My gaze flickered over my shoulder, catching my own reflection in the mirror, and a choked gasp escaped my lips. Etched onto my skin, between my shoulder blades, was a dark, raised mark—a swirling, intricate pattern that pulsed with a faint, unnatural red light. It was a brand, seared into my flesh, both a complete stranger and an ancient, unwelcome friend. It was the same unsettling crimson as the thousands of eyes that had watched us from the battlefield, their silent judgment a promise of destruction. A chilling certainty settled deep in my bones: I was becoming a rogue.
"How long has this been here?" Delaney's voice was a low whisper, thick with concern as she gently turned me, her fingers tracing the outline of the mark. Her eyes, wide with fear, scanned every inch of my body, desper
