After the whole glowing arm saga, I knew I had to get to the bottom of this. That's why I found myself sitting across town at a small, dimly lit diner, waiting for Carissa, another curator and colleague. She was the one in charge of the exhibit with the strange artifact—the same one that bore a striking resemblance to the mark on my arm. If anyone could give me answers, it was her.
The diner wasn't even my usual spot. It was the kind of place where the air smelled faintly of grease, overbrewed coffee, and the lingering stress of customers who'd been awake for far too long. I sat in a booth that squeaked every time I moved, tapping my fingernails against the table to distract myself from the faint, irritating throb in my arm. I kept glancing around, feeling like I was being watched even when nobody seemed to care I existed.
Carissa slid into the booth across from me, shooting me a look that was part exhaustion, part annoyance. Like she had been dragged here against her will. "What do you want, Marcella? Why did you text me to meet you here?" she asked, her tone clipped.
"Can't I ask a fellow colleague to grab coffee together?" I replied, trying to dial down the tension.
"You know that's impossible. You're a prime suspect for theft, and I could get implicated just by being seen with you," she said, glancing around nervously as though anyone in the diner could be listening.
She wasn't wrong — I'd been avoiding the museum entrance like it was cursed. The security guards looked at me with the kind of suspicion usually reserved for serial killers or people who sneeze directly on produce in supermarkets. Being accused of stealing an artifact was not great for workplace morale.
"Oh, is that so?" I said, raising an eyebrow. "Well, in that case, I need your help with this." I slid my phone across the table to her. On the screen was the photo I had taken of the exhibit.
"This… this is from the exhibit I curated," she said, her tone a mix of disbelief and suspicion. "What do yo—"
"I need information on that piece," I cut her off, trying to keep my voice calm and even.
"What kind of information?" she asked, still eyeing me warily.
I could feel how wary she was, and I didn't blame her. I was already a prime suspect, and now I was asking about another artifact tied to an ancient civilization.
"I need information about its origin. Anything you know about where it's from," I said, trying to sound pleading yet professional.
She sighed, exasperated but resigned. "This piece… it was part of an ancient civilization," she began, her voice lowering as though afraid someone might overhear.
The diner suddenly felt too quiet, like even the air decided to lean closer.
"An ancient civilization?" I pressed, leaning forward.
Nodding, she continued, "They're said to have existed around the same time as ancient Mesopotamia."
"That's over 4,000 years ago," I murmured, my mind racing.
Carissa nodded again. "They had an empire that stretched across parts of Europe and Asia. They were said to be warriors, people of incredible power and strength—some even claim their abilities rivaled those of the gods. Some say they were Nephilim."
"Nephilim?" I repeated, frowning.
"Yes. And," she hesitated, lowering her voice, "they were also said to be shape-shifters."
"Shape-shifters?" I echoed, incredulous.
"Yes," she said. "Stories of werewolves, vampires, other creatures of myth… they all trace back to this civilization." Her eyes flicked nervously toward the entrance of the diner, then back to me. "It's said they were cursed by the gods they defied. That curse lingered even after their empire fell."
I swallowed hard, trying to process this. "And some of them survived?" I asked.
She nodded, her fingers tapping the table nervously. "Part of their lineage is said to survive even today—among the Celts, the Cornish… some even trace their ancestry to the Vikings we hear about in stories."
"Wow," I whispered. "That's… fascinating. But what about this artifact?" I gestured to the photo on my phone.
Carissa hesitated, then spoke carefully. "This… this artifact is said to be tied to the curse. That's all I know. Whatever it is, it's powerful—and dangerous. I can't tell you more, not without risking something…" Her voice trailed off.
"That's fine," I said quickly, swallowing a lump in my throat. "That was more than enough."
"Can we go now?" I asked, eager to leave before either of us got more suspicious attention.
"Yes… but—"
She stopped herself mid-sentence, as though feeling the same strange tingling I had felt the moment we sat down. Something in the diner didn't feel right. I could almost sense it, a subtle, prickling tension in the air. A few men sitting a few tables down were leaning slightly in our direction, their conversation low but deliberate.
The smell in the air shifted too — a strange mix of damp earth, something metallic, and something that felt like… awareness. My senses had been unpredictable these past few days, but right now they were screaming at me to pay attention.
"Yes, we can," she said finally, standing and gathering her bag. "Can you promise me something?"
I raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"
"Don't tell anyone about this conversation. I don't want to get involved in whatever this is."
"I won't," I assured her.
She gave a small, relieved nod and slipped out into the busy street. I watched her go, then exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the secrets I was now carrying. Even sitting here, my arm throbbed faintly, a dull pulse where the mark glowed just hours ago. The memory of that sensation sent shivers down my spine.
As I gathered my things and prepared to leave, I couldn't shake the uneasy feeling creeping up my chest. Something about the people in this diner, the way they glanced in our direction, the odd sense of presence around me… it was all wrong. The men at the corner table weren't just casually looking. They were observing,tracking,listening.
I kept my head down, pretending to scroll on my phone, but I could feel their eyes like heat on the side of my face. My breathing quickened. My heart felt too ragged — and I hated that I couldn't tell whether it was fear, or the stupid glowing mark reacting again.
I slid out of the booth, trying to look normal, human, not-like-a-walking-weird-mystical-beacon. My steps felt shaky, like the diner floor might collapse under me. Or maybe I would collapse first.
Whatever this was, it was far from over.
And deep down, I had a feeling that my life was about to change in ways I could never have imagined.