I pulled him in with both hands. "Take your shirt off."
One dark brow arched, the corner of his mouth twitched. "All you had to do was ask."
"No, you moron," I snapped. "Just—do it."
He did. The moment I saw it, my stomach dropped through the floor. The markings on his skin glowed brighter now, golden lines sweeping across muscle and bone, similar to mine, but not identical. Complementary. Mirrored. Where mine flared outward, his curved inward, converging toward a point I knew far too well.
I stared.
I had stared at that pattern for countless hours. On screens. In projections. In simulations. I knew it.
"Shit," I whispered. "Shit, shit, shit."
I grabbed his wrist and dragged him into the bathroom, ignoring his startled sound and planting him in front of the mirror. The mirror activated instantly: high-tech, adaptive, layering spectral analysis over reflection, light shifting to reveal depth, density, alignment. Our reflections overlapped in shimmering detail.
I pressed my arm against his. The lines responded, brightening, aligning, snapping into coherence like two halves of a solved equation.
"Yes," I breathed.
I lifted my hand, my fingers were shaking as I pointed to a small, precise flare on my arm. "That," my voice was hoarse. "That's Earth."
Silence crashed down around us. I looked up at him, heart pounding so hard I could barely hear myself think.
"That's not mythology," I muttered. "That's a star map. A real one. And it'sus—" My voice broke. "Tell me," I demanded, fearand awe tangling into something sharp and unbearable. "Tell me this isn't what I think it is."
Because if it was, then science hadn't failed me. It had just been waiting for me to catch up.
"Earth?" He said it like the word didn't belong in his mouth.
I nodded, sharp and fast, as if I didn't anchor it immediately, I might lose the nerve. "Yes. Earth. My planet. Where I came from." I jabbed my finger at the glowing intersection on my arm, then at the corresponding flare on his skin. "That—that is Sol," I said, my voice barely steady. "That's my star. That's Earth."
I pointed, first at the glowing mark on my own skin, then at the corresponding flare on his. They matched too closely to be a coincidence. Too precise to be a metaphor.
"I don't know what the rest of this means," I went on, frustration tightening my chest. "I don't know how to read it or where we are on it or evenwhat kind of spacethis map assumes. But I know this much—this isn't decoration. It isn't symbolic."
His stillness unnerved me more than anger would have.
"This is directional," I continued because he didn't say anything, grasping for words that didn't outrun what I actually knew. "It's tellinghow to get therefrom somewhere else. From somewhere that isn't Earth."
My pulse thundered as I turned back to the mirror, tracing the light with shaking fingers. I wasn't calculating routes or distances—I didn't have the tools for that—but my instincts screamed structure. Order. Intent. The kind that didn't happen by accident.
Then the question hit me.
Why?
I spun back to him, the fear finally breaking through the awe. "Why would the Arkhevari have a star map with Earth on it? Tattooed on their skin no less?" And why me? But I didn't say that part out loud. I had enough to grapple with. As it was, thewords came out raw, edged with something dangerously close to accusation.
"Why my planet?" I demanded. "Why is it here—etched into your skin, into mine—like itmatters?" I didn't give him a chance to answer. "This isn't passive. This isn't watching from afar. This is preparation. Design." My hands curled into fists. "Tell me everything," I said. "Not mythology. Not riddles. Not Arkhevari half-truths you think I'm not ready for." I stepped closer, close enough that the light on our skin pulsed brighter in response. "Tell me who you are. What your people did. What theystilldo. And why my planet is written into your bodies like a destination."
My chest heaved as I finally stopped talking. The silence rang loud in my ears. "Because if Earth is on that map," I added quietly, the weight of it settling in, "then whatever is happening didn't start with the Cryons. And it didn't start with me." I lifted my gaze to his, eyes blazing with equal parts terror and resolve. "So start talking, Dravok. Arkhevari spymaster, god, whatever you are."
I caught the way his gaze lingered on my naked skin—just for a fraction of a second—before his attention snapped back to my face. I looked down. Right, naked. The sight of a glowing alien constellation had momentarily distracted me. "Oh for—" I groaned. "You pervert. Get over it."
His brow lifted, offended. "I wasn't?—"
"My eyes arehere," I snapped, pointing at my face. "If you're going to stare, at least be honest about it."
A corner of his mouth twitched. Infuriating.
