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But we would need to work together. Human and Nyxari. Marked and lifelined. Silver and gold. The very combination my clan swore to prevent.

Zara returned to her side, respecting the boundary. But something had changed. A connection formed, a primitive understanding. Not allies yet, perhaps, but no longer merely captives sharing a cell.

Tomorrow would bring Hammond’s experiments on Zara, likely forcing resonance between us.

The last thing I saw before darkness claimed me was Zara, watching over me, concern in those deep, knowing eyes, determination in her posture. Something deeper sparked in the space between my lifelines—a shared gravity that had nothing to do with strategy or survival, and everything to do with the pull of something forbidden and irresistible

She still deserved scrutiny. Yet perhaps, now, the closest thing to an ally I might find.

ZARA

The cell grew colder as night descended. I could feel the temperature drop through the metal floor beneath me, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from Ravik across the small space. Beyond our walls, the hum of portable generators created a persistent background drone, punctuated by occasional distant voices and the metallic clang of equipment being moved.

He hadn’t moved in hours, sitting with his back against the wall, head tilted slightly forward so his copper-blond braids fell across his face. The intricate metal beads woven into them occasionally caught the dim light that filtered through the small, barred window near the ceiling. Despite his stillness, I could tell he was hurting.

His breathing had grown increasingly labored, and occasionally, the golden lines beneath his blue skin flickered weakly, like failing circuitry. The flickering triggered a response in my own markings—a faint itch, almost like static electricity dancing just beneath my skin.

I rubbed my forearms absently, trying to dispel the sensation. I’d spent the afternoon mapping our prison—counting steps between walls, noting the guard rotation patterns(three shifts, with the midnight team most lax), studying the lock mechanism when they brought our meager evening rations.

Standard salvaged Seraphyne tech, probably rerouted from emergency systems. Nothing I couldn’t bypass with the right tools.

But watching Ravik’s suffering, my focus shifted.

“They’re experimenting on you, aren’t they?” I kept my voice low, barely audible above the mechanical hum of the base. “With the crystal shard.”

He didn’t respond. No surprise there—he hadn’t acknowledged a single thing I’d said since they’d thrown me in here.

The muscles in his jaw tightened slightly, the only indication he’d heard me at all. But something about his pain struck a chord in me.

Hammond had done this to him. The same man who’d hunted me, who’d tried to “purify” the other marked women by carving the silver patterns from their flesh.

I’d seen the results of those “procedures” firsthand—the scarring, the trauma, the women who never woke up. I moved closer, stopping when his body tensed.

The thin fabric of my uniform scraped against the rough stone floor. “Your lifelines,” I said, gesturing to the golden patterns that traced elegant arcs and spirals beneath his blue skin. “They’re damaged.”

Again, silence. But this time I noticed something—a subtle response in my own markings when I focused on his golden lines.

A faint warmth spread through the silver patterns on my forearms, almost like recognition. The static sensation transformed into something more focused, a gentle pressure pushing outward.

Curious, I concentrated on that sensation, and the warmth intensified. My markings began to respond, the silver lines brightening slightly in the dim cell, casting faint light across the stone floor between us.

The smell of ozone, faint but distinct, filled the air. Ravik’s head snapped up, golden eyes suddenly alert, pupils contracting to pinpoints.

In the silver glow, I could see his face clearly for the first time—strong features, high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a tightly set jaw. Despite his weakened state, power radiated from him. He looked at me like he was trying to figure out whether I was a threat... or the answer to a question he’d never meant to ask.

He gestured sharply, slicing his hand through the air with obvious meaning: stop.

I couldn’t. Because since my markings first appeared, they felt... right.

Not the usual chaotic static that had plagued me since the crash, but something focused, almost purposeful. The sensation was like finally tuning into a clear signal after weeks of maddening interference.

“I think they’re responding to your lifelines,” I said, watching the silver light pulse gently with the rhythm of my heartbeat. The pattern was beautiful—intricate whorls and lines that seemed to grow more complex even as I watched.

His expression darkened. He drew a boundary line between us in the dust of the floor, then made a cutting motion.

Forbidden. The meaning was clear even without words.

“Does it hurt when they use the shard on you?” I pressed, noting how his lifelines dimmed when I mentioned it.