Leah guided me into the infirmary like she was afraid I might collapse on the floor if she loosened her grip even a little. My chest felt tight, my hands still trembling from the cabin, the stones, the whisper that had wrapped around my spine like cold fingers.
The healers rushed forward the moment they saw me. Too eager. Too curious. Their eyes flicked to my mark with the same mixture of fascination and fear everyone had developed in the last forty eight hours.
One healer, an older woman with gentle hands, reached for my wrist. “May I.”
I nodded, barely.
Her cool fingers traced the outline of the mark. The faint glow pulsed once under her touch. She flinched. “It feels alive.”
“I know,” I whispered. “Believe me, I am intimately aware.”
She exchanged a glance with the man beside her.
