Chapter 8 · The Seal Under His Skin

"Don't move. Not a muscle," Cassian hissed, his voice vibrating against my collarbone.

He had me pinned against the rusted surgical table, his body a wall of heat that blocked out the screams of the Imperial soldiers outside. The air in the clinic tasted like ozone and old blood. My heart was hammering—not just mine, but *his*, drumming a frantic, synchronized rhythm in my chest that made my vision blur.

"Get off me," I gasped, trying to shove his chest. It was like pushing against a mountain. "The soldiers are through the first door. If you don't let me find a way out, we're both dead—or worse, I'm back in a cage."

Cassian didn't budge. Instead, he gripped my wrist, slamming it back onto the metal surface. He didn't do it to hurt me, but the power in the movement made my breath hitch. He leaned in, his lips barely grazing my ear, his scent—something like cold rain and burnt cedar—filling my lungs.

"Look at the mark, Sylvia," he whispered. "Look at what you just stitched back into existence."

I looked. On the back of his hand, where the final suture had closed, a crimson seal was pulsing.