The Mark That shouldn't Be..

The moment the Council official swept out and the heavy door clicked shut behind him, the tension in the room loosened like an old corset unlaced after a long evening. It wasn't relief, exactly—more like a pause. A stillness. That strange kind of silence that follows a storm but still smells of lightning.

Auron leaned back against the cold stone wall, arms crossed over his chest, his posture as rigid as the blades strapped at his hips. He hadn't unclenched since the questioning began—like a knight waiting for the next command. Always alert. Always composed.

Iria, ever the dramatist, flopped onto the narrow cot beside me and flung an arm over her eyes like a swooning duchess. "By the old saints, that was an ordeal. I give him a five out of ten for pretending not to tremble in his overstarched cuffs."

I arched a brow. "He did flinch a little when I said 'no murdering.'"

"You said it with the serene conviction of someone considering it," she said, peeking at me through her lashes. "Honestly, I was tempted to applaud."

"I considered it," I murmured. "Just to see him run."

Auron exhaled sharply—the kind of breath that was more burden than relief. "You jest as though we weren't inches from a formal inquisition."

I stood slowly, brushing dust from my long black coat. "If they had proof, they wouldn't have sent a glorified clerk in brocade with ink stains on his cuffs."

"You're far too calm," Auron said.

I looked over my shoulder at him. His eyes—the color of polished steel—studied me like I was a blade with a chip in the edge. Subtle, but not forgotten.

And he wasn't wrong.

I was calm.

Unnaturally so.

"I think the fear burned off hours ago," I said. "Now I'm simply... observing."

Iria sat up and examined her dagger, though we all knew she wouldn't be foolish enough to flip it in confinement. "Can we all just acknowledge how casually Selene declared there's been 'no biting'? You make it sound like an inconvenience, not an accusation."

"Well," I said lightly, "if the Council wishes to brand me a beast, I may as well bare my fangs and look the part."

But even as I smiled, something within me twisted.

My gaze slid to the narrow slit of the window, where moonlight spilled across the stone like silver blood.

Then it hit me—too sharp, too quiet.

The silence.

Too complete.

Iria stilled. She felt it too.

I turned from the window, folding my arms. "I didn't tell him everything."

Auron's jaw tensed. Iria cocked her head slightly.

"I told the Council's little messenger that I didn't see the killer. That's true."

"Selene…" Iria began, cautious now.

"But I felt something," I said, my voice quieter. "In the instant before Adrastan Vexmoor collapsed. A disturbance. Not wind. Not magic. It was... ancient. Like something dragging its claws across the fabric of the room."

Auron shifted, his hand brushing the hilt at his side out of instinct. "What sort of presence?"

I hesitated, then whispered, "Someone too familiar to be forgotten… yet too distant to be remembered. Like a face I've stared at my whole life, but only through frost-glass. They feel ancient, like I've known them for centuries—but I couldn't name them if my life depended on it. As if their shadow has always followed me, but I've never turned fast enough to catch them. They don't feel like a stranger, Auron. They feel like a missing piece I never noticed was gone… and now that it's near, I can't tell if it wants to complete me—or consume me."

I crossed to the wall and pressed my palm to the stones. Still cool. Still humming beneath the skin, like they remembered the murder, too.

"I didn't scream," I said. "Didn't run. Didn't even draw breath. I stood there as if... as if I'd been expecting it."

Neither of them spoke.

"I should have been horrified," I said, slowly, "but instead, I watched. I watched the blood pool around his collar like a painter's first stroke. And I remember thinking—how deliberate it looked."

Auron stared at me. "Selene—"

"I know what I sound like," I said. "Possessed. Touched in the head. But I'm not."

I met his eyes, unwavering.

"It was beautiful."

That word—beautiful—hung in the air like a heresy.

Iria paled. Auron looked like he wanted to pace but refused to do so out of sheer discipline.

There's more," I said, voice low.

Iria groaned softly. "Of course there is."

I didn't look at her. My eyes stayed on the floor, tracing the fading outline in my mind. "When the noble fell, just before his blood touched the marble—I saw something. Not with my eyes. With… something else. A pulse, like it echoed through me."

Auron tensed.

"On his palm," I continued, "for the briefest moment—burned into the flesh—there was a symbol. It flickered like heat shimmer, then vanished as if it never existed."

"What symbol?" he asked, his tone clipped.

I exhaled slowly. "A crescent moon. Inverted. Not like our usual heraldry—this one curled downward like a dying thing. And through it, three nails pierced the arc. Old, rusted, bent at unnatural angles… but I could feel the weight of them. The pain. Like something was being bound. Or punished."

Iria stilled beside me, no quip this time.

"It wasn't just a mark," I whispered. "It felt... ancient. And wrong. Like I'd seen it before, but not in this life."

Auron's gaze darkened. "That symbol doesn't belong in any known record."

"No," I said. "Which is why it terrifies me."

Silence settled again, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Then Iria, trying to chase the weight from the air, quipped, "And here I thought confinement would be boring."

I gave a humorless smile. "Boring would be a gift."

Auron came to stand beside me. Not close enough to touch, but near enough that I could feel the quiet strength in his presence.

"You should've told them," he said. "Even if they wouldn't believe you."

I shook my head. "No. They'd twist it into a prophecy or a threat. Or worse—they'd think I was going mad."

He didn't argue.

Because deep down, he knew I wasn't.

The world was changing. Something old and unnamed had stirred. And it had chosen Evander's death as its first whisper.

I sank onto the edge of the cot, folding my hands in my lap.

"I know I should've said something."

"But you didn't," Iria said, softer now.

I looked up.

"And that," I said, "is the part I can't explain."

---