Long-press a paragraph to send danmaku
"Don't pull it out." The dying man clamped a hand around my wrist before I could tear the curse from his chest.
His grip was way too strong.
"Let go," I snapped. "You're bleeding out."
"That's not what you'll kill me with."
The ambulance slammed over another pothole. His fingers dug harder into my skin, hot and unsteady against the cold sweat on my wrist. Blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth beneath the red emergency lights.
Then the black lines under his skin pulsed.
Not shadows. Not tattoos.
A curse.
It crawled from beneath his torn shirt, winding around his ribs and climbing his neck in thin, shimmering veins. Every pulse dragged it closer to his heart.
"You picked a lousy time to get mysterious," I said. "I'm Evelyn Hart. I'm a paramedic. My job is keeping you alive."
"Not tonight."
"Yeah? Watch me."
"Evelyn!" Marcus shouted from the driver's seat. "How's he doing back there?"
"He's talking. That's either good news or a really bad sign."
"Vitals?"
I yanked my wrist free and grabbed the penlight from the emergency kit. "Pulse is rapid and weak. Skin's cold. Pupils are uneven. He's got a through-and-through gunshot to the left shoulder."
"That all?"
"No."
The stranger's eyes snapped open.
Brown. Almost black. Wide awake.
He stared at me like he'd been waiting for this exact moment. The ambulance siren screamed around us, but his gaze held mine so tightly I forgot to breathe.
"Don't touch the curse," he rasped.
"You already said that."
"Then listen faster."
I leaned closer. "What is it?"
His jaw tightened. The curse shuddered beneath it, answering the question for him.
"Hungry."
"Curses don't get hungry."
"This one does."
"How long has it been in you?"
He coughed. Blood streaked his lips. "Long enough."
Two minutes. Marcus had said we were two minutes from the hospital.
The curse didn't care.
It tightened around the man's ribs and sent another black thread toward his heart. I saw the exact moment his breath caught. His fingers curled against the gurney's rail.
"What happens when it reaches your heart?" I asked.
"You know what happens."
"I know what normal trauma looks like."
"No, you don't."
The curse whispered inside my skull.
Let him go.
His voice changed as it spoke again.
Let him go, Evie.
My brother's voice.
I went cold.
"Don't," I whispered.
The stranger's stare sharpened. "It found someone you miss."
"Shut up."
"It'll use him again."
"I said shut up!"
I slapped my palm against the center of his chest.
The curse bucked under my hand.
His back arched off the mattress. The heart monitor shrieked. His injured shoulder jerked, and the sheets snapped tight beneath him.
"Evelyn!" Marcus yelled. "What the hell happened?"
"Keep driving!"
I shoved my will into the curse.
My mother had taught me how to pull them out. Slow. Careful. Thread by thread, like disarming a bomb with shaking hands.
I'd never been good at slow.
"Get out," I growled. "Get the hell out of him."
The curse clawed back.
Cold shot up my arm. My teeth clicked together. The stranger's hand closed around my wrist again, and his breath brushed my knuckles as he forced himself up on one elbow.
"Stop!"
"I'm saving you."
"You're spreading it!"
"You're the one spreading—"
A violent jolt threw both of us sideways. My shoulder hit the ambulance wall. His body slid across the gurney, pulling me with him until my face was inches from his.
His breath smelled like iron.
His hand was still locked around my wrist. His eyes dropped to my mouth for half a second, then jumped back to my eyes.
The pause hit harder than the pothole.
Then he shoved me away.
"Pull it out," he said, low and rough, "and it won't stay in me."
"What does that mean?"
"It'll jump to you."
The curse snapped toward my palm.
I tore my hand back.
Black lines raced across his chest, then stopped just short of his heart. They curled tight, like a snake settling into a nest.
The stranger collapsed against the mattress.
"Who the hell are you?" I demanded.
His eyes rolled back.
"Hey. Stay with me."
Nothing.
I checked his pulse.
Strong.
Steady.
The curse had stopped spreading.
That should've been impossible. A curse never stopped because someone asked nicely. It stopped because it had won or because it was waiting.
"Evelyn!" Marcus shouted. "We're here!"
The ambulance brakes screamed. The back doors flew open before we fully stopped, and a trauma team rushed in with another gurney.
"Male, unknown identity," I said, climbing out of the way. "Gunshot wound to the left shoulder. Through-and-through. Severe shock on arrival. Pulse was weak, but it's stabilizing."
A doctor glanced at me. "Any loss of consciousness?"
"Twice."
"Allergies? Medications?"
"No idea."
"Did he say anything?"
The question caught in my throat.
Don't pull it out.
It'll jump to you.
"He was confused," I said. "Nothing useful."
The team wheeled him through the ER doors. For one second, his eyes opened again.
He found me through the moving bodies.
Not the doctor. Not Marcus.
Me.
Then the doors swung shut.
Marcus came up beside me, still holding the ambulance keys. "You good?"
"Fine."
"You look like you just saw a ghost."
"Maybe I did."
"That's not funny."
"I wasn't joking."
He studied my face. "What happened in the back?"
"He woke up."
"A guy with a bullet through his shoulder woke up?"
"He grabbed me."
Marcus looked down at my wrist. Red marks were already rising across my skin.
"That guy grabbed you?"
"Yeah."
"And you didn't punch him?"
"He was bleeding."
"That's never stopped you before."
"Go restock the rig, Marcus."
"You're doing that thing."
"What thing?"
"The thing where you lie badly and pretend it's a personality."
I shoved the kit back into the ambulance. "I said I'm fine."
He didn't believe me. Marcus rarely did. He also knew better than to push when my voice went flat.
My phone buzzed before I could shut the doors.
One message.
From Nora.
The clinic owner paid me under the table for spellwork the council had outlawed twenty years ago. If Nora was texting before sunrise, someone had already made her nervous.
The message said:
THE COUNCIL IS LOOKING FOR A MAN WITH A SHADOW CURSE.
IF YOU PICKED HIM UP TONIGHT, DUMP THE PAPERWORK.
I stared at the screen.
Then I looked at the ER doors.
"Too late," I muttered.
Marcus glanced over. "What is?"
"Nothing."
"That word means trouble when you say it."
I shoved the phone into my pocket. "Finish restocking."
"Evelyn—"
"I said finish it."
The truth was, I couldn't leave the man in that hospital.
Not after the curse spoke with my brother's voice.
Not after the stranger looked at me like he knew exactly what I was.
My shift ended at six. I didn't go home.
I went to Medical Records.
"I'm just checking the intake forms from the last call," I told the night clerk.
She didn't look up from her tablet. "You're off duty."
"I'm also the person who gave you free coffee for three months."
"It was terrible coffee."
"You drank it."
She sighed. "Ten minutes."
"You're the best."
"If anyone asks, you threatened me."
"Deal."
It took twenty minutes to find the file.
The man had no name. No ID. No insurance. Just a Jane Doe number and a note that read: GUNSHOT WOUND. STABLE. TRANSFERRED TO ICU.
No curse.
Of course not.
Normal people couldn't see them. Normal doctors couldn't see black veins wrapping around a man's heart. They couldn't hear curses whispering inside their heads.
But Nora knew.
The council knew.
And the man knew.
I snapped a photo of the file.
"You find something?" the clerk called.
I nearly dropped my phone.
"Just a spelling error."
"In a medical file?"
"A very committed spelling error."
"Get out, Evelyn."
"Already going."
The sky was starting to lighten when I stepped outside. Vesper City's neon signs were still burning over the streets, pink and blue against the dirty glass towers.
I should've gone home.
Instead, I walked to the ICU.
Room twelve was at the end of the unit. No guards. No police. No council enforcers waiting to drag the cursed stranger away.
That should've scared me more than it did.
I pushed the door open.
The machines beeped beside him.
He was awake.
His head turned toward me, slow and careful. Pain pulled at his mouth, but he smiled anyway.
It wasn't a nice smile.
"You came back," he said.
I stayed in the doorway. "I was checking on my patient."
"You went through my file first."
"You don't have a name in it."
"I have one."
"Then tell me."
His gaze traveled over my uniform, my bruised wrist, and finally my face. "Evelyn Hart."
My hand tightened around the doorframe.
"How do you know my name?"
"Your tag."
"That's not what I asked."
"No. It isn't."
I stepped inside. "Who are you?"
"The man you tried to kill."
"I tried to save you."
"Same result, if you'd pulled harder."
The curse moved beneath the hospital gown.
A dark pulse traveled up his throat.
I stopped three feet from the bed. "What is that thing?"
"A warning."
"From who?"
"Your mother."
The room seemed to shrink around us.
"Don't talk about her."
"You asked."
"I said don't."
He shifted, wincing. The monitor sped up. I took one step toward him before I caught myself.
His eyes dropped to my hand.
"Still trying to save me?"
"Still trying to figure out how to shut you up."
"You could come closer."
"You could try bleeding quietly."
His smile deepened.
That smile made my skin prickle. Not fear. Not exactly. The room was cold, but heat gathered between us anyway, trapped in the narrow space around the bed.
"You always this friendly?" he asked.
"Only with men who lie about their names."
"I haven't lied. I haven't told you my name yet."
"Then start talking."
He held my gaze.
For a second, neither of us moved. His fingers curled against the blanket, like he wanted to reach for me again and knew better.
Then he said, "My name is Kane Rook."
The name hit somewhere I couldn't place.
"Kane Rook," I repeated. "And what do you want?"
His eyes darkened.
"I need you to finish what your mother—"