Page 43 of Claimed By the Mothman
Nell looked down at Goldie’s frenzied matrix, drawing a slow, thoughtful line down it with her finger. “So… Sig is a Harbinger. And he’s drawn to Doom.”
She followed the path from theHARBINGERcolumn toLUSTRUM.“And the Lustrum was… my Doom. That’s what he sensed. He was coming toward me because he’s supposed to watch it happen. Be present for the unraveling.”
Goldie beamed. “Right. You’re so smart. I love you.”
Her finger moved to theBONDcolumn. “But then he didn’t justwatch. He did the whole claiming thing and… what? That hijacked everything? The Lustrum had to let me go?”
Goldie nodded, but her expression tightened. “Yeah, but because you were already in the Lustrum when he made the claim, I’m not sure what that means. I haven’t found anything that describes a case like yours where someone getsclaimedmid-unravel. But if I had to guess…”
She glanced at Nell, then back at the page. “You were in the middle of something ancient, and he reached in and pulled you sideways. And now…you’re stuck between two bonds.”
Nell blinked. “What the actual fuck, Goldie.”
Goldie gave her a look, part grimace, part apology, and partoh babe, I hope I’m wrong.
Nell stared down at the matrix, her heart thudding like a too-fast metronome. Her opal ring pulsed once—low, deep, not urgent but undeniable. And beneath that, the hum in her chest gave a faint, answering throb.
“Well, shit,” she muttered. “That actually makes sense, doesn’t it?”
—
Nell didn’t speak on the walk home.
Goldie did. Quiet, gentle commentary about the weirdness of the day.She made soft jokes about cursed indexes and haunted margins, as if the sound of her own voice could keep the edge of the world from curling inward.
Nell appreciated it. The cadence of Goldie’s words kept her tethered, gave her something solid to hold onto.
Around them, the city flexed. Lights flickered out of sync with the hour. Awnings lifted against a wind that wasn’t there. Someone’s radio skipped, then played backwards for a beat before dying entirely.
Nell didn’t mention it. Neither did Goldie.
By the time they reached Greymarket Towers, the sky had softened into that impossible hour between gold and gray.
“You sure you’re okay?” Goldie asked, hovering at the doorway of the apartment building..
Nell nodded. “Not even a little,” she said. “But I’ll text if I see the doors. Or, you know, feel like throwing myself at the mothman upstairs again.”
Goldie grinned, gave a two-finger salute, and disappeared down the block.
Nell climbed the stairs slowly. The building greeted her with its usual comfortable hush. But behind the hush, something felt… attuned.
Like it was waiting to see which version of her had come back.
Nell’s gaze drifted toward the elevator at the end of the hall. And then she was walking without thinking. One foot in front of the other until she was inside, pressing the up button.
The hallway on the fourteenth floor smelled faintly of rain. The carpet muffled her steps, and the lighting was all wrong—too golden, too still, like a painting that hadn’t decided if it wanted to move.
She stopped in front of 14C. Her knuckles hovered over the door.
This is stupid. This is so, so stupid.
Her cheeks burned hot with leftover adrenaline and the kind of memory that made her thighs clench before she could stop them.
Straightening her shoulders, she knocked—two quick, sharp raps.
Footsteps approached. Soft. Careful. The door creaked open.
Sig stood there, tall and shadowed. His eyes glowed infinitesimally brighter, and he winced, as if her presence had scraped against something raw inside him.
