Back at the outpost, no one spoke for a long time.
Even Rhys, grizzled and unflinching, stared at the report Elira handed him like it was written in blood. The others sat in tense silence. The word "Distortion Wraith" had been whispered, then denied, then whispered again.
But none of them looked at me.
I guess when something looks at you like you're a mistake that needs fixing, people stop seeing you as just a guy with bedhead and bad luck.
Finally, Rhys broke the silence.
"Strip."
I blinked. "Uh, come again?"
"I want to see your back," he said. "Now."
Confused, I took off the outer coat they'd lent me and turned around. Cold air touched my spine. I felt Elira step closer, heard her sharp intake of breath.
"What?" I asked. "What is it?"
No one answered.
Rhys circled me slowly, then grabbed a hand mirror from his desk and handed it over.
"See for yourself."
I tilted the mirror behind me—and saw it.
A symbol.
Not a tattoo. Not paint. A mark, faint but pulsing slightly under my skin. Like it had been burned into my soul. A broken circle with three slashes through it.
It hadn't been there yesterday.
I dropped the mirror.
"What the hell is that?"
Rhys's voice was grim. "That's a Voidbrand."
Elira's face was unreadable. "From direct contact with a Wraith."
I spun. "It didn't touch me."
Rhys narrowed his eyes. "Didn't have to. It recognized you. That's worse."
Silence.
I suddenly felt like a live grenade someone had politely placed in the middle of their dinner table.
"What does it mean?" I asked quietly.
Elira spoke first. "It means you've been marked as Unbound. Not born of this world. Not stitched into its laws."
"Most people touched by the Rift lose their minds," Rhys added. "But if a Wraith brands you instead... it sees something in you. Something it wants back."
Back?
I sat down, hard.
Was that what I saw in the clearing—myself, twisted and screaming? Was that a vision? A memory? A future?
Or something worse?
Rhys tapped the table. "We'll assign him a watcher."
"I'll do it," Elira said instantly.
He didn't look surprised. Just nodded. "Fine. You'll be responsible if he folds."
I didn't like how casual that sounded.
Elira turned to me. "You okay?"
I tried to answer. The words didn't come out.
Because in that moment, a memory hit me—not from today, not from the void. From Earth.
A dream I'd forgotten.
I was falling.
White skies. Endless wind.
And a voice—calm, distant, female—whispering:
"Don't scream. You're not being erased. You're being rewritten."