The dining hall buzzed with the usual evening chaos — cadets clattering trays, laughter echoing, the occasional sharp bark of a challenge from a table too far gone into post-drill adrenaline. You tried to ignore it all, forcing your shoulders to relax as you carried your tray toward the cluster of familiar faces waving you over.

Rhiannon scooted her tray aside to make room, grinning. “There you are. We were starting to think you got swallowed by the archives.”

You slid into the seat beside her, muttering something about late training exercises, grateful when Imogen immediately distracted her with some sharp remark about her sparring partner nearly fainting during conditioning. Ridoc chimed in with a dramatic reenactment that had everyone laughing.

It should’ve been easy. Normal. Just dinner with your friends.

But then Rhiannon’s laughter caught in her throat. Her gaze lingered, sharp as a dagger. “Um…” She tilted her head, eyes narrowing at your neck.

Your stomach dropped.

Imogen leaned forward before you could tug your collar higher. “Oh, gods. No way.”

Ridoc, of course, nearly spat out his water. “That is not what I think it is.”

You froze, fork halfway to your mouth, heart thundering. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Rhiannon whispered urgently, her hand shooting out to tug your collar down just enough to reveal the unmistakable bloom of bruised skin near your collarbone. A mark you’d thought your high neckline would hide. A mark you definitely hadn’t realized was that high.

Heat flushed your entire body. “It’s… not—”

Imogen’s smirk was wicked, almost feral. “Oh, it’s exactly what it looks like.”

Ridoc slammed his hand against the table, drawing a few curious looks from nearby cadets. “WHO? Who in seven hells managed to get that close without us noticing?”

“Keep your voice down!” you hissed, glancing around, tugging your jacket tighter.

Rhiannon, however, wasn’t letting you off the hook. She leaned in close, whispering, “Tell me. Right now. Who is he?”

Panic scrambled through your chest. You searched for something — anything — that would throw them off the trail. But the image of Xaden flashed unbidden in your mind: the way his shadows curled around you like a shield, the way his mouth had branded every inch of your skin last night.

Your silence was damning.

“Oh my gods,” Imogen breathed, eyes widening. Then narrowing. “It’s someone we know, isn’t it?”

Ridoc’s grin was pure mischief. “Someone high-ranking. Has to be. Look at her face.”

You shoved a spoonful of food into your mouth just to avoid answering, praying they’d let it drop. They didn’t.

Rhiannon shook her head, muttering under her breath. “I’m going to figure this out.”

And the worst part? You knew she would.

Because Xaden was still across the hall in the wingleader’s wing, nowhere near the dining tables, nowhere to shield you from the sharp eyes of your friends — and you could already feel the mark of his absence as much as the one on your skin.