I didn’t ask for this. None of us did.

Three weeks since the veins first crawled up my arm like ink spilled under skin. Three weeks since I crushed a man’s windpipe with one hand because he reached for my sister.

Now they’re here—others like me. They found me through the dreams, the shared pulse beneath the world. We meet in the abandoned subway station beneath 45th, where the lights flicker and the air smells like rust and damp concrete.

Mira sits cross-legged, her palms open. Thin cracks glow faintly across her skin. "You’re stronger," she says. "The curse listens to you."

Elias adjusts his glasses, watching my arm twitch. "It’s not just strength. It’s adaptation. You’re evolving."

I clench my fist. The veins flare, hot and alive. "What happens when it stops hurting?"

Silence.

Then Riven steps forward, voice low. "Then you’re no longer resisting. Then you’re becoming what they fear."

A tremor runs through the tunnel. Dust falls. Somewhere deep below, something answers the rhythm of my pulse.

They’re waiting for me to speak. To lead. To decide.

But I don’t know if I’m meant to save us… or end us.