Ryan woke to find his left hand completely black.
Not the silver-black of the anchor, not the shadow of the void. Pure black, like a hole cut into reality. The lines had spread overnight, climbing his arm, reaching his shoulder.
He sat up in bed, staring at his hand. It still moved when he told it to. It still felt warm when he touched it. But it wasn't his hand anymore. Not completely.
"Mira," he called. "Come here."
His daughter appeared in the doorway, her silver eyes wide.
"Dada, your hand—"
"I know. The Hunter's mark is spreading."
Mira crossed the room and touched his black hand. Her silver light flickered against the darkness.
"It's not the Hunter's mark anymore," she said. "It's something else."
"What?"
She looked at him. "It's you. You're becoming part of the void."
---
