Page 60 of Soulmarked

The drive back to the Sullivan residence felt longer, heavier with the weight of failure. I pulled out my phone, dreading the call I had to make.

“Sterling.” His voice was sharp with concern. “Report.”

“Diana Sullivan is dead.” The words tasted like ash. “Whatever killed her husband found her.”

A long pause. “You're sure?”

“Evidence won't be... conventional. But it's there. All of it.” I stared up at the house where another person had died because I hadn't been fast enough, hadn't seen the patterns in time. “Ifailed her. I said I would keep her safe, and look where that ended up.”

“This isn't on you, Cross.” Sterling's voice was firm, purely professional. “The perp was clearly unstable. We'll run toxicology, check for hallucinogens. Maybe that explains the... unusual aspects of the scene you're describing.”

I bit back what I wanted to say. Sterling was a good man, an excellent director, but he lived in a world where monsters weren't real, where rituals and magic were just the delusions of disturbed minds. Someday I might have to shatter that worldview for him, but not today.

“I'm calling other agencies to handle cleanup,” Sterling continued. “We'll make sure the family gets proper closure, even if the case ends up classified.”

I ended the call, feeling Sean's steady presence beside me. The night wasn't over; there would be reports to file, evidence to catalogue, another version of events to construct that would satisfy the CITD while protecting people from truths they couldn't handle.

“We'll find answers,” Sean said quietly, reading my expression. “But we do it smart. Do it right.”

I nodded, touching the mark that still pulsed cold against my chest. Whatever was coming, whatever had started this chain of death and revelation, I would be ready.

I had to be.

14

NIGHTMARES

Blood on snow. Screams in the dark. My mother's perfume mixing with copper and gunsmoke.

I jerked awake with a gasp that felt like drowning, sheets twisted around me like restraints. Cold sweat made everything stick, and my heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to escape. The darkness of my bedroom felt too close, too much like that alley where...

No. Don't go there.

My phone's display cut through the darkness: 3:17 AM. The city would be quiet now, empty. Perfect for driving until the memories faded.

I didn't consciously choose a direction. Just let the streets guide me through Manhattan's twisted arteries, past buildings that looked like sleeping giants in the pre-dawn gloom. Steam rose from grates like spirits, and the neon signs painted everything in colors that didn't quite exist in nature.

This wasn't the first time I'd found myself drifting toward Sean's place after nightmares or particularly bad cases. Three times now, I'd caught myself heading in this direction during late-night drives, like some internal compass was slowly beingrecalibrated to point toward him instead of true north. Twice I'd managed to turn around, telling myself it was just coincidence. Once I'd actually parked outside for nearly an hour, watching the building, before driving away without making my presence known. I'd never mentioned these nocturnal visits to Sean. I wasn't sure I could explain them to myself, let alone to him.

It wasn't until I recognized the industrial district that I realized where muscle memory had taken me. Sean's converted warehouse loomed against the sky, all brick and steel and carefully cultivated neglect. I shouldn't be here. Shouldn't even know how to find this place. But something about it called to me on nights like this.

The security panel glowed red in the darkness. I almost turned around then but my hand was already raising to knock.

Music guided me up to the main level after Sean buzzed me in, something with a heavy beat that spoke of controlled violence. I found him in his training area, working a heavy bag with the kind of focused intensity that suggested he had his own reasons for being up at this hour.

He was shirtless, because of course he was, bandages stark white against skin marked by old scars and fresh bruises. His movements were pure predator.

He paused mid-combination when he saw me. “Bit late for a social call, fed.”

“I was just...” I gestured vaguely, not sure how to explain ending up here when I barely understood it myself. “Sorry. I shouldn't have come.”

“Driving?” His lips quirked slightly. “At three in the morning?”

“Something like that.” I ran a hand through my hair, embarrassment mixing with the lingering unease from my nightmare.

He studied me for a moment, probably noting the cold sweat and haunted eyes. But he didn't ask, just nodded toward the kitchen area. “Kettle's hot if you want tea. Got coffee too, if you're feeling adventurous at this hour.”

The simple offer, without questions or judgment, made something twist in my chest. I moved to the kitchen, letting the familiar motions of making tea ground me in the present. The cabinets were sparse, mostly protein bars and weapon maintenance supplies, but I found an old box of tea that would do.

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