The Hollow Mark

The spot on Elias's wrist stung.

Not like fire. Not like an injury.

Like something within him was changing.

Like he wasn't quite himself anymore.

Rain pounded down in thick sheets, hammering against Hollow's Bend rooftops, flushing blood into the gutters. Selene had pulled him into a dark alley, her grip tight around his arm, her gaze sweeping over the deserted streets.

"Elias," she whispered, her voice hard and low.

"What the hell just happened?"

He swallowed hard. His breathing was still ragged, his pulse slow, wrong.

"I lost," he confessed.

Selene's hold on him tightened. "What did it cost?"

Elias curled his fingers. The Hollow Mark on his wrist throbbed under his skin, deep and dark, the ink twisting like a living thing.

He glanced at Selene.

And for the first time, he hesitated.

Because he wasn't sure.

Something within him had changed. Something essential.

He was still Elias Thorne, but.

The world was silent now.

Not in terms of noise, but in the way it had once moved for him. In the way fortune used to curve around him like a shield.

Now?

It was like being in an empty saloon after the music had ended.

Something essential was absent.

And he didn't know if he'd ever regain it.

Selene's expression darkened. "Elias," she said carefully, her fingers skimming his wrist, tracing the edges of the mark. "This isn't just a debt anymore. You're claimed."

Elias exhaled through his nose. "Yeah," he muttered. "Noticed that."

Her grip on him tightened for a fraction of a second before she let go. "We need to find Alistair," she said, stepping back. "Now."

Elias made a pass over his wet hair, his aching muscles twisting in whatever manner the Collector had treated him to. "And if he's fled?"

Selene's mouth twisted into an approximation of a snarl. "Then I'll track him down. And I'll lop the information out of his head."

Elias let a weak, short breath of chuckle escape him. "Oh, God, I adore you when you are growling like this."

Selene rolled her eyes and took firm hold of his wrist once again. "Let's go."

The Devil in the Cards

They discovered Alistair precisely where Elias had anticipated he would be perched at the high-rollers' table of a seedy gambling hall, sipping whiskey as if he didn't have a care in the world.

The smoky room reeked of smoke, sweat, and poor choices. The type of establishment where a man might sell his soul and no one would raise an eyebrow.

Elias bullied his way through the crowd, ignoring the sidelong looks.

As soon as Alistair saw him, his smile grew more leering. "Ah, Thorne," he said, circling his glass. "Wondered when I'd catch you again. You look like crap."

Elias sat down, facing him.

Alistair's eyes snapped to his wrist. To the mark.

And his expression changed.

He recognized it.

"Shit," Alistair breathed.

Elias smiled, but not with amusement. "Yeah. That just about covers it."

Selene closed in behind him, her arms folded, the dagger visible at her hip. "Talk," she demanded. "What did he lose?"

Alistair let out a breath, working his hair through his fingers. "That's the thing, sweetheart," he whispered. "I don't know."

The jaw of Elias clenched. "Bullshit."

Alistair shook his head. "The Collector, whatever it is, does not play by the House of Fate's rules. It does not engage in simple debts. It engages in people."

Selene's face hardened. "Meaning?"

Alistair looked at Elias.

"You didn't lose luck, Thorne."

Elias swallowed hard. "Then what the hell did I lose?"

Alistair's smile had left his face. His voice was stern.

"Your place in the world."

Elias didn't respond immediately. The words hung in the air, heavy as stones, sinking into his ribs, his belly.

His place.

Not only his fortune.

Not only his name.

His life.

Selene shifted next to him. He could sense the heaviness of her gaze, the way her fingers curled toward her knife, as if she could slice the truth from the air if she needed to.

Elias breathed slowly. "So what happens now?"

Alistair took a slow swallow of whiskey. "Now?" He looked at the Hollow Mark on Elias's wrist. "Now, you begin to fade."

Elias's brow furrowed. "Fading?"

Alistair nodded. "The Collector didn't kill you. It killed your position in this world, which means, bit by bit, people are going to stop noticing you, stop seeing you, stop remembering you."

Something chilly wrapped around Elias's chest.

Selene tensed. "That has already begun," she whispered.

Alistair sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Yeah. And soon, it's going to hurt worse. The Collector doesn't take quickly. It likes to let its marks suffer."

Elias ground his jaw.

This was no longer about losing a game.

This was about being erased.

And Elias Thorne had never been the sort of man to go quietly.

The First Signs of Disappearance

They exited the gaming house, emerging into storm-soaked streets. The air was heavy with the scent of wet wood and lantern oil, the smell of rain's lingering presence.

Elias could already sense the shift.

The world outside him was. distant.

People walked past him without acknowledging him. No second glances. No nods.

Even his own footsteps seemed muted, as if he walked farther and farther away from substance.

Selene felt it too.

She remained at his side, her fingers sweeping across his wrist occasionally.

As if to reassure herself that he was still there.

Elias exhaled slowly, watching it twist into the chill of night air. "We need to have a plan."

Selene nodded. "Alistair said the Collector doesn't rush."

Elias curled his fingers, looking down at the Hollow Mark. "Then we must find a means to interrupt it before it is done."

Selene cocked her head, contemplative. "If it wants to take you whole, that means there's still something left to take."

Elias looked at her. "And?"

Selene's lips curled into something cutting.

"And that means we still have time to steal it back."

Elias smiled. "Now that sounds like my kind of plan."

Selene smirked. "Figured."

Then.

A sound.

A whisper.

Low. Crawling.

"Too late, Elias Thorne."

The cold came first.

Then the shadows shifted.

And the Collector emerged from the darkness.