The rain rattled the windows like a thousand tapping fingers. Each flash of lightning cut the room in half—bright, then black again.

You turned over in bed, thinking he had already fallen asleep. But in the pale light, you caught it.

Lines, faint but glowing, carved themselves across his hands where they rested on the blanket. The patterns seemed etched into him, like living calligraphy, shifting when he breathed.

It was impossible to miss it. Your breath caught in your throat. You had seen them before, in the moments of battle with demons. But never here, never this close. Never while one was vulnerable.

Another flash—his forearm lit up in symbols you couldn’t read, veins of fire beneath his skin. He stirred, almost as if he felt the storm pulling his secrets into the open.

“Jinu…” you whispered, your fingers hovering above his hand.

His eyes opened—not startled, but steady, as though he had known this moment was inevitable. And the storm outside roared like it was answering him.