Chapter Text
While everyone was still processing the fact that Yuta had essentially just declared both a political and romantic war against the Zenin Clan, you found yourself strangely grateful for the steady blood loss leaving your body. It was probably the only thing keeping your face from bursting into flames after the catastrophic mess that had just unfolded.
“...G-Girlfriend?” Yuji repeated, his jaw practically hanging off his face.
“Excuse me?” Nobara's voice had never sounded so shrill. “Since when you have a boyfriend, and why is it Okkotsu?”
Clearly, discussing your love life was far more important than addressing your rapidly deteriorating condition.
“We can discuss the drama when we’re not covered in cursed entrails,” Megumi said, rolling his eyes slightly.
Before he could step away, however, Gojo abruptly threw an arm around his shoulders and dragged him into a one-sided, deeply unwanted side hug.
“I, for one, thought it was a very sweet confession,” the teacher announced with a grin so wide it bordered on deranged.
Megumi deadpanned. He didn't even need the Six Eyes to figure this one out.
“...You did this, didn’t you?”
His voice was low enough that only Gojo could hear him. Not that anyone else was paying attention.
At that very moment, Nobara and Yuji had cornered the unfortunate Okkotsu, who looked seconds away from evaporating on the spot, while his allegedly dying girlfriend seemed to be moving less and less inside his possessive grip.
Gojo’s grin sharpened.
“Megumi-kun, you’re always so suspicious,” he said lightly. “Relax a little and enjoy the show.”
“This isn’t a game.”
Megumi shrugged him off immediately, blue eyes narrowing.
For a brief second, something unreadable flickered across Gojo’s face. His hands settled on his hips, shoulders loosening as he looked toward the new couple.
The smile returned. Different this time. Sharper.
“Either way, we should get moving,” Gojo said, casting Megumi one last unreadable glance before turning toward Yuta and reaching for your wrist to check your pulse. “Before (Y/N) runs out of blood.”
That managed to kill the argument almost instantly. Yuji and Nobara exchanged a look, suddenly remembering that you were, in fact, injured.
Megumi straightened and started walking.
“I agree,” Yuta said immediately.
His brows knit together as his grip around you tightened ever so slightly.
“Let's get Miss Shoko to look at her as soon as possible.”
Without waiting for a response, Okkotsu fell into step behind Megumi, ignoring everyone else entirely.
Even though he could still hear the murmurs behind him—or rather, the shameless gossiping of his classmates and teacher—Yuta couldn't make out a single word.
He was too consumed by what he'd just done. By what he'd just said. The certainty in his voice had surprised even him. Conviction wasn't something he wore often. Not like that. Not so openly. Not in front of everyone.
Only now was the full weight of it beginning to settle over him.
A faint blush crept across his cheeks. Yet aside from that, nothing changed in his expression. At least, not to anyone else.
From the safety of his arms, however, you were watching him closely.
“Y-Yuta…”
Your voice came out weak, barely above a whisper. His attention snapped back to you immediately.
He tilted his head ever so slightly before adjusting you more securely against his chest. His shoulders stiffened when your head settled deeper into the hollow of his collarbone.
“Did...” you started. The question lingered between you and then you took a slow breath.
“Did you mean that?”
Yuta lowered his gaze until dark eyes met yours. And despite your condition—despite the blood loss, despite the exhaustion—you swore your heart somehow found the strength to beat faster.
For a long moment, he simply stared at you, quiet and steady. Then, almost imperceptibly, he worried his lower lip between his teeth.
"I've been uncertain about a lot of things lately.”
Your heart skipped a beat.
“…Not that."
He said it so simply that, for a moment, you almost missed the weight of it.
There was no embarrassment in his voice, no attempt to laugh it off or soften what had happened. If anything, he sounded mildly concerned that you would even think he might be joking.
His gaze drifted briefly to your lips before returning to your face.
You couldn't look away, and speaking didn't seem to be an option either. His grip just shifted ever so slightly, adjusting you higher against his solid chest, and the movement felt absentminded enough to be honest. Protective in the way breathing was protective. Something he wasn't consciously choosing anymore.
The silence should have reassured you.
Instead, your pulse stumbled. Because nowhere in it was there regret. Not once did he say he wished he hadn't done it. Not once did he try to undo the confession— the realization settled heavily in your mind.
Yuta noticed the look on your face and immediately mistook it for concern.
“You don't have to decide anything right now,” he said softly. “I'm not asking you to.”
His eyes held yours for a second too long. As though saying it aloud had finally quieted something inside him.
“But if you're asking whether I meant it...”
A quiet grin ghosted his lips then, small and almost self-conscious.
“I did.”
-
Something in the world's gravity seemed to shift after that. You couldn't tell whether you felt lighter or heavier.
Had that been a confession? Or maybe the blood loss was finally getting to you. Maybe you were simply delirious, teetering somewhere between emotional exhaustion and mental collapse, struggling to separate reality from wishful thinking.
There were too many variables.
Yuta had appeared only hours apart after your conversation with Gojo-sensei, at precisely the right time and with precisely the right words. Words that had been prepared months ago.
Planned. Rehearsed. A carefully constructed script designed by you and Gojo to throw Naoya Zenin off your trail. Nothing about it had been left to chance, and yet somehow...
None of it had felt rehearsed.
Yuta had confirmed the sincerity of what he'd said, but how were you supposed to believe him completely when Gojo could have easily instructed him to stay in character? You never knew who might be listening. Maybe Yuta was simply following orders. He'd always been good at following them.
The thought did little to settle the restless feeling in your chest. You sighed.
Shoko's gaze flickered up from your arm. "Am I hurting you?"
The question pulled you from your thoughts. You shook your head weakly.
"Tell me if I am."
You nodded, eyes dropping once more to your lap.
Across the infirmary, Gojo observed the exchange from his place against the wall, arms folded loosely across his chest and one ankle crossed over the other. His head was tilted just enough to suggest curiosity, and his blindfold made staring socially acceptable, giving him the shameless freedom to stare wherever he pleased.
At the moment, that happened to be you and Yuta. Mostly Yuta.
Yuta, who refused to leave your side.
It was an unusual sight, even by Gojo's standards.
Yuta hadn't greeted anyone when he'd arrived. He hadn't exchanged a single word with his classmates despite not seeing most of them for over a year. He had walked into the infirmary carrying you, settled you carefully onto the examination table, and remained there ever since, hovering at your side with a quiet attentiveness that bordered on possessive.
Like a guard dog that had chosen its post and refused to abandon it.
Every now and then he handed Shoko folded bandages, ointments, or supplies before she even asked for them.
The physician accepted them with increasing confusion. Her gaze occasionally drifted toward the clock, then toward her oldest friend. Questions flickered in her eyes. Gojo merely shrugged.
Eventually, Shoko resigned herself to the fact that she apparently had an assistant now.
"Syringe."
Yuta placed it carefully in her hand.
Gojo nearly laughed.
"This will sting," Shoko warned. "It's an oil-based injection. More painful, but considerably more effective."
You barely had time to nod when the needle was already piercing your arm. Pain bloomed instantly. Sharp and deep. Your hand clenched into a fist on reflex, nails biting into your palm, then something interrupted the motion.
Long fingers slipped between your own. One by one. Careful. Deliberate. Until your small hand was entirely enclosed within Yuta's.
Shoko raised an eyebrow. Gojo suddenly found the ceiling fascinating. You probably would have looked away too if you weren't so busy trying not to short-circuit.
Because this was the plan, wasn't it?
Yuta would pretend to be your boyfriend. Pretend. The word kept sounding stranger every time it crossed your mind.
You tried to pull your hand back. Yuta's grip tightened instinctively. Not enough to trap you. Just enough to stop you from slipping away.
"We're almost done," he said quietly, as though assisting Shoko was something he'd been doing for years. "Just a little longer."
His thumb began tracing slow circles over the back of your hand. You gulped and without meaning to, your eyes lifted to his face. You expected embarrassment. Awkwardness. Maybe the shy avoidance that had always been so characteristically Yuta.
Instead, you found him already looking at you. The corners of his mouth curving slightly when he noticed your eyelids growing heavy.
"If you're tired," he murmured, "you can sleep."
His fingers shifted gently around yours.
"I'm not going anywhere."
Your palms were definitely sweating now.
God. You hoped he couldn't tell.
Shoko cleared her throat. The needle slid free and she turned toward the counter behind her.
"I added a sedative to help you rest," she explained. "The sooner you fall asleep, the sooner the treatment will start working."
"Thank you."
Yuta answered before you could.
The brunette glanced over her shoulder and amusement flickered briefly across her face.
"Satoru."
Gojo straightened.
"With me."
The tall sorcerer pushed himself off the wall and followed her toward the door. As he passed, he squeezed Yuta's shoulder with all the subtlety of a man carrying nuclear launch codes.
Yuta ignored him. Gojo's grin widened as the door closed behind them. Leaving the room far quieter than before.
-
The low hum of the vending machines had always been strangely comforting to Yuta. It reminded him of late afternoons at Jujutsu High, of his friends waiting nearby with drinks in hand, of easy conversations and familiar laughter. More than anything, it reminded him that he finally belonged somewhere.
That he was useful.
Useful.
The word lingered in his thoughts longer than it should have. He wanted to be useful. More specifically...
He wanted to be useful to you.
He already knew one way he could help. He could play the part of your boyfriend for as long as you needed him to. If pretending to love you meant keeping you safe, then he'd do it without hesitation.
...And if, eventually, the lie had to grow bigger...
If your "boyfriend" had to become your husband. If the two of you had to build a life convincing enough to fool the Zenin Clan. If someday there had to be children.
Well...
He supposed he could help with that too.
His heartbeat quickened. Each ridiculous possibility somehow felt more believable than the last, and before he realized it, he had begun imagining details he had absolutely no business imagining. Was it unusually warm today...?
The icy aluminum of a soda can pressed against the side of his neck ripped him clean out of his thoughts.
"S-Sensei!"
"I figured I'd stop your brain from catching fire," Gojo said casually, lifting the can like it was an emergency medical device.
Yuta's ears immediately burned.
"...Though," Gojo added with a grin, pulling the can back, "I'd hate to drink warm soda."
He cracked it open with one hand and took an exaggerated sip. Yuta looked away.
"I wasn't expecting to find you out here," Gojo remarked. "Didn't you—"
"Shoko-san asked me to step outside for a minute," Yuta answered a little too quickly. "She... wanted to check some of her injuries under... under..."
"...Her clothes?"
Gojo supplied, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. Yuta nodded and finally remembered the unopened soda in his own hand.
He took a sip. It had gone warm.
"So..." Gojo said, unable to hide the grin stretching across his face.
"'My girlfriend.'"
Yuta nearly inhaled his drink.
"...Bold."
"I panicked."
Gojo laughed.
"Liar."
The word came effortlessly.
"You've wanted to say that for years."
Silence settled between them. Gojo watched him beneath his blindfold, Six Eyes reading every minute change in expression.
Yuta didn't argue.
He only stared quietly at the can in his hands, his grip gradually loosening until his fingers rested against the aluminum almost absentmindedly. Then, without realizing his own strength...
Crush.
The can collapsed inside his hand with a metallic crunch.
He blinked.
"...Right."
Calmly, he tossed it into the nearby recycling bin.
"I should head back." A small smile appeared on his face. "I don't want her waking up alone."
Gojo's own smile turned unmistakably mischievous.
"You are playing the boyfriend part very well...” his fingertips tapped on the can, and then he straightened his back. “It’s my duty to let you know that things are about to become VERY complicated."
Yuta paused.
"The Zenin Clan is awful," Gojo continued, taking another drink. "But Naoya Zenin..."
He sighed dramatically.
"...is the king of awful."
For a brief moment, his usual grin softened. Something about that mission refused to sit right with him. Too many coincidences. Too many things had unfolded with unsettling precision, each piece falling perfectly into place until the entire operation had become a disaster waiting to happen. It felt... Engineered.
Gojo didn't voice the suspicion aloud. Not yet. He had no proof. Only instinct. But if someone had orchestrated the whole thing... Only one blond Zenin was arrogant enough to throw his own future wife into danger if it meant walking away with the advantage.
His smile returned just as easily as it had disappeared. Another beat passed.
"So."
Gojo tilted his head.
"Last chance…. want me to send you back to Africa?"
Yuta looked at him for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly...
He smiled. There was something quietly resolute about it, sharper than the smiles he usually wore.
"Can I take my girlfriend with me?"
Gojo burst into laughter.
"There he is."
He pointed lazily toward the silver ring hanging from the chain around Yuta's neck.
"You can... the day you decide that ring belongs on her finger instead."
Yuta's fingers instinctively found the ring resting against his chest. He rubbed his thumb across the familiar metal before lowering his gaze.
"...I'm not the one who gets to decide that, Sensei."
-
Back at the Zenin estate, what had begun as a contained storm had settled into something far more dangerous.
Silence.
Naoya sat perfectly still. Far too still for a man who had shattered a thousand-year-old porcelain set less than ten minutes earlier. His father noticed.
"Trouble in paradise?"
Naobito lowered himself onto the tatami by the open window with the ease of a man who owned everything within sight. A servant appeared almost immediately, as though summoned from the air itself, placing a steaming cup of tea into his waiting hand before disappearing just as quietly.
He took a leisurely sip. Immediately hissed.
"I'm not sure what's hotter," he mused with a grin, eyeing the cup before glancing toward his son. "The tea... or you."
Naoya answered with nothing more than a quiet exhale through his nose.
"Nothing worth discussing."
His eyes never left the garden beyond the window.
"I heard quite the commotion earlier." Naobito chuckled. "I assumed—"
"You assumed wrong."
The interruption came flat. Cold. Absolute. Naobito turned his head just enough to study him.
"More than one woman has found her way into my bed," he said without the slightest trace of shame. "I'm struggling to understand why you're making such a spectacle over this one."
Only then did Naoya look at him. His expression remained calm, but there was something feverish buried beneath it. Something that hadn't been there before.
"It isn't about the girl." His tongue swept lazily across his lower lip. "It's about authority."
Naobito watched him in silence. He knew this son better than anyone. Naoya looked exactly like himself. He sounded exactly like himself. Yet something fundamental had shifted. His arrogance was intact. His composure was intact, but the certainty...
The certainty had become obsession. Then, all at once, Naobito laughed.
Not politely. Far from quietly. He laughed until his shoulders shook.
Naoya's jaw tightened.
"I never thought I'd live long enough," Naobito managed between laughs, "to watch Naoya Zenin turn into a bitch over a woman."
The room temperature dropped, Naoya didn't answer. Didn't argue or even glare. He simply stood. Straightened the sleeves of his kimono with meticulous care and walked out.
Behind him, his father's laughter echoed through the estate, following him down the endless corridors like an insult that refused to die.
Naoya never once looked back. His destination had already been decided. The oldest chamber in the estate. A place few Zenin entered anymore. Dust rested upon ancient shelves lined with forgotten scrolls, techniques abandoned by modern jujutsu—too impractical, too costly, too demanding to justify their existence. Most considered them relics. Naoya considered them untapped advantages.
He disappeared inside and hours later, he emerged.
His hair clung damply to his forehead. Sweat soaked through the collar of his robes. Every breath came slower than usual, each one carrying the weight of profound cursed-energy exhaustion. Residual cursed energy still crackled lazily around his fingertips before dissolving into the air. A new mark adorning the inside of his palm, bruise-size shaped. It was Naoya’s first aid kit, just in case you wouldn’t listen to reason.
A servant hurried to meet him, bowing deeply as she offered a clean towel.
"Lord Naoya."
He accepted it without slowing his pace.
"Lord Naobito asked me to inquire..." she began carefully before lowering her eyes. "...should preparations for the engagement proceed?"
Naoya wiped the sweat from his face in silence.
Then, almost absentmindedly, he glanced over his shoulder. His eyes settled on the servant as she struggled to keep pace beside him. A slow grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"As planned?"
The young woman swallowed beneath the weight of his gaze.
"No."
Another measured step.
"Accelerate them."
She bowed immediately, relief already blooming in her chest as she turned to leave. She had served the Zenin household long enough to know what it usually meant when one of its men emerged drenched in sweat, cursed energy still clinging to his skin after hours locked inside a training chamber.
She was almost out of earshot, when...
"You'll do."
His voice was calm. Matter-of-fact. He tossed the damp towel onto the floor without so much as looking at her.
"Come to my room once you've delivered the message."
For the briefest instant, her fingers tightened around the towel as she picked it up. Then she bowed once more.
"As you wish, Lord Naoya."
Then she disappeared down the corridor without another word.
Naoya watched her go for only a second before resuming his walk. His thoughts had already returned to you. Someone else had dared put his hands on what was meant to become his. Waiting was no longer an option. Tomorrow, he would reclaim the board.
Tonight... Tonight, he simply needed somewhere to bury his temper. It hardly mattered who—she just needed to be warm. An outlet to wear your face while he bled the frustration out of his system. It was useless to fight a lost battle… he already knew who his mind would insist on seeing.
—
Dealing with the men of the Zenin Clan was never easy—not if you were a woman or a servant, or in this case, both.
She had already attended to the Clan Head more than once, to his younger brother, even to Ranta on occasion, who, to her surprise, had always seemed immeasurably different from the rest. But never Naoya. The heir to the Zenin Clan was something else entirely. Whatever appetites made the other Zenin men unbearable, Naoya seemed to cultivate his elsewhere, away from the estate's watchful eyes.
"M-My Lord..."
She fought to keep her voice steady. Naoya ignored the effort completely. Instead, he circled her at an unhurried pace, eyes roaming over every inch of her as though searching for something that had been misplaced.
"You'll call me husband, girl."
The order came without inflection. She nodded immediately.
“My Lord can call me—”
"I don't care." He cut her off before she could finish. "I'll call you whatever I please."
Impatience laced every word.
His hand reached for the ribbon tying her hair. One sharp tug, and it unraveled, dark strands spilling down her back in a soft cascade.
The resemblance with you was distant, almost laughable, but his imagination was willing to do the rest. At least, she would do to numb him for the night. Close enough to quiet this sudden hunger of his.
He watched her in silence, assessing.
—
Miles away, beneath the quiet lights of Tokyo Jujutsu High's infirmary, you stirred faintly against the narrow medical bed.
Shoko had only stepped out to retrieve fresh bandages. Gojo had followed her.
The room settled into silence. Yuta never noticed. He was still sitting beside you, your hand resting inside both of his as though letting go simply wasn't an option anymore.
Your eyelashes fluttered.
"...Yuta?"
His head lifted immediately.
"I'm here."
Your fingers shifted weakly inside his grasp. His thumb instinctively traced slow circles over your knuckles.
"You stayed..."
"I said I would."
Another silence settled between you. Smaller this time. Warmer. Your eyes searched his face. He looked exhausted. The dark circles beneath his eyes. The cursed entrails still clinging to the sleeves of his uniform. The tiny cut across his cheek he'd forgotten to clean.
"...You should rest too."
He smiled.
"So should you."
"...I'm trying."
"So am I."
Something about the answer made you laugh. Barely. Just enough to soften the room. Yuta watched you for a long second. Too long. His gaze drifted without meaning to.
From your eyes... to your lips...then immediately back again.
Heat rushed into Yuta’s ears.
—
"Hurry."
The servant girl obeyed without another word, fumbling with the layers of her kimono beneath the crushing weight of her master’s gaze.
Whether from fear or innocence, she never noticed the quiet wrongness behind his expression, too anxious to recognize the sickness that drenched Naoya’s actions. The girl stood very still and very naked.
"Say it."
She blinked.
"...My Lord?"
His patience thinned.
"Call me husband."
He wanted to hear it. To hear how naturally the word would sound spoken aloud.
“…H-husband—”
"No."
A loose strand of her hair wrapped lazily around his finger.
“Again…”
“Husband.”
This time, it pleased him. A smile, faint enough to be mistaken for a trick of the light, touched the corner of his mouth.
He closed the distance in a single step. She squeezed her eyes shut preparing herself for the usual roughness. Every encounter she'd ever had with the Zenin Clan had taught her to expect nothing else. Instead—
Both of his hands rose to cradle her face.
So unexpectedly gentle that her entire body locked in place. Her cheeks burned. Her eyes fluttered open. His face hovered only inches away, his breath ghosting over her lips with deliberate restraint.
His lips curved ever so slightly.
"(Y/N)..."
The name escaped him before he could stop it. His expression hardened for the briefest instant. The realization struck him a heartbeat later and then features settled back into that familiar composure.
"...You don't get to belong to anyone else."
The words fell like a vow spoken to the wrong woman.
—
"...Sorry."
"For what?"
"I..."
He couldn't even finish the sentence. He had promised he would wait, but his body refused to honor that promise. His gaze drifted to your lips again before he forced it away.
Your hand squeezed his. Almost absentmindedly.
Yuta froze.
You probably hadn't even realized you'd done it. He stared at your intertwined fingers as though they were something impossibly precious.
“… You should go.”
Yuta shook his head.
“You need to rest, Yuta.” You insisted. “Please.”
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he kept his eyes fixed on your joined hands. He didn't dare look up. He already knew what would happen if he did.
"...Don’t ask me to leave.”
You sighed.
"I don't remember you being so stubborn.”
Against his better judgment, he looked up.
Your lips met his gaze. Damn it.
"I'm sorry."
You assumed he meant your comment.
He didn't.
"You keep apologizing."
"...I know."
Your voices had fallen so quiet that the steady rhythm of the monitors sounded louder than either of you. His eyes found yours again. Neither of you looked away.
Slowly... Almost imperceptibly...
Yuta leaned forward.
Not because he expected anything. Not because he thought he deserved it. Simply because every instinct he possessed wanted to close that last impossible distance.
Your breathing slowed. So did his. You didn't retreat. Neither did he.
The space between your faces disappeared inch by inch until all that remained was shared breath.
Warm.
Unsteady.
Your eyes slipped shut first.
—
Naoya lowered his head and brushed a kiss against this poor replacement’s lips.
He was impossibly gentle. Gentle enough to leave her believing—if only for a heartbeat—that perhaps every rumor she'd ever heard about Naoya Zenin had been exaggerated.
Unfortunately, that lonely kiss was the last kindness she would ever receive from him.
Whatever discipline Naoya prided himself on dissolved that night, giving way to a greed sharpened by sleepless nights and countless mornings spent chasing relief that never truly came.
He began by slowly undoing the impostor, each deliberate thrust of his powerful hips accompanied by soft bites pressed along the heaving curve of her spine whenever he was able to bottom down on her.
His tongue slipped out to taste the thin sheen of sweat on her neck as he viciously drove into the woman who was supposed to be you, claiming the space between her warm thighs as though it belonged to YOU.
“(Y/N) —”
Naoya growled low in his throat and, in one smooth motion, buried himself completely. So deep she gasped. So deep he was certain he'd reached her cervix. Then he held himself perfectly still, his hands gripping her hips harder than he should, forcing her to feel every vein and ridge along his shaft.
One hand slid into her hair, giving it a sharp tug. She winced, and he grinned. With her back pressed against his sweat-slick chest, his other hand slowly wrapped around her delicate neck.
“I should have cut Yuta’s head off the instant he dared to touch you…” the heir growled near what he imagined was your ear. “…Then kept it to give to you as a wedding gift.”
In his mind, it was you beneath him, not the poor servant girl whose only sin was resembling someone else. His hand tightened around your neck; it was your throat that ached beneath his grip, your voice that broke into ragged pleas no longer sounding entirely human— pleas that ranged from the word "husband" to desperate requests for him to finally be done.
Neither plea was answered. Neither was enough to quiet the obsession fueled by a girl who wasn't even there.
The wrong woman endured a sentence meant for another.
—
Yuta gulped.
One heartbeat.
Two.
Three.
His forehead came to rest against yours.
He wet his lips.
Just a little closer.
He leaned in.
Closer.
The infirmary door slid open.
"Well," Gojo said far too cheerfully, "this is either excellent timing..."
Shoko walked in behind him, took one look at the frozen students before her, and sighed.
"...Or terrible."
You and Yuta sprang apart so quickly your joined hands flew apart as though burned. Gojo's grin grew positively criminal.
"I leave you two alone for five minutes."
Yuta had never wished harder for the earth to open and swallow him whole.
—
Naoya finally felt his peak approaching, and with a ragged exhale, he painted her back with thick ribbons of Zenin seed. To then, let his head fall back as every muscle in his body relaxed at once.
He breathed out slowly, long and relieved.
"Finally," he murmured as he opened his eyes. "...I can think straight again."
Not a single word was offered to the poor, exhausted girl left among his sheets. Nothing. He simply climbed out of bed and glanced over his shoulder.
“Change the sheets and leave.”
Naoya crossed the room and disappeared into the bathroom. He wanted to wash the sweat and every other reminder of his lapse in control from his skin. They no longer belonged there, nor did he care to leave them.
Cold water cascaded over his body, rinsing away the last traces of the night. A slow smile spread across his lips as his thoughts drifted back to the ancient chamber.
He looked at the mark in his palm.
"Interesting."
His thumb brushed lightly over it.
"It's already working."
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