The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting restless shadows across the room. Abigail sat stiffly at the edge of the armchair, pulling her sleeve up with slow, deliberate movements revealing the mark once more.
It hadn't faded.
Not even slightly.
Dimitri didn't react at first, but his gaze lingered.
The imprint wasn't just deep it pulsed, faint and rhythmic, like a second heartbeat pressed into her skin.
A sickness stirred in his chest a recognition.
This wasn't just an injury.
It was something else.
Something left behind with purpose.
Abigail watched him carefully. She had noticed the shift in his expression—the way his posture hardened,his brows pulling together in silent calculation.
"What is it?" she asked, voice quieter now, unsure if she wanted to hear the answer.
Dimitri didn't speak immediately.
Instead, he stepped away, retrieving a porcelain basin from the cabinet at the far end of the room. His grip tightened around its edges,as if grounding himself.
"You need to clean it," he said finally, his voice restrained.
He set the basin on the table beside her.
She hesitated before dipping a cloth into the cool water, pressing it lightly against her wrist but the second the damp touch met her skin, she flinched.
Dimitri reacted before he could stop himself, catching her wrist too quickly, too firmly.
Her pulse hammered against his fingers, but he didn't let go.
Not yet.
Because now he knew.
Because now he had no choice but to tell her.
The room felt smaller, the firelight flickering between them, illuminating nothing but tension.
Finally, he exhaled.
"You wandered into something that never releases what it touches."
Abigail stiffened.
Not dangerous.
Not unknown.
Never releases.
A claim. A grip that wasn't just physical but lingering.
She swallowed, forcing herself to speak. "You… you recognize this, don't you?"
Dimitri didn't move at first.
Then, slowly, his fingers relaxed around her wrist, but he did not let go completely.
"I do," he admitted.
Not a question. Not a theory. A certainty.
Abigail felt the pulse beneath her skin, a slow, rhythmic burn, as if the mark had a heartbeat of its own.
Dimitri finally released her, standing upright, his posture shifting more rigid, more measured, as if preparing himself to say something he'd rather keep buried.
"You need to understand something about Nocturna," he said quietly. "It was never meant to exist in its current form. It was built on blood and blood has a way of demanding repayment."
Abigail straightened slightly, watching the way his expression darkened not just with frustration, but something colder.
"This place was not founded," Dimitri continued. "It was claimed ripped from forces that were never meant to be disturbed. The first rulers took it by force, but they did not erase what was here before them. They only buried it deeper."
Abigail shivered, the weight of his words pressing against her bones.
Dimitri's voice lowered.
"The trials weren't always competitions. They weren't meant to test skill or loyalty they were meant to separate the worthy from the unworthy. And those who failed…" He exhaled sharply, eyes flickering to the mark on her wrist.
"They weren't sent away. They were given."
Abigail's breath faltered. "Given?"
Dimitri nodded once. "Sacrificed."
A chill crept up her spine.
To what?
Her heartbeat slowed, dread creeping through her veins.
"What happened to them?" she asked, even though she wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer.
Dimitri held her gaze for a long moment.
"They were taken. And they never returned not as themselves."
Abigail swallowed hard.
"Some believe they became part of Nocturna itself," Dimitri continued, his tone weighted with something too familiar like he had studied this before, too closely, too personally. "Others say they still linger, trapped between realms, pulled into something that will never release them."
Abigail felt herself gripping her own wrist, fingers pressing into the unrelenting imprint.
"And my mark?" she asked, voice quieter now. "Does that mean I'm-"
"You're not one of them yet," Dimitri cut in sharply, his tone more forceful than before.
Yet.
That single word hung between them, heavy and unyielding.
Abigail forced herself to breathe.
For a moment, she expected him to say more. To offer some reassurance that would dissolve the eerie feeling threading through her blood.
But he didn't.
Instead, he reached for the cloth and the basin, dipping the fabric into the water before gripping her wrist again firmer this time.
His movements were methodical, precise, gentler than she expected, but his gaze remained sharp, studying her skin like it carried something he could not erase.
The cloth dragged across her wrist, cool and deliberate, yet the mark did not fade.
And then Abigail's focus shifted.
Not away. Inward.
She wasn't staring at the room anymore she was slipping.
Dimitri noticed immediately.
His grip tightened, his voice cutting through whatever haze was trying to pull her under.
"Stay with me, Abigail."
Her breathing hitched, her fingers twitching slightly but she stayed.
Dimitri didn't let go, not until the pull severed, not until he knew she was still here.
Then, slowly, the air softened.
Tension bled into quiet, something slower, something unfamiliar.
And for the first time since stepping into his office, Abigail didn't feel like she was running.
Dimitri shifted slightly, pulling away just enough for her to sit back but she didn't.
Instead, she exhaled, exhaustion creeping in, her body leaning against his shoulder without hesitation.
Neither of them spoke at first.
And neither of them moved.
Not for a long time.
Eventually, her breathing steadied, slower now, her presence grounding the space between them.
Dimitri sat still, unmoving, his gaze lingering on the fire on something he wasn't ready to say aloud.
But when she sighed softly, her body relaxing into sleep, the words came anyway.
Low. Weighted. Barely audible.
"You should have never come here."
And yet, she had.
And now, he couldn't change that.