The cavern trembled as the last of the shadows fled, chased by the silver blaze of the Moon’s power. Smoke drifted upward through the cracks in the ceiling, where faint light spilled in—cool and steady, the Moon’s blessing.
Ivy stood in the circle, trembling but upright, her hand still bleeding freely. The cut burned, but it was her burn, her choice, not Arthur’s. Her chest heaved with ragged breaths, yet beneath the exhaustion pulsed something new, something wild.
The mark was gone.
Her fingers brushed her neck, almost afraid to believe it, but when her skin met bare flesh, only a faint scar traced the place where Arthur’s brand had once lived. No searing pain. No invisible leash tugging her thoughts. No chains curling tight with every heartbeat.
Silence.
Glorious, unbroken silence.
