CHAPTER 7 — The Burn Marks Beneath Silence
The first time Cassian noticed her sleeves was not during breakfast.
It was during rain.
Saraphina was in the garden.
Standing under the storm.
Still.
Not moving.
Not reacting.
Just letting water soak through her clothes like she was testing whether she still existed.
Cassian watched from the window.
Petra spoke behind him.
“She does that every time it rains,” she said.
Cassian didn’t respond.
He stepped outside.
The guards stiffened immediately.
“Sir—”
Cassian raised one hand.
They stopped.
He walked into the rain.
Saraphina didn’t turn when he approached.
“You enjoy punishment?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Then why stand in it?”
Her voice was almost lost in the rain.
“Because it doesn’t ask questions.”
That answer made something in him tighten.
Cassian stepped closer.
For the first time, he noticed how carefully she held her left arm slightly away from her body.
Protecting it.
Guarding it.
“Take off your sleeve,” he said.
Saraphina went still.
The rain continued falling between them.
“I don’t take orders from men I don’t trust,” she said.
Cassian’s voice stayed even.
“You don’t trust anyone.”
A pause.
Then, quieter:
“Show me.”
Something in his tone changed that made resistance feel heavier than compliance.
Saraphina hesitated.
Then slowly rolled up her sleeve.
The rain washed over her arm as fabric moved upward.
Cassian saw it.
And for the first time in years—
he stopped breathing.
Burn marks.
Old.
Layered.
Intentional.
Not accidental.
Not medical.
Punishment.
Ownership.
Saraphina pulled her sleeve down immediately.
“Happy now?” she asked.
Cassian didn’t answer.
Because something inside him had already changed direction.
May you like
Quietly.
Irreversibly.
