Elara POV
The light tore through the linen like a blade.
Silver burned across my wrist, bright enough to hurt my eyes. The air shook. My pulse hammered so hard my vision blurred. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Could only feel the way the sixteenth mark crawled up my arm like something alive.
Theron caught me under the arms before my knees hit the stone.
"Elara—look at me," he said, voice steady in that way he used when the world was breaking.
"I—I can't," I gasped. "It's—burning—"
"It's not burning you," he said quickly, "it's opening."
I didn't know what that meant. I didn't want to know.
The light shot up toward my elbow. My fingers twitched violently. The pain wasn't sharp like the earlier marks—it was deep. Low. Heavy. Like pressure inside bone.
Mira grabbed my other arm, trying to steady me. "This isn't normal. She's not supposed to get another flare this soon."
Theron didn't take his eyes off me. "It's not a flare."
