Chapter Eight: The Mark
Ellie didn't go back to the house.
She couldn't.
Not after remembering how she'd run and left Lila behind.
She sat in her car outside the diner, numb, watching townsfolk come and go like nothing was wrong. But something was wrong. It always had been. And now she couldn't ignore it.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number.
One message:
"I remember, too."
Her heart nearly stopped.
She typed back: "Who is this?"
No reply. Just an image sent a minute later—an old page from a journal. Scrawled in faded ink:
> The spiral isn't a binding.
It's a mark.
A brand. For those chosen.
For those who hear the well whisper.
Ellie stared at the screen. Her hands trembled.
She lifted her sleeve.
There it was.
Faint. Right above her wrist. A mark she always thought was a birthmark—circular, winding inward like roots.
The spiral.
A knock on the car window made her jump.
It was Detective Granger.
"You need to come with me," he said. "Now."
She followed him to his cruiser, mind still racing.
"Why? What happened?"
"We found something," he said. "Out in the grove."
Her blood turned to ice.
They arrived at the edge of the trees, and Granger led her past the crime tape—past the well, deeper than she'd ever gone.
A body bag lay under a tarp.
Granger nodded to the tech. The zipper came down.
It wasn't Miss Whitaker.
It was a man. Mid-30s. Face pale. Lips burned black.
And on his wrist—
The spiral.
Granger looked at Ellie.
"Do you know what this is?"
She nodded slowly.
"Yes," she whispered. "It's not a symbol. It's a summons."