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His eyes rose slowly from the shimmering spot of wetness beneath him, back to the mirror.

Lessia hadn’t written her name. Or at least not only her name.

There was one spot, just above where his hip bone jutted out, where she’d carvedElessia.

NotLessia.

NotElessia Rantzier.

JustElessia.

His heart clenched.

Then his eyes traveled over the other words she’d etched onto his body.

Love.

Freedom.

Peace.

Children.

Unity.

Acceptance.

Friendship.

Family.

Choice.

Future.

A noise left him—one he’d never heard himself utter.

It sounded almost otherworldly, broken and harsh at the same time. Loving and hating and desperate and calm.

Lessia hadn’t only marked him as hers.

She’d carved her hopes and dreams onto his skin.

All her wishes were carefully cut, not a single letter bent or deformed.

All but one.

That strange sound wound its way through his throat again.

On the left side of his chest, right over his heart, she’d carved the one thing she longed for the most.

Time.

Her hands must have shaken, or perhaps tears might have obscured her vision when she etched the final word onto him, because it was the only one where the letters weren’t perfectly shaped.

Another trail of dampness snaked down his cheek as his eyes trailed the shakyt, the stem of theithat wasn’t aligned with the dot, themthat almost looked like ann, and theethat swept toofar out, the line cutting across his skin like the phantom dagger that now pierced his heart.

Two bandaged hands snaked around his body, the fingers on the hand that wasn’t broken fluttering over the word—over Merrick’s broken heart.