Scarlett’s POV

The sigil burns my eyes.

Not literally—yet—but the moment I kneel beside the fallen assassin and really look, something inside me recoils so violently I almost lose my balance. The symbol carved into his armor seems to writhe when my gaze lingers too long, as though it dislikes being observed.

A split crown. Jagged. Broken down the center. But it isn’t Shadow magic.

I know Shadow magic. I’ve felt it breathe, press, and whisper my name in the dark. This is something else ...