The first light of dawn was a ghostly thing, timid and pale, seeping through the cracks of the heavy curtains draped over Selena's chamber windows. The morning air inside was stale and cold, untouched by warmth or comfort. Despite the peaceful quiet of the Valerio estate, Selena felt anything but at peace.
Her body ached in places she couldn't name—the burn of old wounds from the fight with the Crimson Brotherhood mingled with a deeper, more gnawing pain from within. The mark on her chest, faintly visible beneath her blouse, called to her relentlessly. It was no longer a simple scar or mere brand; it writhed beneath her skin like a living fire.
She sat upright on the narrow bed, heart pounding in a relentless rhythm. Her fingertips brushed the mark, and the heat that radiated shocked her, forcing a sharp intake of breath.
