She traces the edges of his face with her fingertips. Her smile is small, but honest, but sad.

"It doesn't mean what you think," she murmurs.

She could have gotten rid of it, when she took the mark. Could have healed it away. The reason has nothing to do with belonging, or how she feels about him.

"It's about what I let him do, and why I can't forget that.


But don't look at him." She takes one of his hands, covers the scar with his palm.

"Look at me." Hand over his, she leans in and kisses him.