Page 61 of The First Scar
"Mm. And the marks? That little lightshow at the end?"
My expression shuttered closed. Beneath my tunic, the Oath-stone shivered—a silent alarm.Careful.
"Proximity reaction.” The Truthshard struck—an acute, hot warning that nearly buckled my knees. I forced my shoulders back, fighting the urge to flinch, forcing my voice to remain steady over the pain.
“Her power is unstable. It latches onto the nearest compatible source." The pain receded to a dull throb. Technically, it wasn't a lie—her power was unstable. The stone accepted the partial truth, but it left me sweating.
Kaelen's pale eyes lifted to mine. Held. I kept my expression blank, my breathing even, my hands perfectly still behind my back where he couldn't see the blisters forming on my palms from clenching too hard.
"You shoved her off rather forcefully," he observed. "Almost looked like pain."
"She was close to my blade arm. Instinct."
"Of course." He offered a thin, bloodless smile. "We'll need to run more... controlled tests. See what happens when your marks interact without the chaos of combat." He returned to his maps. "You're dismissed. Get some rest. You look like hell."
I inclined my head and turned for the door.
"Eryndor."
I stopped. Didn't turn.
"If you're going to lie to me," Kaelen said softly, "at least have the decency to be better at it. We both know somethinghappened in that ring. Something neither of you expected." A pause. "I'll find out what. I always do."
I walked out without responding.
Fourteen days, the King had said.
Two gone already.
I pressed my palm flat against the burn and let the pain center me.
She's a threat. A rupture. The Veil bleeds because of her.
She has to be stopped.
But I could still feel the phantom weight of her body sinking into my hips. Still hear that dangerous purr—you talk like a male who thinks holding me down is the same as winning.
And I could still feel the moment I'd shoved her off. The force of it—too much, too desperate. Not a tactical retreat. An escape.
She'd hit the ground hard. I'd heard the breath punch out of her.
She's an enemy. She's a weapon aimed at everything you've sworn to protect.
I'd shoved a female before. Had to fight them. Kill them, when the mission required it. The Crown didn't distinguish between threats based on what shape they came in. Neither could I.
So why did my hands still feel wrong? Why could I still see the shock on her face?
Because you're weak, the Oath-stone seemed to drum.Because you hesitate. Because you know bringing her in means breaking her.
I pushed harder against the burn until my vision blurred.
When I could breathe again, I stepped back into the corridor. Every line in my face was exactly where it belonged.
Twelve days left.
I would bring her to the King. I would do my duty. I would save my people from the Rupture.
And if the Oath-stone burned me alive in the process—
