Too fast. Too much.
The charm knot flares briefly in my pocket, heat against my thigh, then cools like a dying ember.
“I should check on Mari,” I say, voice quieter than I mean.
Hardin doesn’t move. “Of course.”
He stands, nods once, and lets himself out without another word.
I press my hand against my chest and feel the echo of something that almost was.
And I think, maybe I’m not ready yet.
But gods, I want to be.
CHAPTER 10
HARDIN
The mark doesn’t show up at first. It never does.
Ancient magic sleeps quiet until it’s touched by something sharp, something near the edge. Then it stirs. It presses through the skin like frost blooming beneath a pane of glass. Mari is halfway through a chalk hopscotch game she drew herself in the dirt when I see it.
She skips the square marked with a spiral. Pauses. Lifts her arm to swipe her forehead, and the hem of her sleeve pulls back just enough. The mark flashes—silver and faint, just above the bend of her elbow—three lines forming a broken circle, the center hollow. Old. Too old. It pulses once and vanishes like it never existed.
My body stills. Every breath slows to a cold crawl.
She doesn’t see me watching. Just hops back into her game, singing to herself under her breath, her curls catching the late morning light. She’s not frightened. Not aware. That mark isn’t active yet. But it will be. That’s how it works. Bloodlines like hers—like Johanna’s—carry more than memory. They carry inheritance. They carry obligation.
And sometimes, they carry prophecy.
I move to the edge of the porch, arms folded across my chest. The new railing I installed creaks as I lean into it, eyes never leaving the child in front of me. My thoughts claw backward. The last time I saw that symbol it was carved into a stone altar buried beneath the Hollow’s deepest grove, set there to bind a wild thing that had no name. Johanna and I stood over it then. She never explained why it glowed when she approached.
Now I know.
This is her blood.
Mari skips to a stop. “Hardin,” she says, grinning wide, cheeks smudged with dirt. “Come play.”
“Not today,” I say, voice rougher than I intend.
She pouts a little but doesn’t push. She never does. That’s what makes her dangerous. She listens when most children would test.
I wait until Krista steps out onto the porch. She’s carrying two mugs, one held in each hand, and her face is calm but drawn at the edges. She hasn’t been sleeping well. The Hollow weighs on her like it’s testing her bones for cracks.
She hands me one mug, sits beside me. Doesn’t say anything.
I take a slow sip and feel the warmth creep down into my chest. Cinnamon and something floral. She always puts more into her tea than I do.
“I saw the mark,” I say quietly, not looking at her.
She doesn’t ask what I mean. Just closes her eyes and breathes in.
“Left arm. Fold of the elbow. It pulsed.”
She exhales slowly. “Yeah, I saw it too. What does it mean?”
“It means she’s not just magic-touched. She’s bound. The Hollow’s claimed her. Fully.”
