“Lycan boy.” I smirk right back, taking in the blood painted across his body like modern art. His clothes are a shredded pile sitting in a pool of blood by his feet. “You look like you gotdragged backward through a war.”
“Felt like that too.” He chuckles. “I’m all fixed up now.”
“Shame,” I say sweetly. “I was hoping the eye that was hanging out when they carted you off like a baby would become your new jewelry piece. You know, the start of a new fashion trend.”
His laugh is deep and unbothered. “We can’t all have pretty little stable pieces on our bodies.” His gaze lifts pointedly to the jewels embedded in my temples.
I tap one with a finger. “Hey, I was born with mine. Or so I was told.”
“Well, just know, you have an open invitation after that performance. You can kick my ass anytime you want.”
“You say that like you crave the pain.”
“I’m a Lycan, little warrior. My skin was made to tear.” He rises from the table, moving toward us, and London hits him with a snap of magic—an invisible command that slams through the air like a leash.
“Down, Stygian,” she warns. “This one’s temporarily claimed by a royal. Wait your turn.”
Temporarily.
The word punches something low in my ribs, sharp and involuntary. I don’t like how it feels. I don’t like that I feel anything at all.
This place is poison to the heart and mind. I need to do better at remembering as much.
The Lycan lifts his hands and offers a small, respectful bow before silently stepping away. The evidence of his presence vanishes the moment he crosses over the illuminated markings that surround Silver’s work table. The floor returns to a polished marble, not a spec of red in sight.
Silver flicks a glance at me, then pats the table. “Hop up, Haide.”
I obey, mostly because I was promised food and partiallybecause I like him. He’s steady in a way nobody else here is. Like he isn’t run by anger or resentment.
“You look a lot better than he did,” he says, nodding toward the Lycan sulking near the wall.
I smirk. “That’s the thing, doc. You all grew up with hovering bottles and little glass vials that do half the work for you. All I’ve ever had at the tips of my fingers are sharp nails and endless free time. Oh, and glitter bombs.” I flick my fingers around and little trickles of glitter rain down. “Absolutely worthless but fun to blow in people’s faces when they’re about to kill you for the tenth time.”
He chuckles under his breath and pulls my jacket sleeve down.
I swing my legs where I sit on the table, heel knocking lightly against the metal frame. Silver’s quiet. Too quiet. When I glance up, a small frown creases the skin between his brows.
“What?”
He doesn’t answer. He lifts his hand over my arm, a soft glow blooming beneath his palm, and a shiver runs over my skin as his magic pets me. The dried blood melts away in a ripple of magic, sliding off my skin like ink pulled into water.
And left behind is…nothing.
Just smooth flesh, faint sheen of newness where there should be carnage.
Silver’s eyes flick up to mine, and there’s something new there—interest, uncertainty,calculation.
Behind him, London steps closer, her voice low. “Not even a scar…”
Silver glances her way, jaw tight.
“There were multiple,” she murmurs, staring at my arm. “And bone-deep. I wouldn’t have bothered to bring her here for anything less.”
“Huh,” I say, staring at the smooth skin where carnage should be. “Looks like I do the whole self-cauterizing thing now. That’sfucking cool.”
I expect some form of response. A joke. Or an eye roll. But all she does is stare at my arm like it’s a ticking time bomb. Something unreadable flickers across her features.
I shrug, pulling my jacket back on and tapping my nails on my codex. “Maybe Creed was right and I have some power in me after all.”
