CHAPTER 2 — THE MARK THAT BREATHED

The night air clung to Ayla’s skin like misted silk as she locked the door of The Runed Den. Neon flickered above her sign, its violet light reflecting off the rain-slicked street. For the first time in years, her hands trembled—not from exhaustion, but from the way the world had shifted hours ago.

  Kian Vale.

  His name pulsed in her mind like the hum of her tattoo gun. The stranger with the silver eyes had left more than an impression; he’d left a piece of his mystery etched into her reality. The sigil she’d drawn on his chest—it hadn’t behaved like ink. It had moved.

  She had seen it shimmer beneath her needle, the black lines twisting and reforming, almost breathing. When she asked if he felt it, he’d only said, “It was waiting for you.”

  That line replayed now, curling around her thoughts like smoke.

  Inside her apartment above the shop, Ayla peeled off her gloves and washed the scent of ink and antiseptic from her hands. Her reflection in the mirror looked different tonight. There was color in her cheeks, but her eyes—dark hazel flecked with gold—seemed unfamiliar, almost glowing faintly beneath the bathroom light.

  “Get a grip,” she muttered to herself, tying her hair into a messy knot. “You’re just tired. Too many night shifts.”

  But when she turned away, something caught her eye.

  The tattoo on her forearm—the one she’d inked years ago, a crescent moon surrounded by swirling lines—was moving. Subtly. Like ripples beneath the skin.

  Her breath hitched. “No… no, no, that’s impossible.”

  She pressed her fingers to the mark. Warm. Alive.

  For a heartbeat, her vision blurred. A voice—soft, ancient, and female—whispered through her mind:

  “The ink remembers.”

  Ayla stumbled back, knocking into her counter. The world tilted, then steadied again. Only silence followed. The tattoo was still once more, perfectly ordinary.

  Her pulse thundered in her ears. She had to know what was happening.

  She grabbed her phone, scrolling through her client records. There—Kian Vale. No number, no email. Just a signature and a half-finished note in her own handwriting: custom rune—resembles northern sigils. But there was something else written beneath it now, in black ink she didn’t remember adding.

  Ayla Cross will find what was lost under the full moon.

  Her hands went cold. “What the hell…?”

  Before she could think, the neon outside her window flickered, then died, plunging her room into pale moonlight. She froze. Her senses sharpened, heart drumming fast enough to hurt.

  Then—three knocks.

  Slow. Even. From the front door below.

  Ayla hesitated. Every instinct screamed not to move. But something deeper—something primal—urged her forward. She descended the stairs quietly, barefoot, the wood creaking beneath her.

  Through the glass, she saw him.

  Kian stood outside, rain dripping from his hair, his black coat gleaming under the moonlight. The same faint shimmer of runes crawled up his throat, visible even through the downpour. His eyes found hers instantly—silver, steady, and burning with an intensity that pinned her where she stood.

  She unlocked the door before her mind could argue.

  “Kian,” she breathed. “What’s happening to me?”

  He stepped inside, his voice low, rough-edged. “You saw it, didn’t you? The ink moved.”

  “How do you know—?”

  “Because it’s not just ink, Ayla. It’s memory. The sigil we made tonight—it awakened the bond.”

  “The what?”

  He looked at her as if she were something fragile and dangerous all at once. “You bear the mark of the Runed Luna. The one who channels the ancient glyphs—the ink that binds the moon’s power to flesh. I came here to find you because the clans know you’ve awakened.”

  Ayla laughed shakily, disbelief warring with the unease crawling up her spine. “That’s insane. I’m a tattoo artist, not—whatever you think I am.”

  He took a step closer. The air between them tightened, humming like static. “Then tell me why your skin glows when the moon touches it.”

  Her breath caught. The light from the window had shifted, spilling across her bare arm. The crescent tattoo shimmered faintly, like ink reflecting starlight.

  Kian’s gaze softened. “They’ll come for you, Ayla. You need to leave with me.”

  “Who will—?”

  Before she could finish, a deafening crash shattered the front window. Shards rained across the floor, glittering like ice. The scent of wet earth and blood rushed in with the cold air.

  Ayla’s head snapped toward the sound. A shadow moved outside—massive, inhuman, and snarling low enough to shake her bones.

  Kian’s hand went to the blade at his belt. His eyes gleamed brighter. “They found us.”

  The creature outside growled again, closer now, claws scraping against the pavement.

  Ayla’s heart hammered. Her tattoo flared with light, the crescent burning like molten silver beneath her skin.

  Kian turned to her, voice a fierce whisper.

  “Whatever happens—don’t run. Let the ink guide you.”

  The door burst open.

  And the night swallowed everything.