Page 87 of Savage Crown

Too sharp. Too deadly.

And I am running out of time.

Slowly, I lift my hand.

His eyes track the movement, every muscle in his body coiled like a beast ready to strike.

I grab the hem of my tunic and pull it up, exposing the skin along my ribs.

His dagger doesn’t move.

Neither does he.

Not at first.

Then—his gaze drops. “What am I looking at? More scars?” he scoffs.

I don’t move, and just let him process it. Let his mind catch up.

Rylan frowns as he explodes, “Are you playing me? Do you think?—”

Suddenly, he stops and gasp, moving closer toward my scars. His breath brushes against my skin.

“Do you see it now? If you look closely, you’ll find a pattern to it,” I say softly, my voice shaky at the admission.

I watch his expression shift. The realization. The slow, creeping understanding.

There it is.

The marking etched into my flesh.

A map.

Not drawn.

Not inked. They’re not just ordinary scars. They might look like one at a glance, but if the person know what it’s looking for, it will become obvious.

The map is carved into my skin by magic itself.

The scars.

Rylan steps back, just enough for the dagger to leave my throat.

But he doesn’t look at me.

He stares at the map, as if it is something unholy.

Something impossible.

His breathing slows, measured, calculating.

He lifts his eyes to mine.

And I feel the shift.

The storm rolling in.

“Explain,” he says, voice like ice.

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