The alarm blared, and Linnea "Lynn" Yu swatted her phone under the bed. The metallic clang jolted her awake like a slap.

  She rolled off the mattress, retrieved the phone, and dusted it off. A glance at the clock sent her racing to the bathroom. Toothbrush in mouth, she snatched her charger and bolted out.

  As her left foot crossed the office threshold, Balding Manager Li Yan greeted her with a sneer: "Well, look who decided to join us for lunch!" His folder slammed onto a desk, making cubicle walls tremble. "Twenty late days this month. Vacationing on company time? Quit if you hate it!"

  Lynn stared at her scuffed sneakers, nodding like a bobblehead.

  "Save the waterworks. Emotions are for amateurs," Li barked, cradling his sprouting "lucky money tree" as he stalked away, eyes rolling skyward.

  Back at her desk, Lynn swept her right arm across the computer tower. The machine hummed to life—her lightning-bolt scar flickering briefly beneath her sleeve.

  This body held secrets.

  Like a corrupted hard drive, Lynn's memories began three months ago. Everything before? Wiped clean.

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  She remembered waking in a pool of blood, the sky ripped open like canvas. Electric-blue sludge oozed through the gash. A crumpled Mercedes sat nearby, driver vanished. Her skin burned as if dipped in acid. That's when she noticed it—the jagged crimson scar snaking from shoulder to wrist, its tip charred black.

  Pain short-circuited her senses. Sirens wailed. Darkness swallowed her.

  At the hospital, a weeping stranger clung to her, babbling about dead fathers and foolish risks. Tests showed amnesia from the crash. Doctors called it a miracle—most would need months to heal, but Lynn's wounds vanished overnight.

  Now she could catch falling scalpels mid-air, leap from fourth-floor windows unscathed. The lightning scar darkened daily, its tendrils writhing like demon claws when she moved.

  Pretty badass, honestly.

  At quitting time, Lynn swung her charger like a lasso while Li fumed. She nearly reached her apartment when thunder cracked—not from skies, but inside her skull.

  Her vision blacked out. Heart stuttered. A cacophony of static-filled voices erupted:

  "Lynn... you're humanity's last hope..."

  "Retrieve the Spark... 72 hours..."

  "I love y—"

  "Who left their sci-fi soap opera on max volume?!" she groaned, knees hitting concrete.

  Cold pine scent flooded her nostrils. A hand yanked her upward. Blinding light seared her eyes.

  The man holding her had a face carved from marble—sharp jawline, hooded eyes that glittered like broken glass. Behind him, the night sky fractured into crystalline shards, violet ooze bubbling through the cracks.

  They stood atop her apartment building. Below, a wrecked Mercedes identical to her crash vehicle drew gawkers. No driver.

  "Wake up slower next time," the man deadpanned, releasing his grip.

  Lynn face-planted onto gravel. "Who the hell—"

  "Call me Jace. We're partners now." His coat billowed like raven wings as he stepped off the roof.

  "Wait!" She lunged, grasping empty air.

  Jace vanished mid-fall.

  The scar on her arm pulsed. Above, the mended sky showed no cracks—but the wrecked car remained. Police sirens wailed closer.

  Lynn inhaled lingering pine scent.

  Trouble had found her.