Chapter 1: The Seventh Seal

Leo Vance's hand trembled as he gripped the coffee mug, the ceramic growing cold against his palm. The morning light streaming through his apartment window felt harsh, unforgiving, casting sharp shadows across the scattered design proofs littering his desk. He'd been staring at the same logo mockup for twenty minutes, but the familiar curves and angles seemed to writhe before his eyes like living things.

Focus, he told himself, forcing his attention back to the screen. The client presentation was in three hours, and his reputation as a reliable graphic designer depended on delivering clean, professional work. Not whatever fever-dream nonsense his brain was conjuring up.

But as he reached for his stylus, something made him freeze.

There, on the back of his right hand, just beneath the skin—a faint crimson glow. Leo blinked hard, certain it was a trick of the light, some reflection from his dual monitors. But when he looked again, it was still there. A number, burning like a brand beneath his flesh.

Seven.

"What the hell?" He turned his hand over, examining both sides. The palm looked normal, but when he flipped it back, the number pulsed with that same eerie red light. Not on his skin—under it, as if something had been tattooed onto his bones.

Leo stumbled to his feet, knocking over his coffee. The dark liquid spread across his workspace, seeping into client files, but he barely noticed. His reflection stared back from the black computer screen, and for just a moment, his eyes seemed to glow with that same crimson light.

He bolted to the bathroom, flipping on every light switch. Under the harsh fluorescent glare, he examined his hand with scientific precision. The mark was definitely there—a perfect numeral seven, roughly an inch tall, positioned just below his knuckles. When he pressed against it, heat radiated outward like touching a stovetop.

"This isn't possible," he whispered, but his voice sounded foreign in the small space. "This isn't—"

The number pulsed, and suddenly the world exploded into sensation. Every nerve ending in his body screamed at once, a symphony of pain that dropped him to his knees. The bathroom mirror reflected his agonized face, but behind his own reflection, something else moved. A shadow with burning eyes, reaching toward him with fingers that dripped darkness.

Leo spun around, but nothing was there. Just the white tile wall and his girlfriend's collection of face creams and nail polish.

When he looked back at the mirror, only his own terrified face stared back.

The heat was getting worse. It started at the mark and spread up his arm like liquid fire, racing through his bloodstream. His vision blurred, and for a terrifying moment, he could swear he heard whispers—voices speaking in a language that predated human speech.

The front door's familiar jingle of keys made him scramble to his feet.

"Leo? I grabbed us some bagels from that place you like!" Cass's voice carried the warmth that had first drawn him to her two years ago. Sweet, normal, grounded Cass, who worked double shifts at the pediatric ward and still found energy to worry about whether he was eating enough.

"Just a second!" he called back, grabbing a hand towel and wrapping it around his right hand. The fabric felt like sandpaper against the mark, but he gritted his teeth and forced a smile.

Cass Riley appeared in the bathroom doorway, her auburn hair pulled back in a messy bun, wearing scrubs decorated with cartoon dinosaurs. Even exhausted from her night shift, she radiated the kind of gentle strength that made frightened children trust her instantly.

"You look pale," she said, stepping closer. Her trained nurse's eye swept over him with professional concern. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Just tired," Leo lied, keeping his wrapped hand behind his back. "Long night working on the Morrison account."

She frowned, reaching up to feel his forehead. "You're burning up. When's the last time you ate something besides coffee and those awful energy bars?"

Her touch sent another wave of heat through him, and he had to bite back a gasp. The mark was reacting to her proximity, pulsing faster, growing brighter. Through the thin towel, he could see the crimson glow intensifying.

"I'm fine, really," he said, backing toward the door. "Just need to clean up this coffee spill before it stains everything."

But Cass was already moving past him, grabbing paper towels from under the sink. As she bent to help clean up his workspace, her shoulder brushed against his injured hand.

The contact was electric. Leo's vision went white, and suddenly he wasn't in his apartment anymore. He was running down a dark alley, rain pounding the pavement, his lungs burning with each desperate breath. Behind him, footsteps echoed—multiple pursuers, getting closer. His hand throbbed with that same impossible heat, and when he looked down, he saw the number seven blazing like a beacon in the darkness.

But it wasn't his hand. The fingers were too slender, the nails painted black. A woman's hand, marked with the same curse that now branded him.

"Leo!"

The vision shattered. He was back in his bathroom, Cass's worried face inches from his own. Her hands were on his shoulders, shaking him gently.

"You completely zoned out," she said. "For like, thirty seconds. Your eyes went completely vacant."

"Sorry, I..." He struggled to find words that wouldn't sound insane. "Haven't been sleeping well."

She studied his face with the intensity that made her such a good nurse. "Maybe you should see Dr. Martinez. This isn't normal tired, Leo. You look like you've seen a ghost."

If only it were that simple, he thought.

"I'll make an appointment," he promised, though the idea of explaining a glowing number under his skin to his family doctor made his stomach clench. "But right now, I really need to finish this presentation."

Cass nodded reluctantly, but he could see she wasn't convinced. "Okay, but I'm making you actual food. None of this coffee-for-breakfast nonsense."

As she headed toward the kitchen, Leo caught another glimpse of himself in the mirror. His reflection looked haggard, hollow-eyed, like a man staring into his own grave. But worse than that was the certainty growing in his chest—this was only the beginning.

Whatever had happened to him, whatever the mark meant, his normal life was over. The woman from the vision had been running from something, and now that something was coming for him.

He looked down at his wrapped hand, watching the crimson glow pulse through the fabric like a heartbeat counting down to something terrible. Seven. The number seemed to whisper promises of power and threats of annihilation in equal measure.

From the kitchen came the sounds of Cass making breakfast—the clink of dishes, the hum of the coffee maker, the small domestic symphony of a life he was already losing. He wanted to go to her, to pretend this was just another normal morning, but he couldn't risk her seeing the mark. Couldn't risk whatever was happening to him spreading to the one person he couldn't bear to lose.

Instead, he stayed frozen in the bathroom, watching his reflection and wondering how long he had before the seven became something else. Before whatever countdown had started in his flesh reached its inevitable conclusion.

In the mirror, his eyes seemed to glow just a little brighter, and Leo realized with cold certainty that he was no longer entirely human.

The hunt, he somehow knew, was about to begin.