The silence in the room hung thick, like a dense fog. James could feel the weight of the man’s words pressing on him, suffocating him. Marked. The word echoed in his mind, but no matter how much he searched, he couldn’t grasp its meaning. The idea of being marked, branded in some way, felt too foreign. The mere thought made his skin crawl.

He glanced at Rook, hoping for some explanation, but Rook’s eyes were narrowed, his lips set in a grim line. He didn’t look at James; instead, his attention was on the man who had been probing James’s mind.

The man’s hands were still slightly trembling, and his eyes glinted with something unreadable. He finally broke the silence with a long sigh, wiping his hands on a ragged cloth.

"Forsyth, huh?" The man’s voice was low, tinged with a strange sort of amusement. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.”

James’s heart skipped. “You know the name?” he asked, almost desperate. Maybe this was the key to unlocking everything—the fog, the confusion, his fractured identity.

The man didn’t answer right away. He leaned back against the workbench, crossing his arms over his chest, his gaze lingering on James for a long, uncomfortable moment.

“I don’t know the name,” the man said finally, his voice sharp. “But the Forsyths? They were... something else. Something dangerous.”

James’s pulse quickened. Dangerous? His mind raced, trying to make sense of the words. He had no memory, no past. But this name, Forsyth—it felt like it belonged to him, like it was the key to everything.

Rook, still standing by the door, spoke up, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “What does it mean, then? Being marked?”

The man eyed Rook, his face unreadable. “It means he’s not just some random amnesiac off the street. The Forsyths... they didn’t just disappear. They were wiped out, hunted down. Most of them, anyway.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and foreboding. James’s mind was spinning. He didn’t know who he was, but now it seemed like his name was tied to something dangerous. Something deadly.

“Wiped out?” James repeated, his voice shaking. “By who? Why?”

The man’s eyes flickered with something that could have been pity, but it was gone as quickly as it came. He didn’t answer immediately, instead moving over to a shelf cluttered with rusted tools and jars filled with strange, unidentifiable liquids. The air in the room felt thick, suffocating. James shifted uncomfortably, his stomach turning with both hunger and anxiety.

“The Forsyths were a family of sorts,” the man said, his voice distant, like he was remembering something from long ago. “Not like any family you’d know, though. They were involved in things... dangerous things. Things that should’ve stayed buried. But they didn’t.”

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James swallowed, trying to force the words to make sense in his fogged mind. “What kind of things?”

The man turned back to face him, his eyes piercing. “The Forsyths dealt in forbidden knowledge. Dark knowledge. They made enemies—very powerful enemies. But they weren’t just enemies from the outside. No. They turned on themselves. That’s how it always is with power like that.”

James tried to process what he was hearing. His mind felt like it was racing through a maze of broken thoughts. Forbidden knowledge? Dark knowledge? It made no sense. But something about it, something about the weight of the man’s words, made his blood run cold.

“You’re saying the Forsyths were hunted because of some kind of... dark secrets?” James asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The man nodded slowly. “Exactly. The people who killed them, they weren’t just after revenge. They were after the knowledge the Forsyths held. And anyone connected to them… well, they didn’t leave loose ends.”

James’s heart hammered in his chest. He felt a cold sweat form on the back of his neck. Loose ends—that was exactly how he felt. A loose end. A discarded thread in a web of something he didn’t understand.

“I don’t remember any of this,” James muttered, his voice hoarse. “How can I be connected to this... this family if I don’t even know who I am?”

The man’s eyes softened for the briefest of moments, but the hardness in his voice remained. “You’ve got a mark on you. That’s all I know. It’s not visible, but it’s there. It’s a mark that ties you to the Forsyths. Whatever happened to you, whatever was done to you, it’s left its mark.”

The words sent a shiver down James’s spine. He touched his chest, feeling as though there might be something—something hidden there that he couldn’t see. But he didn’t feel anything. No burn. No scar. Nothing.

Rook stepped forward then, his voice laced with impatience. “So what now? You’ve got some mysterious mark on you, and now you’re telling us the whole Forsyth family is dead, but we still don’t know why this kid’s here.”

The man grunted. “I don’t have all the answers, Rook. But you’re right about one thing. There’s something more to him. If I were you,” he added, his eyes locking onto James’s, “I’d start figuring it out fast. People don’t just wander into the Mire without reason. And those who are marked? They attract attention.”

Rook’s brow furrowed, and for the first time, James saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “What kind of attention?”

The man shrugged, as if the answer were obvious. “The kind of attention you don’t want. The kind that leads to your grave.”

A heavy silence settled over the room. James’s mind was still reeling, but there was one thing he knew for certain now: the Mire wasn’t just a place of random suffering. It was a place where people were hunted. Where names—like Forsyth—held weight. And for some reason, he was at the center of it all.

But why?

“What should I do?” James finally asked, his voice quiet but determined. “If I’m marked, then what happens to me?”

The man studied him for a moment, then leaned forward, his voice low and serious. “You survive. You keep your head down. And you find out who wants you dead before they find you first.”

James took a deep breath, the weight of the man’s words sinking in. The Mire wasn’t just some random hellscape. It was a place where power, secrets, and survival collided in a deadly game. And James Forsyth was now a player.

Whether he liked it or not.