Finn awoke to silence. Not the uneasy quiet of hiding, not the howling winds of the storm—but a complete, suffocating stillness that pressed against his skin like wet cloth.
The stone beneath him was cold. Smooth. Wrong.
He blinked the dust from his lashes and sat up slowly, his ribs screaming in protest. The pain from the wound in his side had dulled into a steady throb, but it wasn't bleeding anymore. His shirt was still damp, but the gash… gone.
His heart skipped.
That wasn't right.
The room—if it could be called that—was circular, with smooth black walls that shimmered faintly in the dim light. No windows. No doors. Just… space. Empty space. And silence.
Then, movement.
From across the chamber, a figure shifted. No sound. No breath. Just a person—at least, that's what Finn thought at first. A boy, maybe seventeen, stood facing the wall, hands slack at his sides. His head twitched slightly, like he was listening to something that wasn't there.
"Hey," Finn called hoarsely, his voice rasping against the silence.
The boy didn't respond.
Finn stood, legs shaky, and crossed the room slowly. He reached out a hand, but before he could touch the boy's shoulder, the figure turned.
The eyes were wrong.
They were open, wide, unblinking… but utterly vacant. Like someone had scooped out the person that lived inside and left the shell standing.
"Are you okay?" Finn asked, already knowing the answer.
No reaction.
Just the soundless stare, and that eerie stillness.
Suddenly, the boy moved—sharp, jerking motions, as if pulled by invisible strings. He turned and began to walk away, pressing his hand against the black wall. A seam split open, revealing a corridor lit by pale, pulsing veins of green light. The boy walked through without hesitation, and the wall sealed shut behind him.
Finn stared.
What was this place?
More movement—behind him this time.
He turned to see three more figures, all around his age, all with the same empty stares. Boys. Girls. It didn't matter. They weren't people anymore. They drifted across the floor like ghosts, their feet barely making a sound.
Finn backed away, his skin crawling. He didn't know these people. But something had happened to them—something deep, something that went beyond pain or fear. They weren't dead. Not exactly.
But they weren't alive either.
He remembered the rumors. The ones whispered behind cupped hands and closed doors.
The Inquisitors don't just kill the Marked. They break them. Hollow them out.
He thought it was just fear-mongering. But now… now he wasn't so sure.
Only… he wasn't hollow. He was still himself.
Why?
The answer came in pieces. The Inquisitors had caught him, but he wasn't Marked. He had no powers. No sigil. No glow in his veins. And whatever they'd tried to do—whatever machine or ritual or curse they used—it hadn't worked.
They thought he was Marked. But something had gone wrong.
And now he was here. Awake. Alone. In a place full of not-quite-people.
He wasn't supposed to be conscious. Wasn't supposed to feel anything.
Whatever had failed… it had left him behind enemy lines.
Alive, but surrounded by the broken.
And somewhere beyond these walls, the Inquisitors would realize their mistake.
And they would come back.
He needed to move. Now.
Finn stepped toward the wall where the first boy had vanished, scanning for seams. Nothing. Just a mirror-smooth surface.
Until he raised his hand.
And the wall hissed.
Lines of green light split across the surface like cracks in glass, and the wall peeled open soundlessly.
Beyond it lay another corridor. Narrow. Breathing.
Finn swallowed hard.
I shouldn't be here, he thought.
But there was no going back.
And ahead of him, something waited.
Something that had hollowed out the others.
But not him.
Not yet.