Page 101 of The Order: Rise of the New Empire

I will find him again.

And when I do, we may not recognize one another.

Anything is better than how I feel now.

Downfall to Sanctum.

Long live the Marked.

Chapter thirty-one

Kaiden

I've been in this situation one too many times.

I know screaming does me no good.

When I left the cabin, I knew the risk I was taking looking for my sister.

Not knowing where I am or how I got here is the least of my worries.

Forest gave me her blood, that much I know.

It funneled into my system, breathing new life into me that I never realized I needed.

Now, I feel empty, unsure of where I am or how I got here-

"You were supposed to stay with Aaron at the cabin."

Jolted upward from my mindless spiral, a cold cloth falls from my forehead before landing in my lap.

Looking out a large glass window, she wears a robe of white silk. Her silver hair trails down her back in soft waves.

Looking around, it becomes increasingly evident I am in the guest quarters of a home.

"Guest quarters in our housing in the Precipice," she answers for me, already buried in the depths of my mind.

Slightly turning her head back toward me, I see the puffed irritation surrounding her eyes. It's a clear indicator she has been crying.

Moving off the bed, my only motivation is knowing she is safe.

"Forest, what-"

Feeling a burning pain shoot through my forearm, I hiss in pain. Clamping my hand over the tender skin, it feels as if my skin is on fire. Dragging up my shirt sleeve, my eyes go wide at the realization of what has etched itself into my skin.

Scarred and imperfect, the intricate crescent pattern clings to my skin.

"I-Is that-"

"You're Marked," Forest whispers, her voice filled with the first real sign of pain I have seen in a long time. "It was the only way I could keep you safe."

Trailing my fingers over the scar, reality comes crashing in.

"I-I'm Marked?" I stutter.

Finally turning around all the way, any fears I had revolving around the reasoning for my scar suddenly become increasingly insignificant.

As clear as day, the gown clings to her front. Enunciating the protruding bump, her hands run over the bump, providing the life trapped inside a gentle touch.

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