens, dust falling from his coat. He lifts one hand and points directly at my chest.

Not accusing.

Not threatening.

Identifying.

“You know it,” he says softly. “You’ve felt it. In the cold. In the dark. In your dreams.”

My throat tightens. “What are you talking about?”

Ezra’s voice is ragged. “Aiden, go upstairs—now.”

But I can’t move.

Because the masked man steps closer, one quiet footfall after the next, until I can almost feel the heat of his breath.

Ezra blocks him just in time.

They stand chest to chest, two forces colliding without touching.

“You can’t protect him from himself,” the masked man murmurs.

Ezra stiffens. “I can protect him from you.”

The masked man’s head shifts, just a little.

“I’m not the one he should fear.”

Ezra doesn’t flinch. “Take one more step toward him and I’ll rip that mask off your face.”

A strange silence follows.

Then the masked man whispers:

“If you do… he’ll see the truth.”

Ezra lunges.

The masked man moves faster, retreating toward the front door, footsteps silent. The door opens by itself, wind rushing in.

He steps backward into the darkness outside.

Stops.

Turns his masked face toward me one last time.

“Aiden,” he says quietly. “Don’t let him touch the mark.”

Ezra’s breath catches.

The masked man vanishes into the night as the door slams shut.

Silence swallows the house.

Ezra stands perfectly still.

Then he turns slowly—too slowly—toward me.

His expression is pale, stricken, fragile around the edges.

“Aiden,” he whispers, voice thready, “come here.”

I don’t move. My heartbeat hurts.

“What mark?” I whisper.

Ezra steps toward me, hands trembling.

“Aiden—just—come here.”

“Ezra, what mark?”

His face crumples as if I’ve stabbed him. “Please.”

I lift my shirt slightly, breath held—

And freeze.

There, over my heart, faintly glowing beneath the skin, is a shape.

A black sigil.

Thin, delicate lines spiraling inward like a brand left by something not human.

It pulses once.

Cold shoots across my ribs.

Ezra’s knees buckle.

“No,” he chokes out, catching himself on the table. “No, no, no—Aiden, when did that appear?”

“I—I don’t know—”

Ezra’s breathing breaks entirely. He staggers toward me, reaching but not touching.

“They found you,” he says, voice cracking. “They marked you.”

“Ezra, what does it mean?”

He stares at the glowing sigil like it’s killing him to look at it.

“It means,” he whispers, “you belong to something that’s coming.”

My breath falters.

The sigil pulses again.

Ezra finally touches my cheek, gently, desperately.

“Aiden,” he murmurs, voice shaking, “I swear to God, I will tear the world apart before I let them take you.”

The lights flicker.

A whisper crawls across the room.

And the sigil over my heart burns.