Marked in the Middle

Some jobs are simple. Clean. No mess. Get in, find the thing, grab your cash, bounce. I like those jobs. I live for those jobs. But this one? Nah. This one felt off the second it popped into my inbox.

No hello. No details. Just a name I didn’t know—Milo Deen—and a ridiculous offer to track down a pendant. No backstory. No photo. No reason someone like me should even be on this guy’s radar. That was the first red flag. The second? He mentioned the Silver Ash Pack. Yeah... those wolves don’t lose things. And they sure as hell don’t call up lone rogues like me for help.

Still, money’s money, and rent was due yesterday.

I was slouched in my usual booth at Gray’s Diner, half-finished coffee in hand, phone screen glowing while the old ceiling fan tried its best to cool the heat off my neck. The place was dead quiet except for someone arguing over the phone in the back and the soft buzz of neon lights that made everyone look a little more tired than they were.

I read the message again, squinting. “Locate pendant. No questions. Payment upfront.”

Too clean. Too easy. It was like someone holding out candy with one hand and hiding a knife behind their back with the other.

I slid out of the booth, shoved my phone in my jacket, and dropped a few wrinkled bills on the table. Gray, the owner, nodded at me from behind the counter. The man speaks maybe once a month, which is part of why I like the place.

Outside, the air was different. Heavy. Damp. Viremont air always feels like it’s hiding something. The streets were slick from earlier rain, and the mix of alley trash and smoke made the whole block smell like burnt rubber and cheap liquor. I cut through my usual back route—tight alleys, low walls, rooftops if I felt jumpy.

I didn’t feel followed. Not yet. But I knew that wouldn’t last.

Back in my apartment, I locked the door, then the extra deadbolt I installed myself, then slid the metal bar across the frame. Maybe I’m paranoid. But I’ve seen what happens when a tracker lets their guard down. And it ain’t pretty.

My place isn’t much. Just a bed, a busted bookshelf, and a workspace crammed with tracking gear—maps, vials, charms, scent sticks, and a little glass box of ashes I never talk about. I live light and leave lighter. That’s the rule.

I pulled the job file back up. The pendant was last seen in a rundown motel on the north edge of Viremont—just outside Silver Ash territory. I rolled my eyes. Of course it was. That area was sketchy even for me. Half those buildings were abandoned after the Border War. The ones still standing? They don’t stay quiet for long.

I grabbed my jacket again, clipped my silver-lined blade to my belt, and stuffed a small charm pouch into my pocket. Never leave home without one. Especially not for a job that smells this much like bait.

The motel looked exactly how I pictured it: haunted.

Flickering sign. Cracked windows. The kind of place where bad things happen and no one calls the cops because they already know it won’t help. The front office was dark, probably empty, and the lot was a mess of overgrown weeds and old beer cans.

I crept through the side gate and kept my steps light. The air was wrong. Too still. No wind. No city noise. Not even the scratch of rats in the walls.

That’s when I felt it—the tight pull in my chest that said something's here. Not something I could see. But something watching, waiting.

I switched on my tracker lens. The enchantment kicked in with a soft blue glow. Sure enough, a faint trace led me across the lot to Room 7. The door was cracked, hanging crooked on its hinges. A weak trail of magic tugged at my boots.

I stepped in.

The stink hit me first. Metal. Old blood. Not fresh, but not forgotten either. The kind of smell that gets in your throat and doesn’t leave.

Furniture tossed. Broken lamp. Scuff marks on the floor like someone got dragged. And near the window, a smear of dried blood—half a palm print, like someone had tried to hold on before going down.

I didn’t touch anything. Just circled slow, blade out. My fingers twitched, waiting for something to lunge out of the shadows.

But the room was empty.

That’s when I heard it. Not a sound. A... feeling. Like something moved behind me even though nothing had. My skin chilled. I turned fast, eyes scanning.

Still nothing.

Except this weird pressure in the air, like a storm was sitting on my lungs.

Then came the whisper. Not out loud. In my head.

"You shouldn’t be here."

I don’t get scared easily. But I didn’t sleep that night. I locked everything, lit three protection candles, and even drew the old symbols across my windows with blessed salt. It didn't matter.

I tossed and turned until sunrise, mind spinning.

The pendant wasn’t there. The job was a bust. I figured maybe I’d message Milo, tell him his mystery trinket was long gone, and call it a night.

But when I dragged myself out of bed and into the kitchen—there it was.

The pendant.

Sitting on my counter. No box. No blood. Just glowing faint like it had a heartbeat of its own.

I stared at it for a full five minutes. Didn’t touch it. Didn’t move. My breath caught in my throat, and my heart did this awkward little skip.

Because I didn’t bring it back.

And I damn sure didn’t leave my door unlocked.

Someone—something—put it there. Wanted me to find it. I wanted to be involved.

And whether I liked it or not... I was already in.