(Zane's POV)
They weren't normal trackers.
Zane crouched over the alley where it had all gone down hours ago. The rain had washed most of the ash away, but the energy lingered—bitter and dark. The kind that only came from controlled shadow beasts.
Someone had sent them.
And they weren't sent after just anyone.
They were sent after her.
He could still smell the faint trace of her magic in the air. Wild. Half-awake. Untrained. Like a storm learning how to breathe.
He ran a gloved hand over the brick wall. Scorch marks.
She had fought back—before he even showed up.
That made his jaw tighten.
Who was this girl?
He pulled out his phone and tapped the encrypted line to his sister.
It rang twice before she picked up. "You're not dead. Surprising."
"Hello to you too, Nova," Zane muttered.
"I thought you weren't checking in 'til tomorrow."
"Change of plans."
A pause. Then her voice lowered. "You found something?"
"Not exactly. But someone."
"Human?"
"No."
"Supernatural?"
"...Maybe. Not confirmed." He leaned back against the wall, rubbing his temple. "She was being hunted. By controlled shadows."
"Controlled?" Nova's tone sharpened. "You're sure?"
"They didn't scatter when I arrived. They stood their ground. Like they were following orders."
"That's Council-level control," she said. "Or a witch strong enough to bind them. Either way, not good."
"No kidding."
"What about the girl? She okay?"
He hesitated. His thoughts flashed to her wide, defiant eyes. The heat that rippled through his chest the second they touched. The way her voice stuck in his head hours later like a melody he couldn't shake.
"She's alive," he said simply. "Didn't stick around long."
"Did she give a name?"
"No."
"You gonna look for her?"
Another pause. Zane glanced back down the alley.
"Maybe," he said, keeping his voice even. "Someone wanted her dead. I want to know why."
Nova sighed. "You're not supposed to get involved yet, Z. This is recon. You're here to identify the target, not play protector."
"I know."
He ended the call before she could push further.
Because the truth was, he was getting involved.
He already was.
(Chloe's POV)
She didn't sleep that night.
She tried. She curled up in bed, buried beneath her blankets like they could protect her from the memory of glowing eyes and smoke and… him.
But every time she closed her eyes, she saw him again.
The guy from the alley.
The way he moved.
The way he looked at her.
Like he knew her.
Like he'd been waiting for her.
She rolled over, face buried in her pillow, letting out a frustrated groan. "What the hell is happening to me?"
It wasn't just the weird attraction. She'd had crushes before—awkward ones, stupid ones. This was different.
This felt like gravity had realigned itself and she was suddenly orbiting someone she didn't even know.
And then there was the mark.
She sat up and yanked off her hoodie, walking to the mirror in the dim light of her bedroom.
There it was again.
Three small glowing symbols curled just under her collarbone—like a tattoo inked in silver fire. They weren't supposed to be there. They hadn't been there last week. But ever since the night the dreams started, they had begun to appear.
Tonight… they burned brighter.
She reached out, brushing her fingers over them.
The heat surged through her chest. Not pain. Not exactly.
More like a signal.
A warning.
Or a countdown.
"You're changing," a voice whispered in her memory—her mother's voice, faint and echoing. "One day it will all make sense, baby. But until then… don't trust the pull."
She had been five when her mother died. She hadn't heard that voice in years. Why now?
Why him?
Chloe backed away from the mirror, heart thudding.
"I need answers," she whispered.
And for the first time in a long time, she didn't want to run from the truth anymore.
She wanted to find it.
Even if it scared her.
The sun hadn't even risen, but Chloe was already at her laptop, the blue glow reflecting off her tired eyes.
The mark still burned beneath her shirt—less like pain now, and more like a pulse. Like it was alive.
She typed furiously into the search bar:
"three spiral mark glowing skin meaning"
Nothing.
She tried:
"magic mark shoulder dream voice silver fire"
Still nothing useful. A few fantasy blogs. Tattoo forums. One conspiracy site run by a guy named "Lord Zeke" who insisted the moon landing was fake and Beyoncé was a vampire queen. (She might believe one of those.)
She kept scrolling. Clicking. Digging.
Until one site caught her eye.
It was old. The formatting sucked. But the title made her stomach twist:
"The Code of Three: The Tribrid Prophecy"
She stared at the words. "Tribrid?"
She clicked.
The page was filled with scattered drawings—some looked like they were torn straight from an ancient journal. One image made her inhale sharply.
Three swirling symbols.
Just like hers.
Underneath it, a single paragraph:
"When the Bloodline of Three is reborn, bound by the moon, night, and flame, she will carry the mark. A power long erased from the world. A weapon. A savior. A curse."
"The Tribrid will rise unaware, hunted by many, protected by one. If the bond is not sealed before her twentieth year… all fates fall."
Chloe blinked.
What the hell was this?
Some kind of fan fiction? A myth?
A… warning?
She leaned back in her chair, heart pounding. "Tribrid…" she whispered. "Is that even real?"
The name echoed in her chest like it belonged to her.
But she slammed the laptop shut, standing up too fast.
"Nope. This is crazy. I'm tired. I'm imagining things."
Still… she couldn't unsee it.
The mark.
The dream.
The stranger with the golden eyes.
Everything was changing.
And somewhere deep inside her, something whispered:
"You're running out of time."