I shared this to the Discord, but figured may as well share this unfinished snippet here too.

write-off ix

Cadmus carved his sign into the banister with the silver knife all house-guards carried. It was the only way to know for sure where you'd been, and even that only worked for a time. At any rate, this floor was clear. Clear of what, exactly, he wasn't sure. People who found out generally weren't people for much longer.

The signs were passed from house-guard to house-guard. Not just anyone could be one. You had to have the Knack. Be able to See the house, feel it in your boots. And you had to be quick.

Silas hadn't quite been quick enough.

He hadn't seen it happen, not beyond the first instant. Nobody who did lived to tell the tale. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw the way that the drawing room had folded and twisted itself into an infinite spiraling fractal of flesh and teeth. The final scream echoed in his nightmares. Too many nightmares.

Cadmus's stopwatch clicked. He should be coming off shift in 15 minutes. He wasn't far from base: these were just regular rounds, not an exploratory mission.

Before he headed downstairs, he carved one more mark. Silas's mark. It technically wasn't permissible to carve another guard's mark, but nobody had caught him yet. Silas had no successors. Cadmus was just borrowing time before his mark faded, and then was forgotten entirely.

But it wouldn't be today.