Page 235 of Marked By His Hunger

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I learned to pretend I didn’t see the woman with burn marks standing beside my locker.

Or the boy dripping river water onto the cafeteria floor.

Home stopped feeling safe.

Not because my aunt and uncle were cruel.

They were tired.

Frustrated.

Embarrassed.

They whispered about me behind closed doors.

“She’s disturbed.”

“She needs structure.”

“She needs discipline.”

I needed someone to believe me.

But belief is a rare gift when your truth is inconvenient.

So I shrank.

I folded myself inward.

I became small.

Invisible.

The girl who didn’t cause trouble.

The girl who didn’t speak unless spoken to.

The girl who stared at nothing because staring at nothing was easier than staring at ghosts.

I thought that would be my life.

Hiding.

Apologizing for existing.

Pretending I wasn’t different.

Then came the letter.

Asgarheim Runevald Institute.

An invitation written in ink that shimmered faintly when I tilted it toward the light.

I didn’t know what it meant.

Only that for the first time in my life, something had found me on purpose.

When I arrived, I expected more fear.

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