Shirley
The old room smelled faintly of leather, sweat, and iron—like old memories of battles fought and battles yet to come. Cassandra leaned against the wall, arms folded across her chest, her sharp eyes fixed on me. She hadn’t said much since I’d asked her to meet me here, away from Zara, away from Dante, away from everyone.
I stood in the center of the room, my fists clenching and unclenching, trying to find the courage to let the words out. My throat felt raw, like admitting it would carve me open in ways I couldn’t mend.
Finally, I forced it. “Cass… I know why the mark burns.”
Her brows furrowed, her stance stiffening. “You’ve been keeping something from me.”
I let out a bitter laugh, though there was no humor in it. “I’ve been keeping everything from everyone.” My hands shook a
