WOMB FOR HIRE
All she could remember was the rain, falling hard and fast.
Not when it started. Not when she stepped outside. Just the sound of it, everywhere.
It was loud. That, and the cold.
Her cheek was wet. Concrete, maybe. The ground was hard.
She opened her eyes. Slowly.
One shoe was gone. Her hoodie stuck to her back. Her fingers were tight in her palm, like she'd grabbed something in her sleep.
She tried to sit up. Bad idea. The whole street swayed.
She looked around. Didn't recognize anything. Not the street. Not the noise.
She didn't know how she got there. At all.
She sat up too fast. The world spun sideways. Nothing looked familiar. Not the angle. Not the dark.
She didn't know how she got here. Not even close.
She tried to sit up. Her hands were freezing. Everything hurt.
Her head throbbed.
The alley buzzed with that soft, sour electric sound that only happened when something was off — like the city itself was glitching.
The streetlight above her flickered. Once. Twice. Then steadied.
Rae looked at her phone. Dead screen. But for a split second before it died, the time read 4:44 a.m.
No missed calls. No messages.
She didn't remember coming home.
Didn't remember leaving.
The door behind her creaked.
Nova stood there, wrapped in Rae's old hoodie, her cough rattling in her chest.
"Did you sleepwalk again?" she asked, voice hoarse.
Rae blinked up at her, cold still sinking into her bones.
"Yeah. Must've."
Nova frowned but didn't push. She stepped back inside.
Rae followed, trying not to limp.
Smelled like cinnamon. And dust. That mix of warm and stale she hated.
One of the lights in the kitchen buzzed, doing that thing where it sounded like it might blow.
Nova curled back on the couch without another word.
Rae paused in the hallway, watching her sister's chest rise and fall. Too fast.
She walked straight to the bathroom and eased the door shut, not wanting to wake Nova.
⸻
The mirror told half the story.
Rae peeled her hoodie over her head and hissed — her shoulder burned where the fabric dragged across it.
She turned toward the mirror.
Four round bruises bloomed in a perfect arc on her skin just below her collarbone.
Not haphazard like a fall — surgical. Precise. Deep violet. The kind of bruises left by something forced under flesh.
Her eyes dropped lower.
Another faint mark just above her hipbone — the kind of swelling you'd get from a needle if they hadn't bothered to sterilize it properly.
She leaned closer. The light gave a flicker.
Her face went dark in the mirror, just for a second.
She pressed her fingers to the bruises. They twitched under her touch — not normal. Not okay.
She wiped a clear patch on the mirror. Her breath fogged it again instantly.
And then, through the fog, she caught it — her reflection lagged behind. Just for a second. Just enough to make her stumble back.
She shut off the light and walked out, leaving the door hanging open behind her.
⸻
The hunger hit around noon.
Not real hunger — craving. Metallic. Wrong.
She drank three glasses of water and still felt parched. Her head was heavy. Her teeth hurt.
Her phone refused to turn on, even plugged in. The charger sparked when she tried.
She pulled on clean clothes, reaching for her coat.
And that's when she felt it — tucked deep in the lining, like someone had sewn it in and torn it back out.
A black envelope.
Her name was typed across the front.
Not Rae. Not even Raelle.
Raella Osei.
A name she'd never used, but felt like someone else's memory.
Inside: a grainy sonogram printout.
Black and white. A shadow curled into itself like a fist.
No label. No date.
Just stamped in thin red ink:
Moonvale Genetic Continuum Program
Status: Receptive. Bonded. No complications — yet.
She flipped it over.
Faint writing on the back in faded pen:
"It's not his. But he'll believe it is."
⸻
Two nights ago, Rae had been at the plasma clinic.
The nurse had botched her draw. Rae had cursed under her breath, pressed a wad of gauze to the bruise, and was already halfway out the door when the woman called her back.
"You want real money?" the nurse asked, her voice too low, too calm.
Rae had paused. "What kind of money?"
The woman leaned in. Her eyes didn't blink.
"Clean wombs pay top dollar. You walk in broke, you walk out free."
Rae had raised an eyebrow, but the nurse just smiled like she already knew the answer.
Slid a small black card across the counter.
No logo. No name. Just:
101 Dervish Street
Basement Level.
Midnight.
No ID Required.
The back was blank.
Rae had stood outside the plasma center that night, staring at the card under the streetlight.
Then she tucked it into her pocket and walked home.
Except… she didn't.
She remembered leaving the house again. Remembered checking on Nova, locking the door behind her.
She remembered the walk — cold, wet air, the feeling that the shadows were watching.
But nothing after that.
She never remembered getting home.
⸻
Now, standing in her kitchen with the envelope trembling in her hand, Rae checked her messages.
The gallery had one new file.
It was a video.
Thirty seconds.
The screen was shaky.
First, black.
Then her ceiling fan — spinning slowly.
Then Rae, sitting upright in bed, staring dead ahead.
Her eyes were wrong. Black. Blank.
Then her mouth moved.
But the video had no sound.
Her mouth moved again — faster this time. A whisper? A chant?
And then, in the final second, something behind her — a shape in the shadow.
Tall. Curved horns. Watching.
She dropped the phone.
⸻
Nova slept through the evening, fever burning high again.
Rae sat at the edge of the couch, trying to eat toast, but the smell made her gag.
She kept seeing the bruises on her shoulder, her hip.
She hadn't hallucinated them.
Her body didn't feel like hers.
She ran her tongue across her teeth. One of them felt… loose.
The lights flickered.
The fridge door popped open.
And stayed open.
⸻
The knock came at 3:17 a.m.
Three quick taps. One long.
Rae froze.
No one knocked like that.
She moved to the door slowly, barefoot, her breath shallow.
She didn't look through the peephole.
She opened it.
He stood there like the night had sent him.
Tall, shoulders squared, wearing a long black coat with the hood up.
The hallway light hit his face just enough to catch gold in his eyes — not yellow, not amber.
Gold.
Burning.
Alive.
"You've been marked," he said, voice low.
Rae blinked. "Who the hell are you?"
His gaze moved over her like he already knew.
"You went to the address."
Her fingers tightened on the doorknob.
"What do you know about that?"
"You're not supposed to remember."
He glanced at her shoulder.
"But your body does."
"I don't know you."
"You were inseminated. Four days ago."
Her chest tightened. "Excuse me?"
He didn't repeat it. Just looked at her like he was watching something bloom under her skin.
"That's not possible."
"It's not human," he said softly. "The rules don't apply."
Rae stepped back and slammed the door.
His foot hit the frame before it shut.
"Let me explain," he said.
"No."
"If you stay here, you'll burn."
"Get away from my door!"
He stared at her one last time, something flickering in his eyes.
Not anger. Not pity either.
Something like… regret.
Then he stepped back into the dark without another word.
⸻
Rae locked every bolt.
Dragged the desk in front of the door.
She tried to breathe slow, but it came out ragged. Fast.
And then — deep in her belly — she felt it.
Not a flutter. Not gas.
Something shifting.
Moving.
Like something inside her had just… woken up.