Ilaria sat at the edge of the reading table after Melyn left, one elbow resting against the carved wood, eyes fixed on her arm. The mark she had been hiding traced faintly along her skin, a strange combination of lines and curves that seemed almost purposeful.
She flexed her fingers, watching the shadow shift with her movements as if it had a story to tell that refused to reveal itself. It was a good thing Levan had not noticed it. She shivered at the thought of his eyes lingering there, of him realizing there was something she had been hiding right after coming back from the Expanse.
Levan had a way of seeing her in ways that left her exposed and oddly comforted at the same time. If he had caught sight of the mark, she was certain he would not be angry; he would have studied it, questioned her, pressed until she admitted more than she intended. And she… she was not ready for that yet.
