SCARLETT
The valley still smelled of scorched earth when the morning sun bled across the horizon. A faint silver fog clung to the battlefield, coiling around the blackened stumps and cracked stones like a living memory of the night before. I stood at the ridge with my arms wrapped around myself, the mark on my shoulder throbbing in slow, deliberate beats like a second heart that belonged to something older than time.
Kael found me first. He moved with the restless energy of a predator still wired for battle, copper-gold eyes smoldering beneath damp strands of hair. His fire had burned hot through the night, and the scent of smoke still clung to his skin.
“You should be resting,” he said quietly, though there was a rasp to his voice that betrayed the same exhaustion that gnawed at me.
