Chapter 1 — The First Scar

“The first time I got a Scar, someone died.

The second time… I realized it wasn’t going to be the last."

It started like any other day.

Too normal.

Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that makes you feel like something is waiting.

I stood at the edge of the field, fingers brushing against dry leaves, pretending to focus on work I wasn’t really doing. The sun was warm, the air still—nothing out of place.

And yet…

Something felt off.

I’ve learned not to ignore that feeling.

It’s kept me alive.

The burn came without warning.

Sharp. Sudden. Wrong.

My breath caught as my hand jerked slightly, fingers curling in instinct. The pain spread across my wrist—slow, deliberate… like something beneath my skin was waking up.

No.

Not here.

I turned my wrist over.

At first, there was nothing.

And then—

A line.

Faint. Silvered.

Cutting across my skin like it had always been there… just waiting for the right moment to show itself.

My stomach dropped.

“That’s not possible,” I muttered under my breath.

Scars don’t just appear.

They don’t choose when to exist.

They are earned.

Survived.

Paid for.

“Zara?”

I flinched.

Too slow.

I forced my expression back into something normal before turning around.

“Yeah?”

Rhea walked toward me, completely unaware of what was happening just inches beneath my skin.

“You’ve been standing here forever. You okay?”

“I’m fine."

The lie came easily.

It always does.

But the burning didn’t stop.

If anything, it deepened.

Spread.

And then—

It changed.

It wasn’t just pain anymore.

It was something else.

Something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Recognition.

My gaze shifted past Rhea before I could stop it.

To the far end of the field.

Someone was standing there.

I hadn’t seen him before.

That alone was enough to set something off in my head.

I notice things.

People.

Movements.

Details others miss.

It’s how I stay in control.

But him?

I would have remembered.

Tall. Still.

Watching.

Not glancing.

Not curious.

Watching.

Directly at me.

For a moment, everything else faded.

The noise around me dulled. The heat, the light—gone.

My pulse didn’t rise.

It slowed.

And that was worse.

He didn’t look away.

Didn’t even pretend to.

And then I saw it.

His wrist.

A Scar.

Not faded.

Not old.

Not hidden.

Alive.

My breath stuttered.

Because Scars don’t react like this.

They don’t recognize each other.

They don’t call out.

But mine did.

The burn sharpened, like something beneath my skin was responding.

Answering.

His head tilted slightly.

Just enough.

Like he’d noticed.

Not just me.

But what I was.

I took a step back before I could stop myself.

Instinct.

Danger.

Every part of me said the same thing:

Leave.

Now.

But I didn’t move again.

Because for the first time…

I wasn’t the only one hiding something.

And somehow—

That felt far more dangerous than being alone.

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