Rama took her small hand in both of his, turning it gently toward the passage's dim light, studying the mark with an attention considerably more clinical than the moment's fear wanted to allow.
It didn't look like an ordinary burn. No blistering, no raw edge, just a faint, pink shape almost too regular to be accidental, warm to the touch in a way that had nothing to do with fever.
"Does it hurt now?" Sekar asked, crouching beside them both, her own hand hovering close without quite touching.
"No." Their daughter flexed her fingers experimentally, unbothered. "It feels kind of nice, actually."
Rama and Sekar exchanged a look over her head, the specific silent communication of two people arriving at the same unsettling conclusion at exactly the same moment.
"Show me where," Rama said carefully. "Where exactly you touched."
