The night had been endless.
Sandra lay awake long after Raven's presence faded into the far end of the observatory. The stars above Noxbridge were faint, smothered by the city's orange glow, yet she watched them as if they might answer the questions her mind refused to silence. The mark on her palm still pulsed — faint, rhythmic, alive.
Every few seconds, it shimmered under her skin like a heartbeat that wasn't hers.
When she closed her eyes, she could still see them — the reflections from the Veil's illusion. Rage, Regret, Control. Fragments of her own being, now buried somewhere deeper, quieter. But their voices hadn't vanished completely. They whispered through her nerves in moments of stillness, testing her newfound composure.
She turned her hand toward the dim light leaking through the window. "Is this what power feels like," she murmured, "or just another form of imprisonment?"
"You're thinking too loudly again," came Raven's voice, quiet but unmistakable.
Sandra flinched slightly. He had appeared at the base of the old stairway, his coat brushing against the dust, eyes reflecting the thin light.
"I didn't hear you come in," she said.
"You weren't supposed to," he replied simply, walking closer. "You're still adjusting. The mark connects you to the Veil, but it also amplifies your perception. Every thought has weight now — every doubt echoes."
She frowned. "Echoes?"
He nodded. "Your emotions send ripples. Someone trained to listen could follow those ripples, like sonar through water."
"Meaning I'm not safe even in my own head?"
"You were never safe," Raven said, and there was no comfort in his tone — only the honesty of experience. "But safety is not the goal anymore. Control is."
Sandra sat up on the old couch, her hair tumbling over her shoulders. "You talk about control like it's the only thing that matters. But what about choice? What about... wanting to live without being hunted or tested?"
Raven's gaze softened. "Then you'll have to rewrite the rules. And that, Sandra, will cost more than you think."
He turned toward the window. The city stretched beyond, drenched in fog and light — a concrete labyrinth alive with secrets. "The Council won't ignore what happened last night. You passed the Veil's test. That makes you an anomaly, maybe even a threat. They'll send someone soon."
Sandra's stomach tightened. "Someone?"
"An emissary. They'll want to see what kind of creature you've become."
She swallowed. "And you'll let them?"
Raven didn't answer immediately. "If I refuse, it brings suspicion. If I agree, it brings danger. Either way, you'll have to face them eventually."
Sandra rose, crossing the few meters between them. "So I'm just supposed to wait here, like bait?"
"Not bait," Raven said quietly. "Proof."
That word hit harder than it should have. Proof of what? That she was stable? That she wasn't a monster? That she could be controlled?
Sandra's breath came unevenly. "I didn't ask for this. Any of it."
"No one ever does."
She turned away, pacing. The observatory's circular walls seemed to close in, trapping her with the echo of her own frustration. "You talk like you've seen all this before. Like I'm just repeating a pattern."
Raven's voice was distant now. "Because you are. The Veil's trials have been repeated across centuries. Bloodmarked souls rise, lose control, are erased. History calls it purification. I call it cowardice."
She stopped pacing and faced him again. "Then why help me?"
Raven hesitated, and for the first time since she'd met him, he looked uncertain. "Because you remind me of someone I failed to save."
The words hung in the air — raw, unguarded. Sandra's anger dimmed, replaced by something colder. "Someone like me?"
"Someone stronger," he said, his eyes distant. "But strength means nothing without direction."
She watched him, searching for any sign of deceit. There was none. Just exhaustion. Ancient, quiet exhaustion.
Silence stretched between them until it was almost unbearable. The hum of the city below was the only sound.
Finally, Sandra spoke again, softer. "Raven… what happens if I lose control? If the Veil decides I'm not worth the risk?"
He looked at her then, his expression unreadable. "Then I'll do what must be done."
The bluntness of it stole her breath. "You'd kill me?"
He didn't flinch. "If it meant sparing you a worse fate — yes."
Her throat tightened. "You're not even pretending to hesitate."
"I've seen what happens when Bloodmarked lose themselves," he said, voice low. "It's not death that frightens me, Sandra. It's what comes before it."
Sandra turned away, blinking hard. "Then maybe you shouldn't have saved me in the first place."
"I didn't save you," he replied. "You made the choice to live. I only gave you the means."
The quiet that followed was heavy, fragile.
Sandra walked toward the cracked telescope near the center of the room, running her fingers along its metal frame. "You think the Veil will come soon?"
"They're already watching," Raven said. "But they won't strike yet. They'll send a whisper first — a messenger, a test behind the test."
"And what do I do when they come?"
"You listen. Then you decide who you want to be."
He moved past her, his shadow brushing against hers. "Sleep, Sandra. You'll need your strength."
She didn't answer.
When Raven left, the room felt colder. The pulse in her hand had slowed, but every beat seemed to echo through her bones.
She stood at the window again, staring out over the city. Noxbridge looked almost peaceful from above — streets like veins, lights flickering like blood cells in motion. But beneath that illusion, she knew chaos was brewing. The world she had once understood — police reports, criminal psychology, lectures about human behavior — had become irrelevant. Now, she was part of something else. Something older.
Her reflection in the window shimmered faintly. For a split second, she saw not herself, but the version that had spoken in the Veil: calm, composed, eyes faintly glowing.
"You're not me," she whispered.
Not yet, the reflection replied in her mind.
Sandra exhaled sharply, gripping the windowsill. The connection between her human mind and her bloodline was becoming unstable — or perhaps just more visible.
She thought of Raven's words. Control, not safety.
Then of her own: Choice.
Maybe they were both right. Maybe they were both wrong.
Hours later, when exhaustion finally claimed her, she slept — but not peacefully.
Her dreams were vivid: the city inverted, the moon bleeding light across cracked streets, a figure standing on a ruined cathedral — its wings torn, its voice familiar.
When humanity fades, what will you cling to, Sandra Vance?
She awoke gasping, the mark on her hand glowing like embers.
Somewhere below, faint footsteps echoed. Not Raven's — lighter, slower, deliberate.
Sandra froze, every instinct sharpened.
Someone was here.