The small room smelled of the faint smoke Kyran wore. Light from the slit window drew a pale line across the floor. The bandage prickled under Raina’s fingers like something half-asleep.

She touched it without thinking. The crescent under the cloth felt warm, a small animal in soft fur. A tiny hum rose under her skin—not loud, but there, like someone clearing a throat. Her heart stuttered.

Across the corridor, Marta sat at the barred window, head bowed. The old woman looked smaller than in Raina’s memory, as if the house had taken a few inches. Marta’s eyes lifted when she felt Raina’s gaze, and she tapped twice on the iron — the same sign she’d taught Raina. A promise and a warning.

There was a knock at the hatch. A guard pushed a tray with bread, cheese, and a flagon of water. Taron stood in the doorway, boots quiet as a promise. He set the tray down and watched her as if measuring steps.

“You look like you met a storm,” he said. He didn’t try to be quaint. His voice was blunt and steady. “Eat.”

Raina broke the bread. It tasted of old flour and something her stomach did not want. “You were the driver,” she said, because words fill the hollow places. “You helped bring me here.”

“I drove the carriage,” Taron corrected. “Kyran delivered the cargo.” He gave a small, crooked smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “We’ll get you water.”

She drank. The bandage under her fingers warmed, and the hum grew. On instinct, she poked at the cloth with a fingernail — a stupid, childish motion.

The candle on the little table flared. It puffed up like something had breathed on it, then settled back. Raina jerked her hand away. Taron’s eyes widened a fraction.

“You felt that?” he said. He didn’t sound surprised, only careful. “Power answers to touch. And to want. And to fear.”

Raina’s throat went dry. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Taron said. “It’s awake. That complicates things.” He leaned closer and spoke low. “You must be careful. People will die for this sort of thing.”

A laugh came from the corridor then—Liora, silk sliding over stone. “How’s our pet?” she called, the words bright as a blade. She stepped in like she had all the right in the world, smile practiced.

“Leave her be,” Taron said, the tone a fence. He stood between Raina and Liora like a man who knows where the line is.

Liora curled a lip at the sight of Raina. “Kyran brings home a pretty thing and expects applause. How quaint.” She leaned in, too close, inspecting like someone choosing fresh meat. “Does she burn? Does she sing?”

Raina wanted to spit. Instead, she pulled the blanket tighter. “You can’t own me,” she said, because the old words tasted like iron.

“You’re naive,” Liora said, sweet as vinegar. “Possession is practical.”

Taron shot Liora a look that said he disliked how the world runs. “She’ll be shown tonight,” he said to Raina. “For the council. Kyran wants proof of what he holds.”

Raina felt the hum under her skin answer like a struck chord. The mark pulsed, small and insistent. A whisper threaded through her head—nothing like the old woman’s voice, something older and thinner.

“Run”, it said, and then a softer note that was not the same. “Wake”.

The word woke something colder. Raina’s hand tightened on the blanket. Marta’s small face across the way went hard and then loose in a blink—fear and something like fierce hope.

“If he shows me there,” Raina said, voice small, “they’ll make bargains. They’ll talk about me like I’m a ledger.”

Taron’s jaw tightened. “That’s what they do. They trade power like coins. Kyran wants to keep it close, but others will demand pieces.” He leaned in, carefully. “If you can, keep it small. Don’t let it answer. If it answers, they read what it shows and they use it.”

Raina thought of poking the bandage. The candle jumped again, a little higher this time, and the flame licked the air like a tongue. Her chest tightened; a small, hot thrill ran through her that felt awful and wicked. The mark hummed, and something in her wanted to test it until it broke.

“Why do you care?” she asked Taron. “You work for him.”

Taron rubbed his thumb along the rim of the wooden cup as if to buy time. “I do my duty,” he said. “But duty doesn’t mean cruelty. Some things I won’t watch burning. You remind me of that.”

Liora made a sound like a small, annoyed bird. “Kyran will be pleased,” she said, toying with meaning. “A show at council calms some men and makes others hungry.”

“Show me to the council?” Raina repeated, and the notion made her stomach drop. “Like an exhibit?”

Taron didn’t laugh. “Like proof,” he said. He paused. “I’ll be near the door. If things go wrong, don’t trust the first smile. Trust the guard at the threshold.”

The corridor outside thrummed with boots and voices as the house became a hive. Slippers on stone, whispers, the faint clink of tankards—the building breathed. Raina felt the mark buzz in time with it. It was not loud, but it moved like a thing pulling a thread.

Then a sound broke the hum—low and far. At first, she thought it was the wind; then it rolled again, deeper, answering across the yards. A howl uncoiled through the night, long and hungry.

Guards shifted. Taron’s hand was a small, hard press against the door. “That’s not just wolves,” he said. “Packs answering packs. They’re gathering.”

Raina felt the hum inside her climb with the howl like a string pulled taut. The candle flared, light throwing hands across the walls. Marta watched from her window, face pale as a pressed flower. Her fingers dug into the iron until the knuckles went white.

“Prepare,” Taron said, voice low. He moved to the hatch and pushed it open a crack. His eyes, when they met Raina’s, were urgent and quiet. “When they call you, hold your face like stone. If the mark answers, do not let it sing out. Look to me.”

Raina nodded, though she didn’t trust the nod to mean anything. The thing under her skin thrummed and spoke again, softer this time, a pull rather than a shout.

“Wake”, it said.

The door banged open with a sound that made the candle flicker mad. Outside, the world had turned into a tide of boots and banners, and the corridor filled with men shouting orders. Taron’s hand closed on the latch, and he barked, “Get ready. Now.”

Raina pressed both palms to the bandage, trying to tamp the hum down like a fever. She could feel the voice in her like a small animal waking to hunger. The howl rolled again, nearer. The note under her skin rose and joined it.

“Wake”, it said once more, and this time it did not ask.