Page 67 of Marked By His Hunger
That’s how I learned to survive.
By pretending.
Back in Buckie’s, the ghosts pressed closer now.
Not malicious.
Curious.
They could feel the difference.
I wasn’t just someone who could see them.
I was someone who might one day command them.
The thought made bile rise in my throat.
“I don’t control them,” I said quickly, as if anyone had accused me. “I don’t want to.”
“I’ve read some about this and that’s not how Necromancy works,” Emery replied calmly. “It’s not about wanting.”
The storm cracked again outside.
The entire building shuddered.
And that presence—it felt closer.
Not just physically.
Energetically.
Like it had leaned forward.
My pulse accelerated.
Dietrich leaned back in his chair slowly.
“Well,” he muttered, “that explains why the air’s gone strange.”
“You feel it too?” I asked.
He nodded once.
Sapphire swallowed.
“Something powerful just shifted.”
Ursula glanced toward the door.
“The Institute wards are reacting.”
And they were.
I could feel the rune network thrumming faintly beneath the tavern floorboards.
Ancient sigils embedded in foundation stone vibrating like taut wire.
This wasn’t just weather.
