†Noca's POV†
I wasn't sure if the boy truly had a birthmark on his neck. Every time I'd seen him before, he wore that damned shroud—thick and high enough to hide half his skin. It was almost as though he had something to conceal, something he didn't want anyone to notice.
But he wasn't wearing it now.
And that made my pulse spike.
The warrior's words still echoed in my head, sharp and persistent, refusing to fade. I tried to silence them, but they kept returning with each one a reminder that what I had refused to believe might just be true.
I took a step forward. Then another. The distance between us closed slowly, like the pull of an unseen force dragging me closer to a truth I wasn't ready to face.
Nuel had laid crumpled against the roots of an old tree, his body limp, his breath shallow. He had been thrown hard—his back had hit the trunk with a sound that still rang in my ears. No one could have survived that without injury.
And yet, he stirred.
