Her cellphone buzzed against the wooden coffee table, sharp and sudden.
Valarie breathed in, startled, her arm pulling away from her face. Blinking blearily against the small motes of dust that played amongst the low amber glow streaming through the pulled curtains.
She pushed upright with a slow grunt, rubbing her eyes as she passed the dusty surface of the old TV stand. Her reflection caught there for a moment, dull and distorted in the glass.
Messy black hair, too long to be military-short but still choppy from the habit. Lean frame wrapped in an old tank top and cargo pants, both hanging a little looser than they should. An old and well healed burn scar that turns the color of her skin from her right shoulder to the underside of her jaw. Half-faded bullet wounds that never quite matched each other visible from where her shirt rode up on her. The tattoos on her hands shimmered faintly under the light with geometric patterns cut deep into the skin. Not for decoration, but for work. She shoved her glasses back into place, sighing as the moment slipped past.
The phone buzzed again on the coffee table, pulling her forward. A small flick of her fingers tugged the phone through the air, drifting it into her palm with an easy, practiced pull. The geometric shapes of the tattoo starts to pulse with a soft, deliberate light. She blinked slowly, the glow fading back into her skin as she grabbed her glasses from the couch, wiping small bits of dust from the corners of her eyes. The artificial light of the phone causes her to squint and dim the output before she reads what it said.
From: Kara [Med School]:
“Hey, it’s Kara from the clinic. Got a weird one here. Could use your eyes ASAP. You available? Job pays if that helps.”
Valarie’s brow furrows, rubbing the bridge of her nose as she begins to recall. She hadn’t heard from Valarie since before she got back from Djibouti. She didn’t recall her being too overdramatic, and… well.
She glanced over at where her phone had floated from, spotting a very flat wallet with a set of old truck keys tossed on top. Beside them sat a small, leather-bound book. Something she’d picked up from a renaissance fair when she was younger.
Valarie:
“I’ll be there soon.”
She winced as she pushed herself out of the couch’s deep, worn-in cradle. It took a second to steady herself, the weight of the heat and the old exhaustion making her limbs heavier than they should’ve been.
Kara wouldn’t have called unless it mattered. Worried now, Valarie grabbed her things. At the very least, she could check in. It had been… what? Three years? She reached for her Beretta next, a newer thing. Well maintained and cared for. She tucked the weapon into the waistband of her pants, pulling her desert-camo backpack, the same battered one from overseas, from the floor in a smooth, practiced motion. Finally she grabbed the notebook, worn through with excessive use, and shoved it into a pocket of the cargo pants she was wearing.
She exhaled through her nose, sliding her glasses up higher onto the bridge before stepping out toward the battered old truck parked under the heavy afternoon heat. She lit a cigarette on the porch, the first drag painting her throat with a stinging warmth, then headed for the driver’s side. The door gave a low, familiar creak as she shoved it open and stuffed her gear onto the passenger seat. She let the truck idle for a few minutes, getting some stale air moving through the cabin before easing out of the driveway. The GPS on her phone rattled out directions toward a free clinic about twenty minutes off. Valarie drove in silence, the occasional sip from a battered canteen the only break in the long, slow rhythm of the road.
The town thinned out the further she went. A singular, dusty rainbow flag hung limp from a cracked window in the distance, marking her destination.
There were hardly any people out, save for the slow-moving clusters crowding the front of the clinic Something about it itched at her nerves. There were too many people clustered near the doors, too many packed into the narrow lot and spilling down the sidewalk. Valarie slowed as she pulled up, the scene setting her teeth on edge. The clinic wasn’t built for this. Whatever was happening inside had cracked open the seams of the place.
She parked the truck, adjusted the Beretta into the waistband of her pants, and crushed the last of her cigarette under the heel of her boot. The sidewalk felt sticky with heat as she made her way toward the entrance. Inside, the first thing that hit her was how clean it looked. The outside might have been battered to hell, but in here, everything was all bright posters about flu shots and family planning. The walls were painted a soft pastel green that tried too hard to be cheerful. For a second, it almost worked. It almost felt safe.
But the air seemed to hum differently. The hush when she walked in was too sharp, too sudden, like someone had sucked all the air out of the room and nobody wanted to be the first to breathe it back in.
The chairs were packed tight, shoulders brushing, knees knocked together. People clutched their elbows, hunched small into whatever space they could find.
She didn’t have to wait long.
Kara hurried over from behind the front desk, weaving through the packed chairs with the kind of practiced urgency only a nurse could have. She was small-framed, scrubs hanging loose on her, a messy ponytail falling out of the clip at the back of her head. The ID badge pinned sideways to her chest read Kara Wilmont, RN. She slowed as she approached, blinking once, twice, her eyes skimming Valarie’s face without recognition.
Kara:
“Hey, can I help you?”
Kara asked, polite but tense, already glancing toward the door like she expected another rush of patients to crash through it. Valarie rubbed at the bridge of her nose, a tired motion more habit than anything.
Valarie:
“It’s me, Kara. Val.”
Kara froze, her hand tightening slightly on the edge of her stethoscope. Confusion flickered again, followed by something heavier. Realization landing slow and clumsy. Her mouth opened like she might say something, but nothing came out for a second. Instead, she exhaled, shaky, the lines around her eyes deepening with the weight of it.
Kara:
“Val…”
Slipped from her mouth, softer now, almost disbelieving. Her eyes flick up and down her before she shook her head once, like trying to clear static, then gave a half-laugh that didn’t have any real humor in it.
Kara:
“Jesus. I… sorry, it’s been a crazy day.”
She fumbled with her stethoscope again, eyes darting away for a second.
Kara:
“You look… different.”
Valarie gave her a small, tired smile that didn’t bother pretending it didn’t hurt.
Valarie:
“Yeah. Been a long few years.”
Kara nodded quickly, too quickly, like if she didn’t keep moving she might get stuck. She cleared her throat, dragging herself back to the crisis at hand.
Kara:
“It’s been weird today. Really weird. We got a wave of patients earlier, a few of the regulars. But they’re worse than usual. Horrible dreams, phantom pains. Some of them said they’re hearing voices… ones that tell them to do violent things.”
She scrubbed a hand through her hair, rattling the badge on her chest.
Kara:
“Honestly? I don’t know what it is. Mass hysteria, infection… something. But it’s bad. And when it got worse, I thought… maybe you could help.”
Her voice faltered on the last word, the fear catching up to her just a little.
A nurse near the corner of the waiting area was raising her voice at an agitated patient, a heavyset man in a sweat-stained tank top who paced in tight, angry circles. His eyes kept darting around, landing on chairs, walls, other patients, like he was searching for something to blame. The nurse held her hands out in that practiced, calming way, but it clearly was not working.
Stranger:
“I’m paying more this time!”
The man snapped, rummaging through his wallet with jerky movements. His voice cracked at the edges, loud enough to make a few people flinch. This clinic was supposed to be free, or damn close to it, but he acted like the bill had come due in blood The tension sat heavy over the whole room. People shifted anxiously in the cheap plastic chairs, picking at sleeves, tapping their knees, whispering sharp little scraps Valarie caught only pieces of.
Nightmares.
Carrying something dark.
Not being able to shake it loose.
A young mother clutched her daughter closer, the girl half-asleep against her shoulder, twitching like she was caught in a bad dream that wouldn’t let go.
Kara tapped Valarie’s arm and steered her toward a quieter alcove near the supply closet.
Kara (under her breath):
“Look, I don’t know if it’s a freak infection or just a full-blown mass panic, but… it’s bad,”
Her voice was tight, controlled, the way people sounded when they were trying not to scare themselves worse.
Kara:
“They keep talking about dreams. Really vivid ones. Violent stuff. And they’re not just dreaming it, either. They say it feels like something’s… pushing them. Pushing through them.”
She paused, glancing back toward the waiting room.
Stolen story; please report.
Kara:
“One guy had marks on his arms too. Weird symbols. He bolted before I could get a better look.”
Kara shoved her phone deep into her scrub pocket, the fabric bunching awkwardly against her side.
Her gaze dipped briefly toward Valarie’s waistband, catching the shape of the pistol tucked there.
She didn’t say anything about it.
Just looked relieved.
Kara (sighing):
“I know this is out of left field,” “But you always had a knack, Val. Always knew how to see things for what they were.”
She hesitated, swallowing hard enough Valarie could see the tension in her throat.
Kara:
“If you can figure out what the hell is going on, maybe we can stop it before it gets worse. People are scared. Really scared.”
Valarie stayed quiet for a second, scanning the room again.
The crackling energy hadn’t faded.
It was still building.
Valarie (gruff, low):
“Why me, Kara?”
Kara shifted her weight from foot to foot, thumb worrying at the edge of her scrub pocket.
Kara (awkward):
“I mean, you went to med school… for a while. People still talk about it. Said you were good.”
She hesitated, then added under her breath,
Kara:
“And… I heard some things. Rumors. About you being able to pull off crazy healing work. Stuff the hospitals couldn’t explain.”
She gave a helpless shrug, the kind that said she wasn’t sure she believed half of it herself.
Kara (rushed, almost apologetic):
“I figured… if it was even half true, maybe you’d know something. Or at least spot something the rest of us are missing.”
Valarie didn’t answer right away.
She just pulled her jacket a little tighter around herself and glanced toward the lobby where the next argument was starting to boil under the surface.
A burst of shouting cracked against the glass doors.
Another patient shoved his way inside, fists clenched, face red, veins standing out along his arms. The room tensed around him, chairs creaking as people pressed back against the walls without thinking. Valarie felt the shift ripple across the clinic, the way a battlefield sometimes went tight just before someone made a bad decision.
The caring was still there. You could see it in the nurses, the aides trying to hold the line.
But it was thinned out.
Stretched over too much fear.
Valarie’s mind flickered back to her old training, the drills that taught her how to triage gunshot wounds in sand and dust.
Then forward, into the colder magic she carried now.
Wounds you couldn’t see.
Wounds that moved through people like ghosts.
She had never seen anything like this.
Valorie takes a moment, drinking in the atmosphere as she nods along with what Kara is saying. She leans forward, half whispering as if trying not to tip the delicate balance in the air either way.
Valarie: “Hey, can you point out the man with those symbols you mentioned?”
Kara shakes her head no, eyes widening for a moment.
Kara: “Oh god no… it was hard enough trying to just talk to the man. He kept insisting that I don’t look at them. He looked like he was going to freak out… so I just left him be.”
Val nods, knitting her eyebrows as she sighs and rubs the back of her head.
Valarie: “Okay… I feel like that might be the best way for me to figure this out. Lead me to him?”
Val gives her a reassuring tilt of the head, as if gesturing for her to show her what she was talking about.
Kara’s eyes dart toward the far side of the clinic’s cramped waiting area, then flick back to Valorie. She shifts from foot to foot, clearly uneasy.
Kara (hushed):
“I- I didn’t get a picture,” she said, voice dropping even lower like she was afraid the man might somehow hear her anyway. “He was really tense about anyone even looking at them. And…”
She hesitated, glancing toward the front door before finishing,
“We don’t have security here today. No police either. It’s just… us. If he flipped out…-”
She looked back at Valarie, worry carving small, tired lines into her face.
“I’m not comfortable poking that bear again. You know?”
She nods slightly over Val’s shoulder. If Val follows her line of sight, she’ll spot a man sitting in a plastic chair by the water cooler. He’s hunched forward, head in his hands, breathing shallowly. A sweat-darkened hoodie hangs loosely from his wiry frame. He’s definitely still here, despite everything, an immovable island of tension in the busy clinic.
Kara clears her throat.
Kara: “Look, he’s… well, he’s freaking everyone out. But I really don’t think he means harm. He just keeps mumbling under his breath.”
Her voice drops to barely above a whisper.
Kara: “I’m sorry, but I’m not going to walk you over there, Val. I don’t want him snapping at me. He refused my help earlier, practically begged me to keep my distance. But, he hasn’t left either.”
She presses her lips together, glancing up at Valorie with worried eyes.
Kara: “If you want to try, you’ll have to approach him yourself. Just… be careful, okay?”
Somewhere behind them, a nurse mutters something soothing to a patient in the exam room, but the tension in the waiting area is thick. Valorie can almost feel the pulse of each uneasy breath the man takes. He hasn’t looked up yet, but something about his posture suggests he’s still very aware of his surroundings.
Valarie paused, her hand dipping into the battered bag slung over her shoulder. She pulled out a small leather-bound book, thumbing through the worn pages until she found the one she needed. A rune, her own transcribed version, rough around the edges but tested. From the side pouch, she fished out a chalk pen, silver shavings lacing the ink cartridge. She popped the cap, tracing some of the tattoos on the back of her hand as she kept half an ear on Kara. Upon it’s completion, the ink dried almost instantly where it touched the air.
Magic settling with a faint shimmer against her skin.
Valarie:
“Alright… I’m gonna go talk to him. Do me a favor, just stand by for a minute.”
She clenched her fist loosely, the rune thrumming a dull warmth up through her knuckles as she shifted her body to obscure it from view. No need to stir the pot more than necessary.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Kara stiffen. The nurse didn’t say anything, didn’t ask, but her hands twitched slightly where they gripped the edge of her scrub top. She kept her mouth shut. Though, she kept herself steady, even if her eyes were wider now than before.
Across the clinic, the hooded man stirred. As if sensing the pulse of magic, he lifted his head and met Valarie’s gaze. No aggression in his eyes. If anything; a flicker of relief.
Sweat rolled down the sides of his face. His breathing was ragged, but the raw panic had ebbed into something slower, heavier. He was waiting, for something, or someone.
Hooded Man (quiet):
“I was hoping you’d show up.”
His voice cracked with exhaustion, but the words carried something sharper underneath. A kind of rattling, desperate hope. No threat. Just a man who had survived something too big for him to carry alone.
Valarie approached slowly, her hands loose at her sides.
The man peeled the side of his hoodie back, revealing the faint, angry red marks spiraling up his forearm. Burned into him. Not fresh, but not healed either.
Hooded Man (softer):
“I heard a rumor. Somebody who knew about the signs. Knew what they meant. Knew how to stop them… before they could hurt anyone.”
He glanced around, jittery but not pulling away. If anything, his posture opened slightly. Cautious, but inviting her closer. From behind, Kara edged a little nearer, trying not to draw attention to herself. Her body tensed, but she kept her distance, letting Valarie handle it. That was when another figure moved into the lobby. A middle-aged nurse with a tight smile and a calm, deliberate walk. She intercepted a curious patient drifting too close, waving them off gently with a hand on their shoulder.
The nurse caught Valarie’s eye and leaned toward Kara, whispering low.
Nurse (hushed):
“Take it somewhere private if you can. Folks are getting jumpy. Last thing we need is a full-on panic.”
Kara nodded once, flashing a quick, grateful glance, then gestured for Valarie and the man to follow. They moved down a narrow hallway into one of the empty exam rooms, the nurse staying behind to steer any onlookers away with soft reassurances. Inside the small room, the man perched on the edge of the exam table, pulling his sleeve higher with shaky hands. The runes were clearer now. Sprawling, ugly things carved up his bicep like a brand.
They pulsed faintly in the low overhead light, as if breathing.
Hooded Man (quietly):
“They said you might be the only one who could understand.”
His fingers dug into the fabric of his pants, knuckles white.
Hooded Man:
“The markings… they’re changing me. I can feel it. And if I listen to them… if I do what they want… I’ll be… famous. Bigger than anything.”
He laughed once, a broken, bitter sound that didn’t touch his eyes.
Hooded Man:
“But if this keeps spreading… if it hits someone else the way it hit me…”
He shook his head hard, shutting his eyes tight like he could block out whatever images clawed through his mind.
Hooded Man (hoarse):
“I can’t let it happen. You have to help me.”
His voice cracked on the last word, raw and scraping.
Across the room, Kara watched in taut silence. Her hands were pressed flat against her thighs, the tension written in every line of her body. She didn’t know what this was. Didn’t know what Valarie could actually do. But she trusted her enough to stay out of the way. Valarie stepped closer, breathing shallow against the thick, wrong feeling bleeding from the marks. She understood now.
This wasn’t just some fever dream. It wasn’t just fear. Something had made a home in this man’s skin.
Valarie frowned as she studied the tangled scrawl burning along the man’s arm.
The incomplete lines made her stomach twist. Heavy, raw cuts into the skin, looping on themselves like half-finished circuits. The shape of the rune etched into the man’s arm burned itself into her mind, every curve and harsh angle recorded in crystal clarity. One of the perks, or curses, of a photographic memory. She wouldn’t forget it, even if she wanted to.
But something about them didn’t sit right.
The longer she stared, the less sure she was. Some of the curves didn’t match the structure of how runes should be made. Some of the angles looked… deliberate, even where they broke from traditional structure. Almost like the gaps weren’t mistakes, but part of the design. She blinked hard, pushing the thought aside. There wasn’t time to pick apart strange theory.
Not here.
Valarie (low, steady):
“Alright. Sit still. I’m gonna see if I can’t stitch this together.”
She adjusted the grip on her specialized pen, sharpening the tip against a strip of rough cloth tucked into her pocket. The man shifted on the edge of the table, breathing ragged, sweat still slicking his brow, but he forced himself to stay still. Valarie leaned in, steadying herself with one hand against the table.
The runes burned under the fluorescent light, the incomplete magic writhing faintly at the edges of the carved lines.
Piece by piece, she began working. Each bridging line, each connective glyph, drawn with the kind of precision that felt less like art and more like surgery. Her mind narrowed to the ink, the skin, the humming tension in the air. Kara hovered near the door, casting quick glances toward the hallway, ready to intercept if anyone wandered too close. The clinic lights buzzed overhead, the sound drilling into the thick, uneasy silence pressing down around them. Stroke by stroke, the chaos untangled.
Valarie’s Symbol Drawing training kicked in without hesitation, guiding her hand even as the man twitched under her touch. No rushing. No second-guessing. Just the clean, brutal certainty that this had to be done exactly right. The last stroke slid into place. For a heartbeat, everything held.
Then the rune flared.
Magic surged through the man’s arm, the lines igniting with a dull red-gold glow that pulsed like a living thing.
Hooded Man (voice breaking):
“Wh-what’s happening?!”
Before she could answer, the energy snapped outward.
Valarie felt it claw toward her, a sharp, invasive force trying to latch onto her mind, slither under her skin. The rune on her palm flared bright, her ward formed a violent, tendril like shape as it slammed against the red-black mist. A ring of faint light expanded from her hand, catching the surge mid-air and forcing it back.
The two forces collided; untamed magic crackled against the ward like static snapping across a metal plate. There was a brittle, sharp sound, like a wire pulled too tight and broken clean. The runes on the man’s arm sputtered, sparking once before folding in on themselves. The light died out, leaving only raw, faintly pink scars behind.
For a long moment, no one moved.
The man sagged hard against the table, gasping for breath.
Hooded Man (hoarse):
“It’s… gone. It’s not pulling at me anymore.”
Relief flooded his voice, thick and unsteady.
Valarie rocked back slightly, flexing her fingers as the last of the ward’s glow faded from her palm. Her heart hammered against her ribs, loud enough it felt like it filled the little exam room.
Kara exhaled sharply behind her, the sound almost a gasp. She stepped closer, her face pale but steady.
Kara (softly, in awe):
“Val… you—thank you. I don’t even know what you just did…”
The man raised a trembling hand to his arm, fingers tracing the scars left behind.
No magic.
No burning hum.
Just damage now.
Ordinary, human damage.
Valarie wiped the chalk roughly against her pants and shoved it back into her bag, the exhaustion crawling up her spine a familiar, unwelcome weight.