VIOLET
The hall was silent again.
But my thoughts weren't.
I pressed a palm to my arm as I walked, feeling the heat of the mark searing beneath my skin like a phantom burn. The rogue's mark—I'd seen it flash across his chest in the heat of battle. A black, twisted design, half hidden by blood and movement.
It was almost identical to mine.
I didn't want to believe it at first. Maybe it was just a trick of the firelight, the chaos, the fear. But I'd studied my mark enough times to know. Every jagged line. Every curve. Etched onto me since I was a child.
I ducked into the corner of the pack house that had become my sanctuary—a half-forgotten room lined with books and dried herbs. Inara had shown it to me once, saying no one really came here unless they were looking to escape.
I pulled my sleeve back, exposing the inside of my forearm.
There it was.
Dark. Intricate. A sigil buried deep into the skin—like it had grown with me.
