The rooftop feels too small for how many things suddenly want me.
The word above us—**BIDDING**—hangs in the air like a chandelier made of knives.
Every shadow on the roof stays tilted toward me.
Every word above every dark patch vibrates, as if humming in anticipation.
Something has begun.
Ardan swears under his breath. It's the first time I hear him sound genuinely shaken.
"Move," he says. "Now."
He shoves the stairwell door open with more force than necessary. The metal slams against the wall with a bang that echoes through the hospital's structure.
The girl tugs my arm. She's trembling, but she doesn't let go.
"Go! Mark, go!"
My legs don't want to work, but panic overrides everything. We half-run, half-stumble into the stairwell.
The moment the door closes behind us, the rooftop's distorted words vanish.
But new ones appear.
On the walls.
On the steps.
Hovering over the shadows of the railing.
**WANT.**
**WAITING.**
**PRICE.**
**OPEN.**
All tilted toward me.
The girl whispers, "They're circling…"
"Because the bid started," Ardan snaps. "And he's fresh."
I grip the railing to avoid collapsing. "Bid? What—"
"No questions. Down."
We descend fast, the girl on one side, the cold metal rail on the other. My legs wobble, threatening to give out.
The stairwell lights flicker. Then die.
Darkness swallows the steps.
But not all darkness is equal.
Some patches move.
"Ardan…" the girl whispers.
"I see them."
We're not alone.
On the landing below, a shadow detaches from the corner—
no body to cast it.
Just a shadow, floating slightly above the floor, its edges too clean.
A word glows above it:
**TRYING.**
Ardan curses again. "A scavenger. Small but hungry."
"Hungry for what?" I breathe.
"You. Keep going."
But the shadow slithers toward us, stretching up the stairs.
Another shadow drops down from the ceiling like spilled tar.
**FIRST?**
the word above it asks.
The girl pulls me behind her.
"No," she hisses. "Back off!"
It ignores her.
They all ignore her.
Their words—all of them—are pointed at me alone.
My heart pounds. I stumble back—
and my foot hits nothing.
I fall.
But before I hit the next flight of stairs, something catches me.
A hand.
The girl.
She's stronger than she should be—almost impossibly—her grip pulling me upright like my weight means nothing.
Her shadow flickers, and above it the word **BOUND** blazes, brighter than ever.
The scavengers recoil from that.
All of them.
Ardan's eyes widen. "Oh. Interesting."
"This is not the time!" she snaps.
"No," he agrees. "But it's good to know."
The shadows regroup, crawling forward again.
This time faster.
"Ardan!" I shout.
He steps in front of me and snaps his fingers.
A thin lash of light forms in the air—white, sharp, humming with tension. Not as strong as before. He's struggling.
"Back," he orders.
But more shadows appear on the landings above and below.
**FIRST**
**FIRST**
**FIRST**
they repeat.
"Why do they all want to be first?!" I choke out.
"Because first claim sets the Contract," Ardan says. "And you, Mark—"
He lifts the light-arc—
"—are currently up for auction."
Something inside me turns cold.
We're surrounded now. Shadows tightening like a circle of wolves.
The girl presses closer, gripping my wrist with iron fingers.
Her voice trembles. "Mark… don't let go of me. Do you hear me? Don't."
The scavengers lunge all at once.
Ardan brings the arc of light down like a whip.
A flash.
The nearest shadow shrieks—
its word **FIRST** shattering—
and it explodes into dark ash.
The others recoil, but only for a second.
"We can't fight all of them," the girl gasps.
"No," Ardan says. "But we don't need to."
He grabs my collar.
"Jump."
"What?!"
"Now!"
He shoves us off the landing.
We fall—
—but a burst of force catches us like an invisible mattress, tossing us sideways through a maintenance door that wasn't there a moment ago.
We slam into a concrete hallway.
I lie gasping for breath.
The girl coughs, shaking her head. "Warn us next time—!"
"No time to warn," Ardan snaps. "On your feet."
He pulls the door shut. The metal dents inward immediately as something slams into it from the other side.
**FIRST**
**FIRST**
**FIRST**
The words glow red-hot through the cracks.
The girl grips my shoulders to keep me upright. "The door won't hold."
"It doesn't have to," Ardan says. "We just need to be out of the stairwell."
I look around.
We're in a service corridor—long, narrow, with pipes running along the ceiling. Only one flickering bulb lights the space. Words hover over every shadow here too:
**LISTENING**
**TRYING**
**NEAR**
"Why are they following us?" I whisper.
"They're not," Ardan says.
"Then what—"
"They're following the bid."
The girl stiffens. "Someone placed a bid already?!"
Ardan doesn't answer.
Because the lights flicker.
Once.
Twice.
Then go fully still.
A coldness fills the hallway.
Not moving air.
Not presence.
An absence.
My skin crawls. The girl's nails dig into my arms.
"Ardan…" she whispers. "Something's here."
He already knows.
He raises his hand—
but no light forms.
Nothing.
It's like whatever entered the hallway severed the world's ability to respond.
"What is it?" I choke.
"A bidder," Ardan says.
His voice is hollow.
"One of the higher ones."
A whisper slides along the walls.
Not words.
Not sound.
A scraping.
Like something writing along the plaster without a hand.
Letters begin to carve themselves in the air.
Slowly.
Painfully.
**FIRST.**
Except this word isn't like the scavengers' words.
This one is heavier.
Colder.
Audible.
It vibrates through my bones.
Another letter begins forming beneath it.
But this one I feel before I see it.
It's writing itself directly into my nerves.
My knees buckle.
The girl catches me. "Mark—hey—look at me—stay with me—"
But my gaze drifts toward the forming word as if pulled by a hook.
Ardan grabs my face with both hands.
"Don't look at it!"
"I can't—" My voice breaks. "It's—pulling—"
The second word completes.
**MINE.**
My heartbeat stutters.
Something stirs in the far end of the corridor.
Not footsteps.
Not a silhouette.
Just a hole where the world should be.
Like someone erased a person from existence and left the outline.
It leans forward.
And I feel its attention—
cold, precise, curious—
pinpoint me like a knife tip to the throat.
The girl screams. Not in fear—in pain.
Her word—**BOUND**—flares and twists, stretching toward me like it's being pulled taut.
Ardan curses and steps between us and the corridor's far end.
"Back. Back!"
The thing moves.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Just *inevitable*.
It doesn't walk. It doesn't glide.
Reality shifts around it to let it through.
The carved words hover brighter:
**FIRST**
**MINE**
And beneath them—
A third word starts forming.
Ardan sees it.
His expression shatters.
"No," he whispers. "No, no, no—he's not ready—"
The girl clings to me, breath shaking. "What's happening? What does it want?!"
"It wants to finalize," Ardan says. "While the bid is still open."
The third word sharpens into existence.
And when I see it, something inside me cracks.
**CHOOSE.**
A choking sound escapes my throat. "Choose? Choose what?!"
Ardan grabs my shoulders.
"Don't answer! Don't respond! Don't think about it—"
But the thing at the end of the hall leans closer.
And when it speaks—
It uses my voice.
Not exactly.
A slightly wrong version.
Like someone impersonating me from inside my bones.
"Choose," it whispers. "Let one name claim you. Let me claim you. Let the others fall away."
My vision goes white.
The girl screams as if burned—her word **BOUND** stretching, fraying, almost tearing.
Ardan shouts something—
But I don't hear him.
Because the world itself seems to tilt toward me, waiting for an answer.
And the creature asks again, using my voice:
"Who owns you, Mark?"
The word **CHOOSE** flashes