Page 74 of The Devil May Care

We reset. This time, I land a hit. A weak one—barely a tap to his side—but it counts. He doesn’t say anything, but I swear I see something flicker in his expression.

I grin. “That count as a win?”

“You’re still alive,” he replies. “So yes.”

We’re standing close—too close, probably—but I’m getting used to that. The new blade sits in my palm like it’s lived there forever. My knuckles are bruised, my stance is improving, and I haven’t tripped over my own feet in ten minutes. Progress. But underneath it all, I still don’t know what I’m doing. Not really. Not in the way that counts. I glance at him, careful to keep my voice casual.

“Do you think I can do it?”

He doesn’t ask what I mean. Just studies me, quiet and unreadable.

“I don’t know.”

Well, that’s honest. Even if it stings.

He adds, softer this time, “The point isn’t winning. Not yet. First we survive the Flame.”

My pulse skips.

“You mean the magic fire cult evaluation we’ve been circling for days now?”

His mouth quirks—half amusement, half grimness. “Roughly.”

“Is that where I get the brand?

“Most are branded before the Flame.” Most. He means all but me. “It appears on the body. Symbolic. It confirms the flame’s call.”

“So I haven’t been marked,” I say. “No glowy sigils on my skin. Unless I missed something.”

He nods once. “It would appear somewhere visible. The flame makes its choices.”

“And yours?” I ask, casually. “Did you wake up one morning with a mystical tramp stamp?”

His eyes meet mine—sharp, narrowed. Then they flick away.

“I—” He stops. Shakes his head, once. “It doesn’t matter.”

That catches me off guard. He never fumbles. I laugh lightly, trying to defuse it. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I don’t have any new markings. But to be fair, I can’t exactly see my own ass. Might have to get someone to check.”

That gets him. His entire body goes still, but his eyes widen. Not much. Just a sliver. But it’s enough to see his pupils blow wide, eclipsing the dark of his irises. His throat works. His hands curl into fists at his sides, jaw tightening like it physically costs him not to respond.

Oh.

Ohhh.

Okay.

So that’s where the line is. He feels it too.

For once, he looks away first. I shift, trying to hide the flush in my neck. I didn’t mean to shake him. Not like that. A tease sure, but…but some small, dangerous part of me is glad I did. He doesn’t respond to the joke, and when he finally speaks again, his voice is all cool control.

“If you’re unmarked, they can’t make you compete. Not without risking outcry.”’

“But they want to humiliate me at the Flame.”

“They hope for humiliation at the Flame. Public failure. Something symbolic.”

“To put the messy little human in her place?”