Without a Trace (The Hollow Order #1)

10. Interlude

Interlude

R ed light.

It pulsed behind my eyelids, slow and rhythmic, like a heartbeat that didn’t belong to me.

I was small. I knew that. My feet didn’t reach the floor, my hands sticky with something I couldn’t name.

A woman spoke. Not my mother. This voice was deeper. Softer. “What do you mean she’s marked?”

Silence.

Then another voice. Male. “It means she’s not yours to keep.”

I turned my head. A symbol on the wall—swirled, like smoke—shimmered. Moved.

Then everything cracked open.

The floor. The voices. My skin.