Chapter 2: The Detective

"What do you mean I'm next?" Elara asked, her voice shaking. She tried to hide her hands behind her back, but the blue glow was already disappearing.

Detective Thorne Davidsyn stepped closer, his face hard like stone. He was tall—taller than any police officer Elara had ever met. His black coat was dry despite the rain outside, and his dark hair looked perfect, not a strand out of place.

"Those marks are dangerous," he said. His voice was deep and cold. "Anyone who touches them gets marked for death."

A crash came from behind them. Elara jumped and spun around.

The dead man's arm had fallen off the table, knocking over a tray of tools. But the body didn't move again.

"That happens sometimes," Elara said quickly. "Dead bodies can twitch."

Detective Davidsyn didn't look convinced. He moved past Elara to study the body, careful not to touch the purple marks. His movements were smooth and quick, like a wolf stalking food.

"You didn't answer my question," Elara said, crossing her arms. "How did you know about this body? I just brought it in ten minutes ago."

"I've been tracking similar cases," he said without looking up. "Four bodies in the last month, all with the same marks. All dead for no clear reason."

Elara's mouth dropped open. "Four? Why wasn't I called in for those?"

"They weren't in your district." Thorne's eyes narrowed. "Until now, the killer stayed on the other side of town."

"Killer?" Elara moved closer to the body again. "I don't see any wounds or signs of poison."

"Trust me," Thorne said. "These people were murdered. We just can't figure out how."

Elara watched as he leaned over the body, studying the marks without touching them. When he turned to look at her, she noticed his eyes—dark brown, almost black, with tiny bits of gold that caught the light.

"Did you touch the marks?" he asked suddenly.

Elara paused. Should she tell him about the blue glow? About how the dead man's eyes had opened?

"No," she lied. "I know better than to contaminate evidence."

Thorne tilted his head slightly, like a dog listening to a strange sound. Then he did something odd—he sniffed the air around her.

"You're lying," he said simply.

Elara stepped back. "Excuse me?"

"I can smell it on you." He moved closer, looming over her. "The marks react to certain people. If you touched them, you're in danger."

"That's ridiculous," Elara said, but her heart was racing. "And people can't smell lies."

Thorne's eyes flashed—the gold flecks growing brighter for a second. "I'm not most people."

For a moment, they stared at each other. Elara felt like she was being x-rayed, like he could see right through her.

"Who are you, really?" she asked. "You don't act like a normal detective."

Before he could answer, the lights in the lab flickered. Once, twice, then darkness fell.

"Don't move," Thorne whispered. His voice had changed—deeper, almost a growl.

In the pitch black, Elara froze. She could hear Thorne moving around, his footsteps quiet except for the soft brush of his coat.

The emergency lights kicked on, casting the room in dim red light. Elara gasped.

The body was gone.

"Where is it?" she spun around, searching the room. "Did you move it?"

Thorne shook his head, his eyes sweeping the room. In the red light, the gold flecks in his eyes glowed.

"This is bad," he grumbled. "Very bad."

"Bodies don't just get up and walk away!" Elara's voice rose with fear.

"This one did." Thorne pulled something from his coat—a gun, but not like any police gun Elara had seen. It was silver and seemed to glow softly in the dim light.

A path of wet footprints led from the table to the door. Bare feet, spread far apart, like someone running.

"Stay behind me," Thorne directed, moving toward the door.

"Are you crazy?" Elara hissed. "That man was dead! Heart stopped, body cold. Dead!"

"And now he's not." Thorne grabbed her arm. "This is why I said you're next. The marks don't just kill—they transform."

The lab door hung open, moving slightly in the breeze from the hallway. More wet tracks led away into the darkness.

"Transform into what?" Elara asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Before Thorne could answer, a terrible scream echoed from somewhere in the building.

"Stay here," Thorne ordered, moving toward the door.

"No way!" Elara grabbed a knife from a nearby tray. "That's my coworker out there!"

Thorne looked like he wanted to argue, but another scream cut him off. Together, they ran into the hallway.

The trail of footprints led to the stairs. As they arrived, the door banged open and a night guard stumbled out, his face pale with fear.

"Monster!" he gasped. "In the morgue! It—it was eating—"

He fell, blood spreading across his uniform shirt.

Elara knelt beside him, checking for a pulse while Thorne stood guard, his strange gun pointed at the stairwell door.

"He's alive," Elara said. "But barely."

"We need to get him out of here," Thorne said. "And then I need to stop that thing before it hurts anyone else."

"What thing?" Elara asked. "What is going on?"

Thorne's face was grim in the emergency lights. "When people die with those marks, sometimes they come back. Not as themselves. As something else."

"Like... zombies?" Elara couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"Worse." Thorne checked his gun. "They become Shadowwalkers—creatures that feed on life energy. And they're drawn to the person who woke them up."

Elara's blood ran cold. "I woke it up? When I touched the mark?"

Thorne nodded. "That's why I said you're next. It's hunting you now."

A crash came from the stairs, followed by a sound like nails scraping metal.

"We need to move," Thorne said, pulling Elara up. "Help me with the guard."

They half-carried, half-dragged the hurt guard down the hallway toward the exit. Elara's mind raced. This couldn't be real. Dead bodies don't walk. People don't turn into monsters.

But she had seen the body's eyes open. She had seen her hands glow blue.

"Where are we going?" she asked as they pushed through the emergency exit into the rain.

"Somewhere safe," Thorne said. "I have a place where I can protect you until we figure this out."

They got the guard into Thorne's car—a sleek black vehicle that looked too expensive for a detective's salary. As Thorne laid the guard across the back seat, Elara noticed something strange on his wrist—a tattoo of the same crescent moon sign that had been on the dead man's chest.

"You have the mark too," she said, grabbing his arm.