Morning arrived like a slow knife through fog, soft and cold and impossibly heavy. The city streets smelled of wet asphalt, fried food, and the faint tang of electricity from the neon signs, though no rain had fallen overnight. Each step I took echoed too sharply, as if the world itself remembered what had happened in the Hollow and now watched me in judgment. My boots pressed into the cracked pavement, yet the ground felt unstable, like I was walking through memory rather than concrete. Every shadow flickered unnaturally, bending and stretching in ways that made me glance over my shoulder before realizing I was alone—or almost alone.
I touched the faint pulse beneath my skin, tracing the sigil at the base of my throat. It throbbed with a steady rhythm, a heartbeat that was not mine but somehow entirely bound to me. The mark had not been painful since the Hollow, but it had become a part of me. A constant whisper reminding me that I had been claimed. That nothing in this life would ever be the same.
By noon, I was aware of how the debt had begun to reach beyond the edges of my body. In crowded streets, in the dull fluorescent glow of shops, in every reflection and window, there was a subtle shift, a lingering sense of observation. I would catch glimpses of him—Elias—out of the corner of my eye, perfectly still, always just beyond reach. Not his physical form, but the imprint of him left behind by the Fae's cruel design. In mirrors, in store windows, even in the sheen of wet asphalt, he smiled at me with a warmth I could not touch. Each glance ignited the ache I had tried so desperately to ignore. The debt lived not only in me but through me, stretching tendrils into the world that fed on memory, desire, and longing.
It began with small things. A note slipped beneath my apartment door, the paper warm to the touch as though it had been breathing. There were no words at first. Only a single line etched in handwriting that seemed both mine and impossibly not: "The debt remembers. You will too." My fingers trembled as I picked it up and felt the pulse of something alive beneath the ink. Simultaneously, my phone buzzed with an untraceable message: "Stop looking. Stop asking. Stop wanting." The glow from the screen was cold, sharp, almost accusatory. I sank into my chair, pressing my palms over my face, and realized that the debt was no longer confined to Elias. It was spreading, claiming the air around me, bending the edges of reality to remind me that it existed.
By evening, I noticed subtle alterations in my apartment. Shadows began to move independently of the light sources, drifting across walls like smoke with purpose. My reflection in mirrors occasionally lagged behind my movements, and in those moments, it would smile faintly, showing me Elias's familiar grin when I had wanted nothing more than to forget. Once, I reached toward the glass, and my fingers passed cleanly through it, grazing the image of him before it vanished. The reflection lingered in the corner of my vision afterward, watching, waiting, knowing. The Fae had given me more than a debt—they had given me a guardian, a jailer, and a constant reminder of everything I could never hold.
The next night, sleep was no reprieve. The Hollow had imprinted itself into my dreams, a forest alive with hunger and intelligence. The moon shone like a silver blade, the trees bending toward me, whispering warnings I could barely understand. Somewhere within the shadows, the reflection of Elias waited, just beyond reach, his presence a simultaneous comfort and torment. I tried to speak, to reach him, but no sound left my mouth. The dream seemed to stretch on forever, each second a torment of longing. Branches brushed against my skin like living fingers, leaves rustling with messages I could barely comprehend: "The debt grows when remembered." I shivered, knowing that every thought of Elias fed the very thing that now held me captive.
In the days that followed, the city itself seemed subtly altered. Neon lights flickered with imperceptible irregularities, casting shadows that stretched toward me as if they had a life of their own. Windows reflected Elias's face even when he wasn't there, and mirrors sometimes showed him standing just behind me, close enough to touch but untouchable, leaving me frantic and breathless. Even the people around me were affected. A man in a suit paused on the sidewalk, his gaze lingering too long as though he sensed the mark beneath my skin, though he could not possibly see it. A young woman tripped near me, her eyes going wide, and whispered something I could not hear before disappearing into the crowd. It became clear that the debt was not mine alone; it extended outward, touching the world around me, reshaping it in subtle, cruel ways.
By the third night, I understood the rules. The Fae had taught them to me whether I wanted them or not: first, the debt claims what you value most, the thing you cannot bear to lose; second, it grows with memory, feeding on longing and desire; third, it cannot be broken by time, distance, or distraction; and fourth, the marked cannot escape. Any attempt to flee only strengthens its grip. Every glance at him, every memory of his laugh or his smile, made the chains tighter, wrapped invisibly around my chest and heart. I realized with a deep, sinking terror that I would never touch Elias again. Never feel the warmth of his hand in mine, never hear the soft intonations of his voice as I had imagined in dreams. And yet, try as I might to forget, every cell of my body, every instinct, pulled me back toward him. The debt had become the architecture of my existence, shaping my life, my perception, my very reality.
At 2:17 a.m., the first real warning arrived. There was a knock at my apartment door—sharp, deliberate, echoing through the walls in a way that made the building itself seem alive. I did not answer. I already knew who it was. A voice slithered through the keyhole, melodic and cruel: "You cannot run. You cannot hide. You remember. And in remembering, you summon me."
I pressed myself against the far wall, hands over my chest as the sigil beneath my skin pulsed violently. The reflection in the window rippled, and for a heartbeat, Elias's face appeared, smiling faintly. But the voice was not his. "The Queen wishes to see you again," it continued. "You have questions. I have answers."
A shadow moved across the floor, impossibly long and dark, stretching upward and toward me. It was alive, sentient, patient, and utterly unrelenting. I understood then that the debt was no longer abstract. It had evolved. It had begun to teach me, to shape me, to remind me with every interaction that I belonged to something older, colder, and far more patient than myself. I shivered as the shadow pressed closer, and I knew that what the Fae had taken from me—Elias—was only the beginning.
I left my apartment that night, compelled by forces I could not name. The city streets seemed to ripple under my feet, alleys twisting subtly, guiding me toward the edge of the world I had glimpsed in the Hollow. I did not resist. I did not struggle. My mind was a battlefield of fear and desire, but my body moved of its own accord. Every reflection of Elias along the way—windows, puddles, polished metal—was both a comfort and a torment.
At the edge of the industrial district, I paused before a rusting gate. Beyond it, the shadows pooled unnaturally, thick and black, as though the night itself had been waiting for me. And from that darkness, another figure emerged—tall, cloaked, faceless except for eyes that shimmered faintly like moonlight on water.
"You have called me," it said. The voice was everywhere, resonating through the ground beneath my feet and the air around me. "And so, you will learn the next part of your debt."
I swallowed hard, chest tightening. "I… I am ready."
The figure laughed, low and musical, and the shadows around it twisted into forms of memory and desire. They flickered and danced, and in their shapes, I saw glimpses of my life, of Elias, of the Hollow, of the Queen's smile. They whispered, beckoned, threatened. And in that moment, I understood the absolute truth: the debt was infinite. It had no beginning, no end, and no mercy.
It would be with me until my last breath.
And the Fae would never release it.