Updated Nov 20, 2025 • ~7 min read
Liana didn’t sleep.
She tried. God knew she tried. But every time she closed her eyes, the mark on her shoulder blade flared hot enough to jolt her back awake, and her mind filled with images that weren’t hers—flashes of places she’d never been, sounds she’d never heard, feelings that belonged to someone else.
By the time dawn broke over the city, she’d given up entirely. She sat at her tiny kitchen table, laptop open, surrounded by cold coffee and the wreckage of a research spiral that had consumed the entire night.
The internet was losing its mind.
Thousands of reports. Maybe tens of thousands. People all over the world waking up with marks—on their shoulders, their wrists, the backs of their necks. All of them glowing. All of them appearing during the meteor shower. Social media was a hurricane of theories: government experiments, alien contact, mass hallucination, religious awakening.
And underneath it all, whispered in comment threads and hushed forum posts: the old stories. The prophecies.
Starmarks. Fated mates. The Chosen.
Liana’s phone rang, Maya’s name flashing on the screen. She let it go to voicemail. Then immediately felt guilty and called back.
“Are you alive?” Maya answered without preamble.
“Questionable.”
“Did you sleep at all?”
“No.”
Maya sighed. “Me neither. Have you seen the news?”
“I’ve seen everything.” Liana rubbed her eyes, then winced as the movement pulled at her shoulder. The mark was still there, still glowing faintly even in the morning light. She’d checked it obsessively throughout the night, watching the pattern shift and pulse like something alive. “Maya, this is—”
“Everywhere. I know.” A pause. “My cousin in Tokyo has one. So does my neighbor’s kid. There’s a girl in my building who says hers appeared on her spine. Liana, this isn’t just us.”
No. It wasn’t. Which somehow made it worse. If it had been just her, she could have convinced herself it was a fluke. A medical anomaly. Something fixable.
But thousands of people? Across the entire planet?
That was a pattern. And patterns meant something.
“The Council is calling an emergency assembly,” Maya continued. “Tonight. For everyone with marks. They’re saying it’s mandatory.”
Liana’s stomach sank. The Council—the self-appointed governing body that claimed to speak for the “gifted” community—had always been more interested in control than help. If they were getting involved, this was going to get complicated.
“I’m not going,” she said.
“Liana—”
“I’m not.” The mark pulsed, a wave of heat that spread down her spine and made her breath catch. She gritted her teeth against it. “I don’t answer to them. I don’t answer to anyone.”
“They might have information. Answers.”
“Or they might try to use us for whatever agenda they’re pushing this week.” Liana had seen enough of the Council’s “help” to know better. They didn’t care about individuals. They cared about power.
Maya was quiet for a moment. Then, softly: “You can’t hide from this.”
Liana’s throat tightened. She knew. Of course she knew. But acknowledging it—accepting it—meant accepting that everything she’d built her life around was wrong. That the prophecies were real. That fate existed.
That she was bound to someone she’d never met.
“I have to go,” she said abruptly. “I’ll call you later.”
She hung up before Maya could protest, then immediately felt like garbage for it. But she couldn’t—she couldn’t do this right now. Couldn’t think about Council assemblies or prophecies or the fact that somewhere out there, someone was walking around with a mark that matched hers.
Her shoulder burned again, sharper this time, and with it came a flash of sensation that wasn’t hers: frustration. Anger. The feeling of stone under palms, cool and rough.
Liana shoved back from the table hard enough to make her coffee slosh. This was insane. She was feeling someone else’s emotions. Sensing their environment. This wasn’t possible.
Except it was happening.
She needed air. She needed to move. She needed to do literally anything other than sit here spiraling.
Ten minutes later, she was out the door, jogging through her neighborhood with no particular destination in mind. The morning was already warm, the sky a hazy blue that promised heat later. Her shoulder throbbed with every step, but the rhythm of movement helped. Cleared her head. Let her think.
Facts: She had a mark. So did thousands of others. The marks had appeared during the meteor shower.
Hypothesis: This was connected to the old prophecies about fated mates, which she’d always dismissed as romantic nonsense.
Problem: She was feeling things that weren’t hers. Which meant someone else had a mark too. Someone connected to her.
Conclusion: She was screwed.
Liana pushed herself harder, feet pounding pavement, lungs burning. She ran until her legs ached and sweat soaked through her tank top, until she’d looped through half the city and ended up in Riverside Park without quite meaning to.
She collapsed on a bench, gasping, and pressed her palm to the mark. It was hot. Always hot now. Like a low-grade fever concentrated in one spot.
“Stupid cosmic bullshit,” she muttered.
“Could be worse.”
Liana’s head snapped up. A woman stood a few feet away—older, maybe sixty, with silver-streaked black hair and knowing eyes. She wore a loose linen dress and carried herself with the kind of calm that came from either deep wisdom or heavy medication.
“Excuse me?” Liana said.
The woman gestured to Liana’s shoulder. “The mark. Could be worse. At least yours is beautiful.”
Liana’s hand moved instinctively to cover it, even though her tank top was already hiding it. “How did you—”
“I can see them. Even through clothing.” The woman smiled, but it was sad. “It’s a gift. Or a curse. Depending on the day.”
Great. A mystic. Just what Liana needed.
“I’m not interested in—”
“A reading? Good. I’m not offering one.” The woman sat down on the bench, uninvited. “I’m just an old woman who’s seen this before.”
Liana frowned. “The marks? This hasn’t happened before.”
“Not like this. Not on this scale.” The woman tilted her head, studying Liana with unsettling intensity. “But the bond itself? That’s ancient. Older than cities. Older than language.”
“I don’t believe in bonds.”
“Your shoulder says otherwise.”
Liana clenched her jaw. The mark pulsed, and with it came another flash—this time an image, brief but vivid: a room with stone walls, sunlight through a high window, the shadow of someone moving.
She sucked in a breath. The woman noticed.
“Sharing already,” she said quietly. “That means the bond is strong. Active. He’s close.”
“He?” Liana’s voice came out strangled. “What do you mean, close?”
“Your mate. The other half of your mark.” The woman stood, smoothing her dress. “In the same city, probably. Maybe within miles. The bond pulls you together. You’ll meet soon.”
“I don’t want to meet him.”
“Doesn’t matter what you want. The bond doesn’t care.” The woman started to walk away, then paused. “Word of advice? Don’t fight it. I’ve seen people try. It never ends well.”
Then she was gone, disappearing into the morning crowd before Liana could find words to respond.
Liana sat frozen on the bench, her pulse hammering in her ears. Close. He was close. Somewhere in this city, someone was walking around with a mark that mirrored hers, feeling what she felt, seeing what she saw.
The bond pulls you together.
Her phone buzzed. Another news alert: Council announces mandatory registration for all marked individuals. Penalties for non-compliance.
Of course. Because this wasn’t complicated enough already.
Liana stood, her legs unsteady, and started the long walk home. Her shoulder burned with every step, a constant reminder of the thing she couldn’t deny anymore.
Somewhere out there, he was burning too.
And whether she wanted to or not, she was going to find him.
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