Jack had seen strange things. Relics that whispered in forgotten tongues. Sketches that bled. A statue that made a man forget his own name in twenty-three minutes.
But he'd never seen a miracle. Not a real one.
So when Lena sent him the file marked "Healer case," with a subject line that read, This is either god or Raven tech, he didn't hesitate.
He booked a train. He didn't tell anyone where he was going.
Not even Lena.
Not even Kael.
He needed to see this one for himself.
The clinic sat on the edge of a dying town—one of those places hollowed out after the industry left, the kind of town where the only remaining businesses were pawn shops, payday loans, and bars with too many empty stools. The clinic, however, looked untouched by time.
It was called The Angel's Touch.
Small. White. Trimmed in silver. Smelled like lavender and antiseptic. Looked like it belonged in a resort brochure. Which made it feel wrong the moment Jack stepped inside.
The receptionist was too polite. The waiting room is too perfect. Not a magazine out of place. Not a dust mote in sight. Just silence—and a glass box on the far wall, displaying a necklace.
Jack walked over.
The relic glowed faintly in the light. A pendant. Obsidian and bone fused together, shaped like an angel's wing. But the material wasn't right. It shimmered like oil and fractured like something grown instead of forged.
Below the display case was a plaque:
The Healer's Gift – Donated anonymously. Blessings through contact only.
Jack narrowed his eyes.
Blessings. Right.
"Can I help you, sir?"
The voice belonged to a nurse in crisp white scrubs. Pretty, unreadable, efficient.
"I'm here to speak to your lead physician," Jack said.
"I'm afraid Dr. Vellum doesn't do interviews."
"Good," Jack replied. "I'm not a reporter."
He flashed a badge. Not a real one, but close enough to get him what he needed.
The nurse hesitated, then nodded.
"Wait here."
Jack watched her disappear behind the doors. He scanned the room again.
Photos on the walls: smiling patients. Testimonials about pain vanishing, tumors disappearing, and walking again after years in wheelchairs. It all reeked of snake oil.
Except Lena had verified three of the names.
And all three were found dead within a month of their "cure."
He waited ten minutes.
Then the doors opened again.
Dr. Vellum walked out like a man stepping onto a stage. Tall. Thin. Late fifties. Expensive watch. Eyes like blue steel behind thin-framed glasses. The kind of confidence that came from getting away with something for too long.
"You're here about the pendant," he said, no preamble.
Jack didn't flinch. "I'm here about the dead patients."
Vellum smiled. "You think there's a connection?"
Jack held up his phone. Pressed a button.
The screen lit up with a photo: a woman, twenty-seven, lying in a bathtub full of her own blood, smile still frozen on her face.
"No signs of trauma. Autopsy inconclusive," Jack said. "But every single one of them was wearing a copy of that pendant when they died."
Vellum stepped forward, calm as a priest. "I never sold copies."
"They said they were healed by you."
"They were," he replied. "Pain gone. Mobility restored. No side effects… until the dreams began."
Jack frowned. "Dreams?"
"Recurring. Shared content. Wings. Light. A voice in their heads calling them back."
"To the clinic?"
"To the original source," Vellum said. "The real relic. The one in the box."
Jack stepped back to it. Looked again.
The pendant seemed darker now. Or maybe the lighting had shifted. Either way, it pulsed slightly. Like it was breathing.
"Where did you get it?" Jack asked.
Vellum shrugged. "Anonymous donation. A year ago. No return address. Just the object… and a letter."
"What did it say?"
Vellum's smile thinned.
"One line. Every angel needs a congregation."
Jack stared at him.
"Why keep using it?"
Vellum's eyes twinkled. "Because it works. Because the pain stops. Because the light is real. And because…"
He paused.
"…because she told me to."
"She?"
Vellum reached into his coat and pulled out a photo. Jack didn't want to look, but did anyway.
It was Rhea.
But younger. Different. Or was it Elara?
Standing next to Vellum in a lab. Smiling. No shadows in her eyes yet.
Jack's throat went dry.
"She called herself Mira," Vellum said. "Said she was studying the effects of belief in relic-based environments. Said she was building a model for psychological restoration. That was eight months ago. She left… and the pendant started changing."
"Changing how?"
Vellum walked over and tapped the glass of the display.
Jack saw it now. Fractures in the stone. New shapes in the lines. A face beginning to form in the wing—no longer angelic. Something else.
"She's inside it," Vellum whispered.
Jack turned. "What?"
"I hear her sometimes. When it's quiet. When I'm alone. She tells me what's coming."
Jack backed away.
"Where is the original relic?" he demanded. "The full structure."
Vellum smiled.
"It's not in this building."
Jack pulled his weapon. "Where is it?"
"She moved it," Vellum said calmly. "Before she became part of it."
Jack didn't lower his gun.
"I think she's trying to protect you," Vellum said. "But it's too late."
"Why?"
Vellum looked him in the eyes.
"Because she already rewrote the others. And you're next."
Jack fired.
Not to kill. Just to crack the glass.
The relic hit the floor.
The humming stopped.
And Vellum screamed.
Not from pain. From loss.
Jack grabbed the pendant with gloved hands, stuffed it into a lead-lined pouch, and walked out without another word.
Outside, he called Lena.
"I need you to run facial recognition on a new alias," he said. "Name's Mira. Eight months ago. Affiliated with Vellum. We need a list of clinics, artifact labs, and any academic groups she touched."
"What the hell happened?"
"She's alive," Jack said.
Lena paused.
"Jack…"
"I don't think she knows who she is anymore," he said softly.
"But she's still trying to save people."
He looked down at the pouch. It pulsed once. Then went still.
"I just don't know if she's saving them… or collecting them."