Lies were dangerous. Not because they hurt people’s feelings, but because they never stayed hidden.

For as long as she could remember, any lie told would appear on the liar’s skin, clear as ink on paper. Some had faded words from childhood fibs, small white lies they barely remembered. Others had their skin littered with broken promises and betrayals, permanent marks they’d never erase.

She had learned early on to choose her words carefully.

Which is why, when Harry June—the school's biggest flirt—leaned against her desk after class, that cocky grin on his face, and asked, "Do you like me?" …she didn’t hesitate.

"No," she lied.

And the next morning, as SHE stood in front of the mirror, there it was.

"No." Burning in her skin, leaving a bold mark. Impossible to ignore.