They stood before me like newborn demons, twitching in confusion, breathing harder than they should've been.
Vera was the first to speak.
"I feel like I just swallowed a scream."
Her eyes flicked back and forth.
"Not mine. Someone else's."
(Good. The stone chose her well.)
I took a seat on the broken bench we used as a throne and nodded.
"Let it out slowly. It's waking something that's been buried."
She ran her tongue along her teeth. Then opened her palm.
A red thread began to unravel from her fingertip. Thin. Almost invisible. It moved as if alive, slithering mid-air.
Miguel raised an eyebrow.
"What the hell's that?"
Vera stared at it.
Then smiled.
"A promise."
The thread darted forward and wrapped around Miguel's wrist. Tight, like a snake with intent.
He tried to pull back but couldn't.
"Let go."
"Make me."
She did, of course. But the thread left a mark.
