Chapter 26: The Mark

Chapter 26: Chapter 26: The Mark

For the next few minutes, the only sounds inside the apartment were the rustle of clothes being folded, the soft scrape of hangers sliding across the wardrobe rail, and the occasional zip of luggage.

Iris knelt beside the open travel bag resting on her bed, carefully arranging the last few outfits she’d need for the week. She pressed the clothes down with both hands before trying the zipper, only to laugh when it refused to cooperate. With a sharp jerk, though the fabric resisted, bunching up around a stray sleeve of a cream-colored sweater.

Zoey was sprawled across Iris’s bed, her legs dangling over the edge, watching Iris struggle with the bag with a look of contemplative boredom. She tossed a small stress ball into the air that she retrieved from her own room and caught it with a rhythmic *thwack*.

"You always pack as though you’re relocating permanently." Zoey asked, her voice trailing off as she watched Iris struggle with the suitcase.

Iris looked up with an innocent expression. "I do not."

"You absolutely do." Zoey leaned over and poked the overstuffed bag. "You’re going home for one week, not emigrating to another country." ℯℯ𝑙.

"I like having options."

"You have enough options in there to survive an apocalypse."

That earned her a laugh. "I can’t help it," Iris admitted, finally managing to zip the bag halfway. "Every single time I visit my parents, my mom somehow convinces me to stay longer."

"That’s cus she misses you. But come-on Iris, I mean, I know the schedule is tight, but you could’ve pushed it to tomorrow morning if you want. And that would give us enough time to grab that brunch spot we talked about. You know, the one with the overpriced pancakes that actually taste like clouds?"

Iris paused, her hands resting on the rim of the bag. She let out a long, slow breath, her shoulders dropping an inch.

"I wish I could, Zoey, but there’s just no reason to delay it further. If I leave now, I’d only have a week with my parents before the new semester kicks in. Once that final semester starts, I’m basically busy again, and living with my books and buried in projects. I won’t see sunlight, let alone my family, until graduation. I can already feel the sleep deprivation setting in just thinking about it."

"Hmph," Zoey hummed, the stress ball hitting her palm again. "I don’t know how you do it. The thought of another semester of those critique sessions even though it’s our final one, makes me want to crawl into a hole and hibernate until 2030. Professor Sterling has a way of making a simple floor plan feel like a personal failure of character."

Iris managed a weak smile, her gaze drifting to the pile of textbooks on her desk. "It’s not just the critiques. It’s the... everything. The weight of it all hitting at once." She sighed, the sound heavy with a fatigue that went deeper than just a lack of sleep.

"Which reminds me. I’ll have to start thinking and sending applications for where I’d do my internship. I’ve been staring at the list of firms for three days, and every time I pick one, I start imagining the rejection email. What if my portfolio isn’t enough? What if I’m just... mediocre? There are so many companies, but there are also so many students competing for the same positions."

She rubbed her forehead. "I honestly don’t know where to begin."

Zoey sat up abruptly, the stress ball rolling unnoticed across the floor. She let out a sigh that mirrored Iris’s, her expression clouding over.

"Yeah, you’re right. I’m already having a headache just thinking about those internships. My dad keeps mentioning that firm in the city....the one with the glass tower and the lawyers who look like they’ve never eaten a carb in their lives—but the thought of spending forty hours a week in a place that sterile makes me feel like I’m being prepped for surgery. It’s a nightmare, Iris. A complete, corporate nightmare."

Zoey sighed abc went back to starring at the ceiling. "I’ve been pretending not to think about it."

"Has it worked?"

"For exactly five minutes."

Both girls laughed.

"I keep wondering whether I should focus on software companies," Zoey continued thoughtfully, "or cybersecurity firms."

"You’ll probably have companies fighting over you."

"I hope your confidence rubs off on reality."

"It will."

Zoey smiled. "And what about you?"

"I honestly don’t know." Iris folded her arms. "There are a few companies I’ve always admired, but getting accepted is another story."

"You’ll get in. Just choose one and send it, I’ve seen your grades. It’s enough to get you anywhere." Zoey looked at her as though the answer were obvious. "You work harder than anyone I know."

Iris didn’t respond immediately. She turned toward her wardrobe, the wooden door creaking on its hinges. She reached inside, pulling out a plush white towel and draping it over her arm.

"I should shower before leaving." Iris sighed. "I honestly need it....since the events of last night....I should have showered in Alexander’s penthouse, but I had to flee immediately before he Woked up."

As she moved, she reached for the zipper of the black dress she had been wearing, sliding it down and stepping out of the garment in one fluid motion. She stood there in her undergarments, the cool air of the room hitting her skin, preparing to head to the showers before her departure.

Zoey, who had been about to say something else about het night with Alexander , suddenly froze. Her eyes narrowed, her focus shifting from Iris’s face to the side of her neck. She sat up straighter, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"Wait... Iris," Zoey said, her voice dropping an octave. She slid off the bed, her bare feet padding softly across the linoleum floor until she was standing just a few inches away from her roommate.

Iris stopped, one arm still holding the towel. She looked at Zoey, her expression baffled, a slight tilt to her head. "What is it? Do I still have the marks that Alexander made on my skin? I can’t believe he did that."

Zoey didn’t laugh. She didn’t even blink. She reached out, her finger hovering just a fraction of an inch away from Iris’s skin, though she didn’t actually touch her. "What is that... on your neck?"

Iris blinked, her confusion deepening. "What are you talking about? My neck? I don’t feel anything." She turned away, stepping toward the full-length mirror bolted to the back of the door. She craned her neck, trying to see the side of her throat, but the angle was awkward.

"That mark right there," Zoey persisted, stepping closer and gesturing emphatically. "The dark shape. Iris, It almost looks like..." She hesitated. "...a tattoo. You didn’t tell me that you wanted a tattoo. When did you even get it? It definitely wasn’t there last night."

Iris let out a startled laugh. "A tattoo?" She turned around. "Zoey, you know I hate tattoos."

"I know. I’ve heard you complain every single time someone suggested getting matching friendship tattoos. So why do you suddenly have one? Did you sneak out last night with dark charming and handsome Alexander to get it? Because if you did, I’m actually offended you didn’t wait to invite me along for the rebellion."

Iris let out a small, airy laugh, the sound vibrating in her chest. "What are you talking about? I’ve never liked tattoos, Zoey. I mean, I appreciate the art, sure, but the idea of needles and permanent ink on my skin? No thank you. I definitely didn’t get one. You know I’m too much of a coward for that."

"But I clearly see one," Zoey insisted, her voice rising with a mix of curiosity and genuine bewilderment. "Right there, in the crook of your neck. It’s not a smudge or a love bite, and it’s definitely not a bruise. Look... just move closer to the mirror. Angle yourself to the left."

Zoey stepped behind her, her hands gently guiding Iris’s shoulders, pivoting her toward the glass. She used her hand to tilt Iris’s chin upward and slightly to the side, forcing her to look at the reflection of the area just below her jawline, where the neck meets the shoulder.

Iris leaned forward, her breath fogging the mirror. At first, she saw only the faint purple marks scattered along her skin from the previous night.

Then—She squinted and she froze, her eyes widening as she focused on the skin. Just beneath the curve of her neck, partially hidden beneath her hair, etched into her pale flesh, something dark rested against her skin. It was a mark.

It wasn’t a bright, fresh tattoo with the redness of a new wound; it looked settled, as if it had been there for years, yet the lines were sharp and midnight-black.

Iris recoiled slightly, her hand flying up to touch the spot. Her fingertips brushed over the skin, but it felt perfectly smooth. There was no raised scar, no peeling skin, no indication of a needle having pierced her.

"I... I definitely didn’t know how that got there," Iris whispered, her voice trembling. She stared at the reflection, her heart beginning to thud against her ribs. "If you didn’t point it out, I wouldn’t have known at all. I’ve looked in the mirror a thousand times this week. How is this possible?"