I had an ongoing General Psychology class… not that it mattered to me in the slightest.
I barely attended classes anyway, and besides, I had just dragged myself through one. The moment the lecturer dismissed us and students began shuffling around for the next session, I quietly slipped out of the lecture hall. A familiar wave of overwhelm washed over me—heavy, inexplicable, and exhausting. It was the kind of mental fog that settled on me for no apparent reason… except ADHD and my constant need to escape from anything remotely stimulating.
Solitude. I craved it like oxygen.
I walked the long, secluded route toward my hideout—behind the campus incinerator—my unofficial sanctuary, the only place I felt like I could breathe. I held my bag tightly to my shoulder with one hand, while the other hand—the one with the strange mark—hung loosely at my side. It tingled again, that odd pulsing sensation, more annoying than painful but unsettling all the same.
By the time I reached the back of the incinerator, I sank against the wall, feeling a strange relief at the familiar cold bricks behind me. My little corner of the world. I set my bag down, pulled out my cigarette pack, flicked open my lighter, and lit one between my lips. The first inhale steadied me. I closed my eyes to let myself dissolve into the simple ritual of smoke and breath. For a moment, I was deep—lost in the haze, letting everything else fade.
Then the tingling surged.
Not mild. Not subtle. Sharp.
My eyes flew open.
"What is wrong with you today?" I muttered under my breath and rubbed the mark, willing the sensation to stop.
The universe, however, had no intentions of cooperating.
Footsteps echoed from around the corner—quiet at first, then undeniable. I glanced up instantly, tensing.
Luca Vance?
What the hell was he doing here?
He approached with a strange certainty in his stride, his eyes locked onto me with a level of determination I'd never seen on him before. His expression wasn't exactly reassuring—if anything, it was unsettling. Creepy, even.
And then he bent down right in front of me, without warning, and grabbed my marked hand.
"I knew it," he breathed, eyes wide. "You have it too."
I yanked my hand away, annoyance flaring.
"What the fuck, bro?" I snapped, already rising to my feet before he pushed me gently—but firmly—back down.
"Don't you get it?" he said urgently. "I can see it."
My breath caught.
I thought no one else could see the mark. I had convinced myself of that. I wanted to believe it.
My eyes widened. My chest tightened.
"How'd you get it?" he asked, still hovering too close.
"I—I'm not sure," I stammered. "Wait… you can really see it? Do you know what it is? What it means?"
"Yes, I can see it," he said, pushing aside part of his shirt. "And I have one too. Right here." He pointed to his right chest. "And get this—we're not the only ones. There are others. I've met two of them so far. How long have you had yours?"
I exhaled shakily, pulling my knees in slightly. "I don't know. I never really cared enough to think about it. Maybe… a week? What about you?"
"Same," he replied. "About a week. And honestly, it's been driving me insane. Not the mark itself—my dream. My encounter. It was horrifying."
A chill rolled down my spine.
Silence wrapped around us for a moment. Then, slowly, I spoke. "Mine wasn't a dream."
His head jerked toward me. "What do you mean?"
"It happened here," I whispered, nodding toward a particular spot near the wall. "Just over there."
"What was here?"
"I saw something strange… something I still can't explain." I took a shaky breath. "A door opened out of nowhere. These people in cloaks walked through it. I followed them—don't ask me why—and they were performing some kind of ritual. Or… something ritual-like. I don't know. Everything felt unreal. When it was over, I looked at my hand and the mark was just… there. Out of nowhere. No one else could see it. I thought maybe I was hallucinating or smoking too much."
Luca shook his head. "No. It's real. Mine's real. And we aren't alone."
"You said there were others. Who?"
"Do you know Elara?"
My heart stumbled.
Elara.
"…Yeah," I said quietly. "She has it too?"
"Yes. And another guy named Cassian. New student. You probably haven't met him."
I frowned. "So everyone's marks just… spawned from nowhere?"
"Pretty much. Look, we have to meet today after school. I don't stay in the dorms, so we can't do it too late."
I nodded, still unraveling inside. "Okay, so… how do we meet?"
"You have your phone?"
I took it out, unlocked it, and handed it over. He typed in his number, saved it, handed it back.
"I'll text you once everything's arranged," he said, standing. "But you'll need to send me a message first."
"Already did."
He nodded. "Good. Then later today—we meet. I need to know how many of us there are. I'll see you."
He left without another word.
I exhaled, took another long drag from my cigarette, letting the smoke settle my scattered nerves.
At least I wasn't crazy.
But a new unease spread through me like cold ink in water. Why did Luca feel… familiar? As if I had known him long before today. Familiar in an eerie, unsettling way that made my pulse quicken.
I leaned back against the wall again.
Elara was involved too. That thought didn't frighten me—it almost comforted me. But it also meant things were far stranger than I imagined.
And then I remembered—General Psychology. Every student connected to Psychology would be in that lecture hall right now.
Including Elara.
I hadn't ever spoken to her. She probably didn't even know my name. But after today… we wouldn't be strangers for long.
I pushed myself up and made my way back toward the lecture building. The halls were massive, echoing, intimidating—no matter how many times I walked through them, the size always overwhelmed me.
I slipped in through the back door, which was unfortunately positioned at the exact center of the hall. That meant anyone who turned even slightly would see me—including Professor Megan, our strict but surprisingly friendly psychology lecturer. She had one of those voices that could slice through noise like a blade.
Her eyes locked on me.
I dipped my head in a small gesture of apology.
"And would I be at fault," she said loudly enough for everyone to hear, "if I sent you out of class, Ms. Dorne?"
I froze.
Heads turned. People stared.
My social anxiety flared like a slap.
"I'm sorry ma'am," I said quickly, humbly, wanting it to be over.
Silence.
Then—
"Take a seat."
I slipped into the nearest empty chair, Professor Megan's favorite rule—close, orderly seating—forcing me into the spot right beside Elara.
That was unusual.
Elara was always a front-row student. Quiet, studious, focused. What would make her move three rows back?
My pulse thudded.
I subtly shifted my hand, making sure the mark was visible. The tingling returned, but now it was softer—almost like it was reacting to her.
Elara didn't flinch. Didn't look. Didn't acknowledge anything.
I moved again, subtly, making it impossible to miss.
Still nothing.
Was she ignoring me?
Or… worse—was she pretending not to see it?
The air grew heavy around us. Too heavy. I felt her presence more than I saw her. Something about her was different today. Tense. Alert. Almost as if she was waiting for something.
Professor Megan's voice faded into the background as my heartbeat grew louder in my ears.
Then—
Elara shifted just slightly, her eyes still fixed ahead.
And I saw it. Her own mark.
She took out a pen and turned to the back of her note book. "talk after class".
My heart paced. This was the first time I'd talk to her.