I woke to screaming.

  Not the distant wail of surge sirens. Not the familiar racket of harbor workers starting their shifts. This was close. Raw. Terrified.

  Rell.

  I hit the floor running, bare feet slapping against cold tiles. The three steps between our bedrooms might as well have been miles. My brain conjured a dozen scenarios in the seconds it took to reach her door—beast breach, home invasion, fire. The usual shit that keeps people up at night.

  None of those prepared me for what I found.

  Rell thrashed against her sheets like they were trying to strangle her. Her eyes were open but seeing nothing. Sweat plastered her red hair to her forehead, and her mouth stretched in a silent scream that had followed the loud one that woke me.

  "Rell!" I grabbed her shoulders. "Wake up! It's just a—"

  Her hand shot out, caught my wrist with strength I didn't know she had. Her eyes focused on me. For a split second, the brown of her irises seemed to shimmer with an oily, metallic sheen. Then she blinked, and it was gone.

  "Fish?" Her voice cracked. "They're in my head. They're crawling inside me."

  "Nothing's crawling anywhere." I kept my voice steady despite the cold spike of fear in my gut. "You had a nightmare."

  "Not a nightmare." She clutched my arm tighter. "It was real. I could feel them moving under my skin, trying to... trying to..."

  She couldn't finish. Instead, she curled forward, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. I held her, feeling helpless in that special way only a brother can—desperate to fix something unfixable.

  "You're okay," I lied. "I'm right here."

  Dad appeared in the doorway, wearing a rumpled sleep shirt. His eyes took in the scene with a sharpness that didn't match his disheveled appearance.

  "What happened?" he asked, voice calm but alert.

  "Night terror," I said. "Bad one."

  He crossed to the bed, sat on Rell's other side. His hand found her forehead, checking for fever with the efficiency of a medical professional. "How long has she been awake?"

  "Just now. She was screaming about... things crawling inside her."

  Dad's expression flickered. Something crossed his face too quickly for me to read.

  "Rell," he said gently, "look at me."

  She did, her breathing still ragged.

  "Tell me what you saw."

  "I was... somewhere dark. A hallway that kept branching. And something was following me. Chasing me." She swallowed. "It caught me, and then it was... inside. Like it was hollowing me out from within."

  Dad nodded, his face a mask of concerned-but-not-too-concerned. The perfect worried parent face.

  "Our subconscious loves to literalize our fears."

  "This wasn't symbolic," Rell insisted. "It felt real. Like a memory."

  Dad exchanged a look with me over her head.

  "Let me get you some water," he said, standing. "Fischer, stay with her."

  After he left, Rell gripped my hand. "You believe me, right?"

  I hesitated. "I believe you experienced something terrible. Whether it was a dream or something else... I don't know."

  "Look at this." She rolled up her sleeve, revealing a patch of skin on her forearm. "What do you see?"

  I saw nothing unusual. "Your arm?"

  "Look closer."

  I leaned in. For a moment, I thought I saw something—a faint network of darker lines beneath her skin, like veins but not following the normal pattern. I blinked, and they were gone.

  "I don't—"

  "They're there," she insisted. "Sometimes. When I'm not looking directly. Like they're hiding."

  Dad returned with water and two small pills—common anti-anxiety meds, nothing unusual. I'd taken them myself after particularly bad nightmares.

  "These will help you sleep," he said, handing them to Rell. "No dreams this time."

  She took them reluctantly. "What if it comes back?"

  "I'll stay right here," I promised.

  Dad nodded approval. "I'll check on you in the morning. Try to rest."

  After he left, I settled into the chair by Rell's bed. She watched me with frightened eyes until the medication pulled her under. Even in sleep, her face remained tense, braced against invisible invaders.

  I stayed awake until sunrise, watching her breathe.

  Morning revealed the cost of Rell's night. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. Her skin had a waxy pallor that made the few freckles across her nose stand out like flecks of rust. She moved like someone twice her age, stiff and cautious.

  Dad examined her at the breakfast table, his fingers gentle on her wrist as he checked her pulse. He peered into her eyes, asking her to follow his finger. Basic medical stuff, nothing that required his actual expertise in Sacred physiology.

  "Probably just stress," he concluded. "The academy puts too much pressure on final-year students. And that garden project you've been obsessing over."

  "I'm not obsessing," Rell protested weakly.

  "More important than your health?" Dad's voice was gentle but firm. "Take today off. Rest."

  "I can't just—"

  "I'll call in for you," I interrupted. "I'm taking the day off too."

  Dad raised an eyebrow.

  "If they can't handle a shipment of crystals without me for one day, Freetown has bigger problems." I forced a grin. "Besides, I've got sick days saved up. Might as well use them to babysit."

  "I don't need babysitting," Rell grumbled, but there was relief in her eyes.

  Dad studied us both. "That's... thoughtful of you, Fischer. I have a few appointments, but I'll be back by evening. Call me if anything changes."

  After he left, Rell slumped in her chair. "You didn't have to stay home."

  "And miss a chance to slack off? Please." I started clearing dishes. "Besides, when was the last time we had a day to ourselves? No academy, no docks, no Dad lecturing us about the finer points of Origin theory?"

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "Probably before you started working full-time."

  "Exactly. So what's it going to be? Bad movies? Board games? I'll even let you beat me at chess."

  "Let me?" She scoffed. "I've beaten you fair and square since we were ten."

  "Details, details."

  We settled into a quiet day. I made her tea while she curled up with a book—some dense subject on botanical Regalia components that would have put me to sleep in minutes. Around noon, we switched to an ancient film about people living normal lives without dimensional horrors. Pure fantasy, but entertaining.

  "Can you imagine what it was like before the Gates? Before Sacred?" Rell asked during a quiet moment.

  "Not really. Seems pointless to fantasize about a world that's been gone for centuries."

  "I do." She tucked her knees to her chest. "I think about how simple it must have been. No surge drills. No beasts. Just... normal problems."

  "They probably thought their problems were pretty serious at the time."

  "Maybe." She rested her chin on her knees. "But at least they didn't have to worry about what would happen if they got infected."

  I glanced at her. "Is that what you're afraid of? Awakening?"

  She didn't answer immediately. "I had another dream last night. Before the nightmare. I dreamed something was calling me. A voice from very far away, speaking through static."

  "What did it say?"

  "I don't know. I couldn't understand the words. But I knew it was... offering something. A gift. A change." She shivered.

  "What if I'm being infected, Fish? What if that's what these dreams are?"

  "Then you'll go through the Trial like everyone else who gets infected. You'll survive it because you're too stubborn not to. And you'll come out the other side with some kickass Origin that lets you grow man-eating plants or something."

  "Not funny."

  "A little funny." I nudged her shoulder. "Look, if you are getting infected it's not the end of the world."

  "But what if I don't want to be Sacred?" Her voice was small. "What if I just want a normal life?"

  I didn't have an answer for that. Nobody chooses infection. It happens or it doesn't.

  We fell silent, watching the film's characters navigate their simple problems. After a while, Rell dozed off, her head resting against my shoulder. I watched her sleep, looking for signs of distress.

  That's when I saw it.

  Just beneath the skin of her neck, something moved. A subtle ripple, like a snake sliding under sand. I blinked, convinced I'd imagined it. But then it happened again.

  I leaned closer, careful not to wake her. There—another movement, this time at her temple. A pattern of lines like dark veins, appearing for a split second before fading.

  I'd seen infected people before. Everyone in Freetown had. The early signs were usually subtle.

  I gently shifted away, letting Rell's head rest against a pillow instead of my shoulder. She murmured something in her sleep but didn't wake. I stood, pacing the small living room, trying to make sense of what I'd seen.

  Maybe it was just a trick of the light. Maybe my eyes were playing tricks after a sleepless night. Maybe—

  The door opened, and Dad stepped in, earlier than expected. He carried a small black case I recognized from his workshop.

  "You're home early," I said, keeping my voice low.

  "Rescheduled my afternoon." His eyes went to Rell. "How is she?"

  "Sleeping now. But Dad... I saw something."

  His expression didn't change, but his posture shifted subtly. "What did you see?"

  "Something under her skin. Like... moving patterns. Dark lines that appear and disappear."

  Dad nodded slowly, as if I'd confirmed something he already suspected. "Show me."

  I led him to where Rell slept. He set his case down, opened it to reveal an array of instruments I didn't recognize—definitely not standard medical equipment. One looked like a crystal lens set in a copper frame, another like a tuning fork made of some iridescent metal.

  "What are those?" I asked.

  "Diagnostic tools." He selected the lens, held it over Rell's exposed arm.

  Through the lens, I could see what I'd glimpsed earlier—a network of dark lines beneath Rell's skin, pulsing with a rhythm that didn't match her heartbeat.

  "Is it the Signal?" I asked, my mouth dry.

  Dad's expression was unreadable. "Yes and no. It's... complicated."

  "Uncomplicate it."

  He sighed, setting the lens down. "It appears to be a variant of the Sacred Signal, but with some unusual properties. I'll need to run more tests to be certain."

  "Is she in danger?"

  "No, not immediate danger." He reached into his case and removed a small vial of amber liquid. "This will help with the symptoms while I determine exactly what we're dealing with."

  "What is that?"

  "A stabilizing agent. It will slow the progression and ease her discomfort." He filled a syringe with practiced efficiency. "Hold her arm steady."

  I hesitated. "Shouldn't we wake her first? Explain?"

  "Better to let her rest. She needs it." His voice was calm, reasonable. "This will help her sleep without nightmares."

  Something felt off, but I couldn't put my finger on what.

  Dad had always taken care of our medical needs. He'd patched us up after fights, treated our illnesses when we couldn't afford real doctors. I had no reason to distrust him now.

  I held Rell's arm while he administered the injection. She stirred slightly but didn't wake.

  "There," he said, disposing of the syringe in a specialized container from his case. "She should sleep peacefully now. When she wakes, she'll feel more like herself."

  "And the... things under her skin?"

  "A temporary manifestation. Nothing to worry about yet." He began packing away his equipment. "Fischer, I need you to monitor her closely. If you see any changes—anything unusual—tell me immediately."

  "What kind of changes?"

  "Behavioral shifts. Personality alterations. Sudden talents or abilities she didn't have before." His voice was casual, but his eyes were intent. "Anything that doesn't seem like Rell."

  A cold feeling settled in my stomach. "You think something's happening to her mind?"

  "I think we need to be cautious." He snapped his case closed. "The Signal affects everyone differently. Some transitions are smoother than others."

  "But you can help her, right? If it is the Signal?"

  Dad placed a hand on my shoulder. "I'll do everything in my power. You know that."

  I believed him.

  Night fell. Rell continued sleeping, her breathing deep and even.

  Whatever Dad had given her seemed to be working—no nightmares, no thrashing. I should have been relieved.

  Instead, I felt uneasy. I kept checking on her, watching for those strange movements beneath her skin. Sometimes I caught glimpses—a flicker at her wrist, a pulse at her throat—but they seemed less frequent than before.

  Dad worked in his study, emerging occasionally to check on Rell and bring me food. He seemed preoccupied, his usual warmth dimmed by whatever calculations were happening behind his eyes.

  Around midnight, I dozed off in the chair beside Rell's bed. I dreamed of walking through the Old Town with her, but all the buildings were empty. I called her name, but my voice made no sound.

  I woke to screaming.

  Rell was upright in bed, her back arched, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling. The scream that tore from her throat didn't sound human—it had layers, like multiple voices overlapping and crying out at once.

  "Rell!" I grabbed her shoulders. "Wake up!"

  Her eyes snapped to mine, and I recoiled. Her irises had changed—no longer brown but a swirling metallic copper, with thin red lines radiating from the pupils like cracks in glass.

  "They're opening the doors," she said, her voice distorted. "They're letting the darkness through."

  "What doors? Rell, you're not making sense."

  "The Gates aren't gates," she continued, her gaze looking through me rather than at me. "They're wounds. Bleeding between worlds. And something is ripping through them."

  Dad burst into the room, still dressed despite the hour. He took one look at Rell and muttered something that might have been a curse.

  "Hold her," he ordered, rushing back out.

  I tried. Rell thrashed against my grip with unnatural strength. Her skin burned hot under my hands, and where I touched her, I could feel something moving beneath the surface—like thousands of tiny creatures rushing away from pressure.

  Dad returned with another syringe, this one filled with clear liquid.

  "What is that?" I demanded.

  "A stronger sedative." He approached carefully. "Keep her still."

  "They're coming through!" Rell shrieked. "Can't you see them? They're already here!"

  "Who's coming through?" I asked, struggling to hold her. "Rell, talk to me!"

  Her eyes focused on me for a brief, lucid moment. "Fish... they're in my head. They're changing me. Don't let them—"

  Dad plunged the needle into her arm. Within seconds, her struggles weakened. Her eyes—still that unnatural copper—fluttered closed. Her body went limp in my arms.

  "What the hell was that?" I demanded, lowering her gently to the bed.

  Dad checked her pulse, his expression grim. "A severe reaction. The Signal is... progressing faster than I anticipated."

  "That wasn't just the Signal. Normal infections don't make people rave about doors and darkness."

  He didn't meet my eyes. "Every infection is different. Some manifest with hallucinations."

  "Bullshit." I stepped back, putting distance between us. "You know more than you're saying."

  Dad straightened, his face settling into lines I rarely saw—the hard, calculating expression he used to wear in the Outer Ring when dealing with threats. "What I know is that your sister is undergoing a complex transformation. What I know is that panic and accusations won't help her."

  "Then what will?"

  "Time. Monitoring. And trust." His voice softened. "Fischer, I understand you're frightened. But this isn't something we can fight with fists or outrun. It's a process that must unfold."

  "And if it kills her?"

  "It won't." His certainty was absolute. "I won't let it."

  I wanted to believe him.

  I'd spent my entire life believing in Dad's ability to fix anything, solve any problem, protect us from any threat. But the image of Rell's copper eyes, the feel of things moving under her skin, the terror in her voice when she begged me not to let "them" change her...

  "Get some sleep," Dad said, his voice gentle again. "I'll watch her for the rest of the night."

  I didn't move. "What's really happening to her?"

  He sighed, suddenly looking older than I'd ever seen him. "The truth? I'm not entirely sure yet. But I promise you this… when I know, you'll know."

  Challenging him further wouldn't get me answers. Not tonight.

  "Wake me if anything changes," I said. "Anything at all."

  He nodded, settling into the chair I'd vacated.

  As I left the room, I glanced back at Rell.

  In sleep, she looked almost normal—except for the faint, network of lines visible beneath her skin, spreading slowly but steadily across her body like a web being woven from within.