The mark on Vane's wrist woke an hour outside Korreth.
At first, he thought the warmth came from movement.
The morning was cold, the road narrow, his gloves thin.
Then the heat sharpened.
Not painful.
Recognizable.
Vane stopped looking at the road.
A pale line ran across the inside of his wrist.
It had been there for more than a year.
Burned into his skin at a boundary by something that had neither asked permission nor offered an explanation afterward.
For the first few weeks, he had checked it constantly.
Then daily.
Then whenever something strange happened.
By the second month, he'd stopped expecting it to do anything at all.
Now it was warm.
He said nothing.
For almost twenty minutes.
Nyx eventually glanced sideways at him.
Her opal eyes were fully present.
Vane sighed.
"When did you notice?"
"When did it start?"
"About twenty minutes ago."
Nyx looked toward his wrist.
"You were going to keep that to yourself?"
"I was considering it."
