Page 62 of Marked By His Hunger
Hungry.
The thought slipped in uninvited, and I immediately wanted to take it back.
That’s not what this is.
Except my instincts—whatever those even were anymore—didn’t agree.
I pulled my hand back from Ursula’s, wrapping my fingers around my drink instead, grounding myself in something solid, something normal.
“You guys are really just gonna… go with that?” I asked, trying for casual and landing somewhere closer to strained.
Necromancer.
The word still echoed.
Still fit.
Too well.
And the storm?—
Another crack of thunder split the sky, louder this time.
Closer.
My pulse jumped.
It’s just weather.
It had to be.
It had to be.
Because the alternative?—
The idea that something out there had heard me?—
Had recognized me?—
Was a whole different level of not okay.
I forced a breath, trying to steady myself, trying to stay present.
Trying not to spiral.
Because no one here was laughing.
No one was calling me crazy.
No one was looking at me like I needed to be fixed.
And that should have been enough.
It should have felt like relief.
But instead—it felt like the moment right before something changes.
And I had the distinct, unsettling feeling…
