The morning of the ceremony, Mom helped fasten my dress.It didn’t hide my neck.She paused after closing the last clasp.“Ready?”“Yes.”This time, I wasn’t answering anyone’s expectations.Owen waited inside the small council room.He looked nervous.That made me smile.He had been so composed when we first met beneath surgical lights. Now, facing something he wanted for himself, he kept adjusting his cuffs.“You’ll wrinkle them,” I whispered.He looked down, then laughed.“Too late.”Our witnesses took their seats.The registrar confirmed that we understood what we were choosing.We did.We had talked about the connection, the marks, and the responsibilities we intended to carry.Not because a supernatural bond would make us incapable of hurting each other.Because it wouldn’t.It would not replace a conversation.It would not excuse a broken promise.When the new mark formed, I felt Owen’s emotions.Nervousness.Joy.A tenderness so clear that my breath caught.I looked up.“What a
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