The Hollow Mark

A mark on Elias's wrist burned.

Not like fire. Not like a wound.

Like something within him was changing.

Like he was no longer fully himself.

Rain fell in sheets, drumming the rooftops of Hollow's Bend, washing blood to the gutters. Selene had pulled him into a narrow alley, her fingers clamped tightly around his arm, her gaze scanning the desolate streets.

"Elias," she murmured, sharp, low. "Wait, what the fuck just happened?"

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

"I lost," he admitted.

Selene's grip tightened. "What did it take?"

Elias flexed his fingers. His Hollow Mark pulsed beneath the flesh of his wrist, deep and black, the ink squirming as if alive.

He looked at Selene.

And for the first time, he faltered.

Because he wasn't sure.

But something had shifted in him. Something fundamental.

He was still fully Elias Thorne, but.

The world was quieter now.

Not in the sense of sound, but rather in the way it would once throw itself for him. The way luck used to encircle him like a protective shroud.

Now?

It felt like being in an empty saloon after the music had stopped.

Something vital was missing.

And he didn't know whether it would ever return.

Selene's expression darkened. "The mark…" she said tentatively, her fingertips brushing his wrist, tracing the outline of the mark. "This isn't just a debt now. You're claimed."

Elias let out a breath through his nose. "Yeah," he muttered. "Noticed that."

For the briefest of moments, her hold on him tightened, then she released. "We have to find Alistair," she told him, stepping back. "Now."

Elias pushed a hand through his damp hair, the muscles in his arms and back aching from whatever the Collector had caught him doing. "And if he's run off?"

Selene's lips curled into a semblance of a snarl. "Then I'll find him. And I will extract the answers from him."

Elias made a feeble, winded sound of laughter. "Oh, I love when you say it like that."

Selene rolled her eyes and seized his wrist again. "Move."

The Devil in the Cards

Alistair was sitting at the high-stakes table at a rundown gambling den, sipping whiskey like he had all the time in the world, exactly where Elias had known he would be.

The smoke-covered room reeked of rotten decision-making. Somewhere a man could sell his soul, and no one would notice.

Elias weaved his way through the crowd and past sidelong glances.

As soon as Alistair caught sight of him, his smirk grew wider. "Oh, Thorne," he drawled, twirling a drink. "Was thinking when I'd see you again. You look like hell."

Elias sat down on the other side of him.

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

And there was a change in his expression.

He knew exactly what it was.

"Shit," Alistair murmured.

There was no humor in it, though Elias smiled. "Yeah. That about sums it up."

Selene came up behind him, arms crossed, dagger on display. "Talk," she ordered. "What did he lose?"

Alistair let out a breath, brushing a hand through his hair. "That's the problem, baby," he said softly. "I don't know."

Elias's jaw tightened. "Bullshit."

Alistair shook his head. "The Collector—whatever it is—it does not play by the House of Fate's rules. It doesn't trade in straightforward debts. It deals in people."

Selene's face sharpened. "Meaning?"

Alistair met Elias's eyes.

"You didn't just lose luck, Thorne.

Elias swallowed. "And then what the hell did I lose?"

Alistair's smirk was gone. His tone was grim.

"Your place in the world."

Elias did not respond immediately. The words hung in the air, weighing down his ribs, his gut.

His place.

Not just his fortune.

Not just his name.

His existence.

Selene shifted beside him. He could feel her gaze heavy on him, how her fingers twitched toward her knife, like she might slice the truth from the air if she had to.

Elias exhaled slowly. "So what happens now?"

Alistair sipped long on whiskey. "Now?" He looked at the Hollow Mark on Elias's wrist. "Now, you start fading."

Elias frowned. "Fading?"

Alistair nodded. "The Collector didn't steal your life. It took the space you occupied in this world. Which is to say, one by one, you will stop being recognized. Stop seeing you. Stop remembering you."

A cold thing coiled in Elias's chest.

Selene stiffened. "That's already begun," she murmured.

Alistair sighed, massaging his temple. "Yeah. And soon, it's going to get worse. The Collector doesn't eat quickly. It enjoys making its marks suffer."

Elias clenched his jaw.

It wasn't only about losing a game anymore.

This was about being erased.

And Elias Thorne had never been the sort of man to go easily out of the world.

The Band Begins to Fade, Literally

They exited the gambling den into storm-soaked streets. The town smelled of wet wood and lantern oil, the air heavy with the memory of rain.

Elias could already feel the shift.

The world beyond him seemed … far away.

He stood at a corner and waited; people passed by not looking at him. No second glances. No recognition.

Even his own footsteps sounded softer, as if he lingered further and further from something solid.

Selene noticed it too.

She hovered, her fingers grazing his wrist occasionally.

As if she needed to check that he was still there.

Elias exhaled, seeing it curl into the cold night air. "We need a plan."

Selene nodded. "Alistair said the Collector isn't taking fast."

Elias looked at the Hollow Mark and rolled his fingers. "And then we find a way to stop it before it ends."

Selene cocked her head to one side, thoughtful. "If it wants to fully take you, then there's still something left to take."

Elias met her gaze. "And?"

Selene's mouth curved in something sharp.

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

Elias grinned. "Now that's my kind of plan."

Selene smirked. "Figured."

Then.

A noise.

A whisper.

Low. Crawling.

"Too late, Elias Thorne."

The cold came first.

Then the shadows moved.

And the Collector emerged from the darkness.