Aria’s POV
The silk of my dress was a deep, bruised red, the exact shade of the gown I had worn the night of the gala. The night my life shattered. As I stared at my reflection, the fabric felt like a second skin, a reminder of the girl who had been betrayed and the woman who had survived.
My fingers traced the skin just above my collarbone. It was there again. The Mark, burning with a steady, silver light. I was finally free from the void.
I closed my eyes, and for a moment, I was back in that crumbling drawing room, the air was thick with the smell of blood and wet fur. I remembered the weight of Maeve in my arms, the desperate, crushing hug that had acted as a bridge. I had felt the darkness drain out of me, flowing back into her like water returning to a poisoned well.
“I’m
