Page 189 of Marked By His Hunger
No—hundreds.
Shapes.
Figures.
Shadows that weren’t quite shadows, gathered at the edges of the darkness. I couldn’t see their faces, but I could feel them.
Waiting.
Watching.
Aware.
And none of them frightened me.
That was what made my breath catch.
Because they should have.
This—this was everything I’d spent my life pretending wasn’t real.
Ghosts.
Spirits.
The dead.
But they weren’t reaching for me.
They weren’t clinging or desperate or lost.
They were still.
Contained.
Held back by something unseen.
By me.
“Oh,” I breathed.
Understanding hit like a slow, inevitable tide.
I wasn’t just seeing them anymore.
I was standing above them.
Not in power—not yet.
But in position.
They were aware of me in a way they had never been before.
Like I wasn’t just another living girl brushing against the veil.
Like I was something else.
Something they recognized.
